Chapter 3: The Promise
Tulsa, August 1969
The icy tile shoots a shiver up my shins and throughout the rest of my body. Normally I'd be horrified to be sitting on the bathroom floor of the bar like this, but the cool temperature feels like it's combating the tornado inside me. My stomach tries again to empty itself of all of the nothingness it holds, a familiar pattern of this evening. I try to ignore the phone conversation that runs on a loop in my ear.
The creak of the bathroom door opening interrupts my retching. The shuffling steps are so recognizable I don't even need to check under the stall for those beat up, muddied converse that I know approach. I can hear them stop right in front of the door, and there's a pause before three light taps awaiting an invitation.
"I'm a little busy." I say, face so far in the toilet bowl that my voice reverberates in my eardrums, all around me and out to him like the bass of a speaker.
He doesn't wait for permission before he pushes the door open, and if I wasn't already exhausted in every way possible, I'd probably kick it back shut in his face. Doesn't he know all I want right now is to be alone? This is the girl's restroom, if I can't escape here, I can't escape anywhere.
"Soda, I'm fine. Get out." I say, fast forwarding past the pleasantries because that's really all he wants to know, but then my stomach tries to turn inside out again and I'm making those horribly sickening gagging noises when nothing comes up.
I hear him squat down to the floor with me, forcing his way into a crevice next to me in this tiny stall even though I didn't ask him to be here, even though I'm pretty sure I don't want him here. Still, I count my blessings like Daddy taught me, a little relieved that he's not still pressed against the wall by the payphone, sucking face with that bimbo Sharon Donnelly like he was a couple of hours ago. I guess being mutual addicts is all the connection you need to practically do it in public.
"Gracie Mae?" He says softly, and I kind of hate how much safer it makes me feel. He sets down a bottle of water from the bar next to me and the toilet for easy access. Soda's never predictable, but I cue his next words up in my head before he even says them. "I'm so sorry." I throw up again. People have been dying forever, you'd think someone would've come up with something better thing to say by now.
"It's fine. Please, I just need to be alone." But there's just enough of a quiver in my throat to expose what's really going on underneath that now I know he'll never leave. I hear the ruffle of his jeans as he pulls his knees in close to his chest, cementing himself right here in hell with me.
"Did Andy ever tell you what he and I did after school once in third grade?" He doesn't wait for me to show an interest probably because he knows I'm not about to encourage his stay. I can hear the smile on his face as he tells it with a warmness. "We snuck into the bowling alley back when they were doing construction on it and it was all blocked off, right? We were playing cowboys, fighting off the bad guys and making a whole lotta ruckus in the process. I threw a rock that accidentally went through one of them fresh new window panes when I was aiming for Andy, and it shattered into a million pieces. It was the best sound, so we just started throwing rocks into all of the glass panes we could reach, laughing like crazy. Then there was this scary, deep voice behind us, kinda like a monster, and when we turned around, there was a cop with his gun pointed right at us. I looked over at Andy, and I think he may have actually been scared shitless, his eyes were all big like flying saucers." He pauses, and though I can't see him with my face still in the toilet, I know it's to imitate that wide-eyed look himself.
I can't help but giggle a little bit, knowing that exact look in my brother's eyes whenever he got caught doing something he shouldn't have. He was the good one of us two, hated getting into trouble, always trying to do the right thing and follow the rules. Nothing scared him more than the thought of having a record, not even Daddy's belt.
"The officer had us put our hands against the wall, legs spread apart like he was going to shoot us right there. And even if he didn't shoot us, we knew our parent's were gonna have our necks that night. Either way we weren't gonna be getting out of it in one piece."
I spit some leftover bile into the toilet water, then work to lift my head so I can see him tell it. "What they do?"
"After they kept us there for a good twenty minutes, hands behind our heads and shaking like dogs at the vet, they let us go. They were just trying to scare us so we wouldn't do it again. I ain't never been on a construction site since, so I guess it worked."
My laughs waltz in perfect time with my tears, I'm not sure which one he's catching more of, but his eyes give me as much comfort as anyone but my brother's can give right now. I can't look away from him now. Sometimes, I forget how ridiculously handsome Sodapop Curtis is. Even with those scabbed over punctures in his arm that he scratches nonstop and the patches of facial hair he's missed while haphazardly shaving, or the fact that he needed a haircut two months ago, tonight I can't ignore that godlike look about him.
"That was about the time your mama left. And after she did, Andy always said he wasn't ever going to let nothing bad happen to you." Soda knows better than anyone else how to toss the good and the bad together in one dish. I think about Andy again and try to throw up. "I know it don't make it right or nothing, but I think they know what they're saying when they say only the good die young."
"How can he just be… gone, Soda?" I'm not delusional enough to think he has the answer, but this is the heart of what I can't comprehend. How can someone just not be anymore? How can someone live their whole life like the rest of us, and then one day be forever inaccessible? Especially someone like Andy. He was always one of the good guys, don't they always come back no matter what terrible things happen?
I think of Andy's smile as he got on that bus, clad in his uniform and convinced he was fulfilling his destiny, his identity as a soldier, fighting for what was right. I wish my mind held onto that picture of him now instead of conjuring up these horrible images of what was going through his head when he died. Was he still proud then? Was he in pain? Was he alone? Was he scared? Serving his country was his dream, he volunteered without question, if I had destroyed his letter like I'd wanted to, he would've been broken hearted. But still, a broken heart is better than one that isn't beating at all. And now it's too late to change any of it.
We're both quiet for a bit, me staring at the tile, and him staring back at me.
"You still need to throw up?" He asks finally.
"I don't think so."
"Good." he stands. "Now you're stronger than anyone else I know, Miss Gracie Mae Walker, but you and your daddy got a long night ahead of you. The first night's the worst, but it'll get better, I promise."
I nod, and take his hand that he reaches out to help me stand with him. When we're both on our feet and he gives me that look of all encompassing understanding, something inside me sweeps away all my energy and I collapse into his shoulder, full on snotty sobs and soft wailing in effect now, muffled by his frayed and musty flannel. I should've known the minute Soda walked in that this is where he'd bring me to. He holds me. Tightly. And though his own body's shaking from impending withdrawal, he's the only thing holding me up right now without an ounce of selfishness in it.
"You're going to be alright. Not for a little bit, but you are." He says softly, and I pull away to see what he's going to build me up with next. "And you know what the best part is? That's all Andy wants… is for you to be alright. I know that's all I would've wanted for my brothers. So as much as it can be in a shitty situation like this, you both are going to be alright."
And because it's coming from someone so seasoned with this sort of thing, I believe every word of it, and my stomach starts to settle. He doesn't look away from me, but simply with his pause gives me the space to feel whatever comes up next. Right now, it's a heavy longing mixed with gratitude for my brother. There's some hate somewhere in there too, I think. And their war with each other isn't something I can suss out just yet. Usually I'd be embarrassed at those rattling hiccups that follow my crying, but not now, not with Sodapop Curtis. How poetic that a junkie of all people has got this whole no shame thing figured out.
"You gotta hear yourself say it now, too." And he laughs quietly when I give him that look of annoyed confusion that he so often gets from me. "I know. Sounds crazy. Darry used to make Pony and I say it with him when Pony'd have his nightmares. But it worked. So let me hear you say, and then I promise I'll shut up and drive you home."
My breath rattles out like his busted muffler. "It's going to be alright." I answer unconvincingly, but he still bobs his head in sympathetic satisfaction, and leads me out the back so no one else gets to see my tears.
Tulsa, September 1975
"What in the hell!" Steve's harsh explosion echoes throughout the park like a cannon as his shot is spiked right back down by Soda's reach. I can remember Martha telling me she thought he was cute, but I just don't see it. "It ain't fair that Soda's got monkey arms! How is anyone supposed to get anything past that baboon?" Soda dances down the court in victory, bouncing the ball back to Steve and Keith who assume their positions frustratedly, as Darry gives his brother a side smile and a sock against his arm.
"Ah, don't be a sore loser, Stevie. You act like it's my fault you ain't grown an inch since freshman year!" Steve's looking like he might just tackle Soda right there, I wouldn't put it past either of them. Normally, I'd laugh, but today, my hands grip the sleeves of Soda's flannel nervously, maybe to protect my skin from the burning sun, maybe from the knowledge that I've just doomed the rest of my life. I should've known a wild night in the back of Soda's Dodge Challenger would never spell anything but trouble.
"Soda, don't leave your girl waitin'." Darry says, always the first to notice my quiet arrivals. Soda's head whips around to see me, his bangs getting all tangled up in his lashes as he gives me a gleeful smile and a wave. Sometimes he looks just like that dumb stray dog Steve took in last year. The one everyone calls Dopey. Or maybe it's just my bad mood.
"Yeah, Soda, why don't you step out the game for a few minutes." Steve recommends with a sly grin, but as soon as Darry steps in front of him for the ball toss, he's reminded that Darry's a much more intimidating replacement for defense compared to Soda.
"Gracie, baby!" Soda's jogging over, fresh off his win, "You feeling better?"
My silence cues him in that something's not right, and his face transforms appropriately.
"What's wrong?" I feel far away from him now, and I wonder for a second if maybe there's a magic loophole, that if I don't say it out loud, it isn't actually true.
I collect myself with a steady breath, though inside I'm nothing but a leaf on the wind. "I'm pregnant." and as the words are said and heard aloud, I finally believe them.
His reaction time with anything is always vibrantly felt and expressed, visible right there in front of me as if I'm watching a cartoon character. He blinks a few times, dumbstruck like a Jeopardy contestant on the Daily Double, then beams proudly, then cups his palm over his mouth with joy, then he tries to speak but can't, then claps his hands together. "Really?" and his little smile grows into a full, open-mouthed laugh.
I don't share his excitement, and try to get back to the facts before he gets too caught up in celebrating. "Does this mean you want to keep it?"
His hearty enthusiasm has ignited and died down just like a firework and he looks at me like I'm out of my mind, "Of course I want to keep it! Don't you?"
I scoff a bit, though I'm not at all surprised we're not seeing things eye to eye, and here I've got to play the adult again. "We ain't even married, Soda. This is Oklahoma, not California. What will people say?"
"We been steady going on how many years now? You think people think we just been holdin' hands and cuddlin'?" and he slaps his hands together again in disbelief as he remembers the news of the baby again, "Do you think it happened that night in the Challenger on my birthday? That was a wild ride." He winks, thinking I'll laugh too.
My furrowed brow deepens, and shuts him up real quick. "This is serious, Soda."
He smiles empathetically like he does, "Oh, c'mon, Gracie! This is great! Darry, get over here!" he calls, and Darry bounces the basketball to Steve who looks like he may have lost another point to Darry and nobody but him is surprised.
"Soda." My throat constricts against the tough, angry gravel it holds within it as I will him to meet me back in reality, to treat this with the care and thoughtfulness it deserves, just this once.
"Grace, if you're worried about being in holy matrimony, we can fix that real quick." and he gets down on his knee and pulls out that ring he's always got in his pocket, "I've been waiting on you."
I kick his shoe. "Get up." and he does, but with no less overzealousness than before.
"If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it right." he knows hell hath no fury like my finger wagging in his face. I've seen messy parenting up close, he hasn't, and I'll die before I become that kind of a failure.
He laughs at me, and my reaction is to strike, even though he's sympathetic "I promise." he says. When I don't budge, he pulls out his littlest finger, "I pinky promise." he bats his eyelashes all cute.
"Soda." my sigh of exhaustion finally brings him level to me, here in reality, and he pulls me in for a hug and a squeeze.
"This is going to be amazing. There ain't ever been a better time for us to do this." and he sounds so sure of himself that my clenched fists release a little. I believe him, because he's right, we've been steady for years now. He's been sober five years now. Why am I always so worried?
When he pulls away from our embrace, he locks himself in my gaze, impatiently awaiting my response. I draw in another breath and give him a smile, though I know it's hardly passable. "Okay."
"Okay!" he echoes, but with much more enterprise and volume. "She said okay, Darry!" and he pivots around to the eldest Curtis who looks all kinds of confused back at us as he's pulled into Soda's arms.
"What?" Darry asks, eyes darting back at me once his brother starts whooping and hollering all over again.
"We're getting married!" Soda's erupts, his joy settling thick on top of the humidity.
"Seriously?" Darry responds with a look of genuine happiness and surprise.
"And guess what else!" Soda stops bounding and lands again in front of Darry and I, still for just a moment. "We're having a baby!"
And I watch as Darry's look of contentment and pride immediately transforms into slight uneasiness. Well, at least somebody else feels what I feel. As the brother who did it all in the right order: the job, the car, the wife, the house, THEN the kids, I can sense his hesitancy, and though Soda doesn't miss it either, he keeps on in his single party parade around the court.
Tulsa, February 1976
The door creaks just a bit, and by the silence as it opens, I know exactly who it is. He peaks his head in, waiting to see if his presence is welcomed. It's not, but he comes in anyways. Typical. Still, there's always that comfort that comes with seeing his face, even if I'm harboring all kinds of hurt and resentment against him right now, I still sigh in relief when he's there and he gives me that lopsided look that's trying to decide if it's a grimace or a smile, though neither look is reassuring.
The nurse finishes checking my chart, scribbling a few things down, and as she leaves, she gives me a look at is all at once empowering and understanding, then shoots a nasty expression at Soda, as if she knows all about the chaos from last night. I feel somewhat vindicated.
He walks further in, a lone soldier, hands in his back pockets as he shuffles over to me. He sits in the chair that's been scooted right next to the bed and reaches for my hand, about to speak but I don't really care what he has to say, not right now, so I start before he can even open his mouth.
"Where's Darry?" I ask, hoping it hurts. And sure enough, he doesn't break his gaze with me, but his eyes flicker from the sting of my words.
"Home with Debbie and the kids. He's on duty this morning." He says, and I recoil from his grasp as an extra punishment, knowing that space is always the last thing Soda wants or needs. "Pony went home too. I told them I'd call them if we needed anything, but I figured you'd want to get home and rest."
"Well that was thoughtful of you." somehow sarcasm feels like it'll gear me up for the bomb he's about to drop.
He bows his head gracefully at my tone before his face falls. "I'm sorry, Grace." His whisper is almost airless, something that doesn't happen unless he's really beaten down. Usually I don't need him to say it, but I bathe in this one a little longer than I'd thought I would.
"I know." I assure him because he always means what he says to me. That, and we both know we need so much more than an apology now so we may as well skip over all that shit and get to making things the way they ought to be. "Were you at the park?"
He nods painfully, and I know in his sunken expression what's coming next. I brace the baby and I both for the blow, but even if I've been preparing for this moment for years, it'll never be warning enough, and my world crumbles with his words. "Pretty much every night the last couple of months." He doesn't need to take me by the hand and connect the dots for me to know this all originated at Lucky's that night. "I was hoping to figure it out 'fore you ever had to know."
We sit in silence, which is always therapeutic for me and torture for him, but at this point I think we both know I get to drive for a while now.
"So what do we do now?" I ask him.
His bouncing knee maintains the chaos of the last few hours, "Pony's got a couch I can sleep on, I'll just need to grab a few things from the house-"
"So you're running away, huh?" I can't control my narrowing eyes or my cryptic tone, it's coming from too deep within my hurt for me to stop them.
He pauses, surprised at first, but he can always handle me wherever I'm at. "If that's what you want. If you don't want me in the house while I'm in... withdrawal, I'll go." He swallows back the bitterness of his history with that word, and I try to ignore its taste bubbling on my own tongue. The best way out of hell is through, my mother had said. Even if she said it right before she fled her own version of hell in our home, leaving Andy and I behind in the flames to save herself, I still think there's some truth to it.
"Soda, you're my husband. We figure this out together. Stop looking at me like I hate you or something."
He's always the first to get teary, but I'm never too far behind him. "Gracie… I was trying to keep you from having to…"
"I know, baby." And maybe I shouldn't get soft so fast, but now I reach for his hand, since I know he's hurting more than I am. "But you know that's not how it works with this sort of thing." He kisses my palm and stares back at me, and for once in this small moment, neither of us have anything to say.
"I believed you when you promised we could do this. Damn it. I'm scared, Soda." Just admitting it nearly propels me right back into our living room alone with my false contractions, and Debbie on the phone. "I'll be damned if we don't figure this out before the baby gets here. I won't allow it, I'll do whatever it takes to keep her from it." He nods, because he knows I've never backed down from a fight. This maternal energy building up inside has brought with it a sense of protectiveness I've never felt before. It's got me convinced that if I needed to, I could strangle him, kill him, my own husband, my best friend, if it meant keeping that little baby girl safe.
"I'm going to be a good daddy, Grace." He says, the one thing he's certain of, but I've never questioned that part of all this. I'm not worried he'll be a bad father, I'm worried he won't have the chance to be one at all. 1970 was full of nightmares full of calls from Darry to inform me that Soda had finally OD'd on Curly's porch, by the jungle gym at the park, behind Lucky's, that we'd lost him for good. While it would've shaken my world then, we weren't married, we weren't even dating, we didn't have a kid on the way. Our stakes in this game are so much higher now.
"It's going to be alright." his lie, though meant to be nothing but truthful, mocks me in this bed with my muscle aches and cramping. It's not nearly as convincing this time around, compared to that night in the bathroom at Lucky's.
As he looks back at me, the light from the window catches the swollen red the left side of his face has become. "What happened?"
"Darry hit me. I don't know why." He plays dumb in jest, "He just clocked me, right out of the blue."
I don't crack a smile, and instead, laser my eyes back at him. "Good. I was going to do it myself if he didn't."
He grins, but behind it all I can see he's still plagued with guilt. And he should be feeling bad, it's a horrible thing to think you don't have anyone in a moment like the one last night, I've never felt powerless before, and I never should've had to. But I hate knowing that he'll probably never let himself free of his own disappointment in himself, even as the rest of ours fades. Darry will make him suffer has long as he needs to, and then he'll let up, but I'm not sure he'll be able to mend that status Pony's always held for him, that knight in shining armor, I think that'll be gone for good now.
Even after all the words that have been exchanged right here in this hospital room, I can't help but think that I may have made a mistake in agreeing to marry Sodapop Curtis.
If only love was enough, we'd be invincible. I can trust him with almost everything, but I can't trust him with his addiction.
Author's Note:
I don't own, S.E. Hinton does
Thank you for continuing to read! I am always a fan of constructive criticism, I want to get better, so please have at it if you have any feedback :)
Sending love, as always!