I know it's been a minute, it's also been quite a year, huh? Thanks for sticking it out if you've come back :)
Chapter 12: The Feast
Tulsa, November 1976
I inch closer to the A/C vent of Pony's Camaro, sleeves of my dress open in hopes of drying the sweat that clings to my skin. The weather turned brisk two weeks ago, but here I am.
Pony turns to his radio when he's reflective.
You know you can't hold me forever, I didn't sign up with you.
"Careful of the potholes, the cranberry sauce is hardly stable back there." I caution, and he takes them with ease, but stays in his mind nonetheless.
I'm not a present for your friends to open, this boy's too young to be singing the blues.
"You sure you want to do this?" He finally asks, I was wondering when that question would make its way here.
"Already regretting bringing me?" I look out the window at the houses we pass, cars crammed onto driveways and on curbsides with bright lights strewn inside prepping for celebration. His fingers interlace with mine.
"Let's not start with that, Val. I was just checking that you're still game." Who knows anymore if he's suddenly a good actor or if his mood's changed again "Wouldn't have brought you along if I didn't want to." I might even believe it because he looks me in the eyes when he says it.
"You sure? I've got quite a mouth on me." I don't know why I insist on testing him, especially when this whole thing was my idea. I guess it's just that if the hammer's going to fall, I'd like to have a hand in it so I can get out of the way in time. We must be somewhere, though, considering we've made it across town already.
"I ain't worried about it unless you are."
"There's so many words to choose from, I'll never understand why you settle on ain't as often as you do." He goes to the radio again, and I wish I knew when to shut up.
You can't plant me in your penthouse, I'm going back to my plough.
"I trust that you know our family's a bit... fragile right now." He clears his throat. "And I don't think you'd be coming if you didn't care at least a little bit about them." I care about you. I want to say, but it sounds too flowery. Vulnerability is anything but flowery, I've got to find the right words first. I could pound your brother's head in for what he's been doing to you all these months. There, that sounds a little better.
My fingers tap the dashboard as more houses swipe by the window. As I watch, I notice how the scenery changes the further down Oakland Drive we go. How the perfectly paved roads and freshly mowed lawns start to morph into dilapidated porch swings and patches of brown grass, streets caked with cracked cement. I don't know if this is a display of Pony's roots or his brother's downfall, but it takes me by surprise to see it nonetheless.
"They're just my brothers, they're nothing to be afraid of."
And yet I'm afraid, but fear usually brings out the fighter in me. "It'll take more than a druggie and a cop to scare me."
"Just remember there's more to them than that."
I finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road.
He pulls up against the curb right in front of a quaint, one story home, blue paint peeling and faded from age. Still, it lights up the rest of the street quite nicely. More homey than homely, I'll give it that, like a beacon of light. I like things with character. Tucked on the side sits a bright red car, one that doesn't match the decor of the rest of the place with it's shiny, well maintained exterior. On the porch sit pots of dried up flowers who have yet to be plucked, their corpses on full display like some kind of warning to turn back. The house is a vessel of mixed signals, come close, it says, just not too close.
I hand him the champagne and reach back for the cranberry sauce before we make our way up to the door. I'm about to knock, but Pony intervenes, "Nah, we don't knock. Door's always unlocked. You ready?"
I take a deep breath, "Do I look okay?"
He gives me a semblance of a smile, "Always. You sure you want to do this?"
But it's too late for me to even think about a truthful answer because the door flies open and a damn good looking face stares right back at us. I almost do a double take. A movie star-like grin exposes gleaming teeth, aimed right at Pony, and a cackle follows. There's only one person it could be.
"Hi Soda." Pony says, but Soda's already reaching in for a hug. He's scrawnier than Pony, a little taller, but Pony's toned physique swallows him up in that hug. Besides that and having an untamable look in his eyes, he looks to be pretty intact. I'm surprised it was just a few weeks ago that they'd gone to that parade where everything was unhinged all over again.
Behind him in the living room, I can see a man of muscle, a stoic look on his face even as he stands to give me something of a smile. That must be the oldest one.
"Hey, Sport." Soda says as he breaks away from Pony, then turns to give me his full attention. "You must be Valerie!"
As I extend my hand for a standard greeting, he wraps his arms around me too, pulling Pony and I both in simultaneously from either side. I get uncomfortably close to his face, and he's pretty damn good looking with those endless chocolatey eyes that don't have to try to be charming.
His embrace feels a lot like a trip to the circus, and I don't trust him one bit.
Junior throws one of the rolls over the table at Jackie who immediately calls out to Debbie for justice to be served.
Debbie tries to balance the chastising with keeping up with the conversation at the big kid table, "Hush, you two. If I see one more thing go flying that's supposed to be on your plate or in your stomach, well... you just best be ready." Junior rolls his eyes since it isn't much of a threat.
Soda passes the green beans to Grace without dishing any on his own plate. Grace gives herself some, and then dishes out a few for him. "Nice try," she says. He winks at her and she winks back.
"So Val, how'd you and Pony meet? Seems y'all have been together a while now." Darry asks cordially.
Val smiles, though I know she hates being put on the spot like this where she's expected to talk about herself in front of people who don't know her. I take her hand from under the table so she knows she's not alone.
"I work at the Tulsa Herald, too." She says, "I'm in charge of incoming and outgoing calls."
"You're a journalist, too?" Soda drowns his plate in gravy.
"No, not technically. Not yet at least." Val swallows the bitter in that statement, considering Jack, our boss, has denied any and all of her requests for a promotion in the last six months even though she's basically turned that office around when it was headed for disaster.
"Soon, though." I pipe in, trying to be supportive. I'm not so sure she sees a lot of that. Hell, I don't know a thing about her family except she's got some sister off somewhere.
"Have you always wanted to be a journalist?" Debbie asks curiously.
Val nods, pensive, "I think so. I've always been a truth seeker, like Pony." She looks at me when she says it. I think we both feel a little understood by each other in that second of connection. But then she turns to face my brothers. "I've always been really good at spotting the lies, which helps in the kind of work we do. You have to be good at seeing through the shit." Her gaze starts on Soda, then moves onto Grace for a while. "People aren't as good at keeping secrets as they think they are. And some people see only what they want to, so you have to show them the truth." Grace, who appears a little uncomfortable, looks down at her food and shuffles it around a bit with her fork. So Val turns to Darry, like she wants it sink in on him too. I squeeze her hand to get her to loosen up on them, especially on Grace, since she's not the one who deserves harsh examining in all of this. I wonder if she's trying to go easy on Soda, like I'd asked since he's the one her triggers are usually set on.
Her eyes brighten at Darry, finally, "I hear you're a cop. What put you against the people?"
"She's joking." I say quickly, since her humor is too dry for her own good sometimes. Darry laughs, genuinely since sometimes his is too.
He scratches his eyebrow, prepping for his usual thoughtful and calculated answer. "'Saw some things growing up that made me want to work towards fixing a broken system." Val nods, as he's clearly earned some respect from her with an answer like that. I realize I've never told Val about Dally or Johnny, and how it was in those injustices that Darry started working towards being a cop.
"That's good." She says, looking like she means it.
Debbie passes the bowl of Grace's famous mashed potatoes towards me while barking orders at the kids to keep their butts on the seats unless they want a swatting as they sit at that little table just a few feet from ours.
"Darry's always been a man of rules." Soda pipes up, and Val's stare falls on him for a second only. "Pony and I wouldn't've lasted a day without Darry keeping us out of trouble. And anyone who knows Darry knows if you break any one of his rules, you ain't gonna forget it."
We all know Darry's gruff. It's usually the first thing anyone sees about him, so I only laugh too because we're in the company of all the people who know just how soft Darry really is. In some ways he's the softest, most sentimental of us all. I'll never forget glancing over at Soda with wide-eyes when Debbie and Darry chose 'Annie's Song' at their anniversary party a couple of years ago. Soda had just nodded and shrugged back at me and my shocked expression, not surprised in the least bit that out tough, cold, oldest brother could possibly be a John Denver fan.
"Just ask Kenny and his little terrier." Debbie laughs and Darry runs his fingers through his hair sheepishly.
"Oh, Val, has Pony told you this one?" Soda slaps his hands on the table enthusiastically. I watch Val's expression feign interest. God help her, she's trying. She's been pretty tame thus far considering what she's said about my brothers in private, but Soda sees through any act of pleasantry she's been putting on for him and has been working on getting through to her since we walked in. She shakes her head, he pauses for a second, noticing her disinterest, but it only takes him that to get right back on course.
"We're gonna need some alcohol for this one." Darry says, a joke, even as he won't be drinking at all since he'll be headed to the station after dinner for the night patrol. I follow his cue and stand to retrieve the champagne Val and I brought.
"Darry and Debbie got a nasty neighbor, Kenny Krause, two block down who always lets his dog take a dump anywhere he likes. Well... he really likes Darry's lawn, of all places, probably cause it's all green and luscious. 'Course Kenny ain't got the sense of a billy goat to pick it up, ever."
My cheeks start hurting from smiling as I unwrap the foil around the neck of the champagne bottle, knowing exactly how this story ends.
"So this goes on for about two or three days, mind ya, not weeks or months. Days. And Darry's had enough. So he goes out in the front yard and rounds up every piece of dog shit, bare-handed cause he ain't afraid of getting his hands dirty. He walks right up to Kenny's porch, knocks on the front door and when Kenny opens it all wide-eyed and confused, Darry hands those turds right over and says, 'I believe these belong to you'."
Howls of laughter echo in the house, even Val cracks a giggle as I will her to ride that wave.
Soda leans back in his chair, face red from his guffaw, watching Darry who can't help but wipe the tears from his own eyes and then shrug his shoulders like nobody should be surprised. I press my thumb against the cork as controlled as I can so it doesn't go flying, but I get a little too caught up in the laughter and it pops off with a noisy but only brief explosion, followed by a quick shriek from Debbie.
A plate falls and crashes to the floor, and Soda drops to his belly right along with it, hands thrown over his ears. The pop fizzles through the air and dissipates immediately, he's only in position for a second before he looks up at the rest of us, instantly trying to diffuse that discombobulated look in his eyes.
My stomach roils at this, so I glance over at Darry who's looking back at me, trying to hide his own uneasiness as we both search for something to say.
Maddie, the quietest of us all, erupts into hearty laughter after a couple of seconds. It works to ease the debilitating silence ever so slightly. Marley starts to cry from that handmade play pen across the dining room by the couch from the commotion.
Grace is the first to push herself out from the table and meet him on the floor, the first to know how to respond in such an unsettling moment, and she starts to brush the mashed potatoes from off of his shirt that he landed on in his dive for cover. "Y'alright, babe?" She asks.
"Use enough dynamite there, Butch?" He jokes, looking up at me, even gives me a wink since humor is one of his best shields, but this is a long ways away from being forgotten.
"Sorry, Soda, I was listening to the story..." I say, still holding the neck of the bottle, frozen in the same spot in the kitchen and feeling a bit like I just shouted the sacredly kept secret off of the rooftops for all to hear.
He shakes his head as he pushes himself up and forces a grin "I'm just kidding, Pony. Just wasn't expecting it is all."
He makes his way in a confused stagger towards the playpen, Grace watching her from her spot on the ground as he does, holding her hands together on her lap with an expression that is equal parts exhausted, frustrated and heartbroken. The rest of the room remains absorbed in the quiet. Darry finally gets up to fetch the dustpan from the pantry and I set the bottle down to help him with the shards of ceramic that scattered across the ground like landmines.
Soda bounces the crying Marley on his hip, shushing her ever so sweetly, but her cries don't die down in the least bit. Grace stands up with Darry's help, sighing to herself as if we weren't all there watching.
"It's okay, my little Mars Bar." Soda whispers to Marley, pressing his lips to her red and wet cheeks, but her little fingers reach out towards Grace, beckoning her closer, like she's calling out for help.
God I wish one of us would figure something to say, but we all keep watching this tragic scene unfold as Grace approaches him, and near forces him to hand over their baby who won't have any of him. He hesitates at first, but when she stops and her maternal hackles go up, he gives in and passes her over.
"Go change your shirt, baby, I got us covered in here." Grace says, but even with her cordial words, I can hear the disappointment in her voice that maybe this isn't the first time they've done this. Soda watches the two of them for a moment as Marley begins to quiet down, clutching her arms around Grace's neck tightly.
"Phew." Debbie comes in right on time, even if her smile is a bit rigid, we're all grateful to her attempt, "How about that construction a couple blocks off of Holly, huh? Takes me an extra twenty minutes to get anywhere on the strip. Anyways, what was it we were talking about, Val?"
In the background of a new established conversation, Soda and Grace bicker in whispers before Soda retreats back to their room, I hope just to change his shirt.
"I was just saying how in a job like ours, you see that the truth tends scavenge its way to the light, one way or another." Val says, under her breath and a bite of turkey. Debbie's still focused on re-centering the conversation, so only Darry's heard it, and he eyes Val a bit, but we're all just working to sweep everything back under the rug no matter how high the mound underneath is getting.
Pony's eyes are still on the horizon and the setting sun that closes another day. With harsh light and defined silhouettes, this time of day feels the most intense. I wonder if that's why Pony's always liked it so much. The fence across the yard casts jail-like shadows on the grass and all the way across Pony and I on the porch. "Any luck with the Personnel Records Office?" I ask.
"I have a list of names and numbers from his division. Nobody's gotten back to me yet. I'm not sure if anyone will, to be honest. Sounds like a lot of the information is out of date now." He fights the shoulder slump that follows, probably thinks I don't notice it, but I do. "Do you believe it?" He asks me. It takes me a minute to decipher that he's said 'it' instead of 'him', as if it's easier to assign blame to our brother's actions instead of the man himself.
"You mean that he's forgotten it all, just like that?"
Pony nods.
"Whatever gets him to being better is fine by me, lie or no lie." I respond, "But no, I imagine it isn't all true. And I imagine it isn't that simple."
Pony nods again.
"You're doing good, Pony." He looks back up at me a little surprised with green eyes that pack a punch. The dynamicity of golden hour brings out a certain intensity about my youngest brother, something that's been true for him always but sometimes takes the right moment for me to see. "You're doing right by Soda, he's a lucky son of a bitch to have you, and we just gotta keep on this road until something else makes sense."
He nods hesitantly at first, but then with conviction, I think it must've been what he needed to hear. These days I try to build him up in any way I can since Soda hasn't been so good at doing that for him lately.
"You too, Dar," he finally responds. "I mean it." I feel better too at that, because guilt's a powerful thing that can swallow you whole if you let it, and I never should've left this fight even for a second. I guess we're both bound by the turbulent tides of our middle brother. Perhaps he is the linchpin of us three, which I'll never understand how someone so ever-changing could have been given that responsibility.
"Everything still seems so scrambled up, Darry." Pony begins, but the screen door slaps against the side of the house and out waltzes our very own linchpin, completely uncorked.
"They kicked me out of the kitchen." He says of the women, already joking and throwing his hands up, shaking his head like it's shocking when it's anything but. "I know how to wash a dish, it ain't so hard. Wow... helluva sunset, Pone, look at that."
"I've seen you take on dirty dishes, Soda," I say as he's watching that orange sunset dim behind the trees. "Soap's a necessity, not an add-on."
Soda smiles, then reaches into his pocket to pull out his box of cigarettes and pats his shirt and pants in search of the lighter, finding in the breast pocket of his new button up.
"Y'all still ain't smoking, huh?" He asks, offering us a stick from the box. I shake my head firmly, six years and counting and I'm not about to jump the train now. Pony shakes his head too, but then gives in and reaches for one anyways. I eye him a bit, trying to remind him that he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to, but he doesn't see me.
"How's Val doing in there?" Pony's voice is a bit soft. The light from Soda's flame to his face brightens up his eyes as they bounce from the flicker of the cigarette to Pony.
"That woman's got a lot to say, don't she?" He says, flipping the cap of his zippo over the flame. "She sure don't like me very much, that's for certain."
Pony's green eyes dart to me for my input, something that catches me by surprise since my council's hardly ever sought by him so directly.
"You weren't kidding when you said she's intense," I say, and he stiffens up ready to debate it out until I back it up with, "But fire don't have to be a bad thing."
"Boy ain't that the truth. Fire can be fun." Soda's the only one to laugh since we're all the ones getting burned. "What is it you like about her?"
"She tells it like it is." Pony says with zero hesitation, "Honesty isn't such a bad thing. Sure is something us three could get better at." His gaze is on Soda, but not with the adoration it usually holds. Soda doesn't miss a beat.
"Gee, Pony, I wasn't trying to rag on your girl. Just trying to figure you two. You're my little brother, I'm never gonna think someone's good enough for you."
"You think all this other shit's been good enough for any of us?" Pony widens his stance and the floorboards creak beneath him, tired and worn like the young man they hold above them. He doesn't need to clarify what he means by that. "She's been the silver lining to a lot of shit lately."
"She is?" Soda frowns that frown he reserves for Pony, one that is full of curiosity and empathy, which is how it can disguise his words as kind even if they're not. "I really pushed you away, didn't I?" Pony stiffens again, even though Soda's never meant any harm on our little brother, ever. Maybe it's among the things Soda's brain has forgotten since the incident, maybe he's really been too consumed to notice how Pony's hanging by his fingernails at the edge of Soda's world. Usually Soda misses nothing.
"Aren't you still pushing me away?" He says it with stiff posture, but still so tenderly, as tenderly as you can accuse someone of building another lie to keep you out.
I find myself in the isolation of their silence, a place I've never found myself before because in the few times Pony and Soda get into it, it's all but a quick flame, tamed by an apology that's quickly accepted. I could all at once applaud Pony for finally sticking up for himself against his very own superhero, and at the same time remind him what he's been reminding me, that Soda hasn't thought clearly in a while. That we have to wait for more information before we can proceed on this marathon. Sometimes Pony leans on the sprinter side of himself too much.
Soda puts a hand on Pony's shoulder, quick to massage it comfortingly like that alone could undo the thousand other things that tense those muscles. "Pony, I ain't trying to push anyone away, least of all you two."
Pony's got more to say but I guess doesn't find a way to say it. Soda balls up his fists in front of him like he's ready to fight someone, I'm not sure who, I'm not sure he is either.
"I don't remember anything, and hell, maybe that ain't such a bad thing given how many people came back as fucked up as they are." Soda's voice isn't so strong, and yet, for the first time I actually believe he's telling the truth. Now that I'm looking into his irises, I can see there's a blankness in the spots that used to hold nightmarish realities. Still, problems remain unresolved and punishable, even if they're forgotten. What happens when he comes to that crossroad?
"Y'all, I ain't got to be at the station for a few more hours. What's say Pony and I drive our ladies home and we go for a drive down to the country and talk under the stars like old times? It's been a long year and we could use to be on the same page."
"I ain't using, Darry." Soda comes in so quick, if we were 10 years younger I'd have smacked him upside the head for giving lip that stings like that.
"You don't got to be using for me to be worried about you." He backs off at that, maybe that was exactly what he'd needed to hear. "You know a little something about loving and losing, and Pony and I came awful close to that just a few weeks ago."
"I wish I had something more to tell you." He responds.
The porch door opens and out walks Val, purse thrown over her shoulder and Debbie trailing close behind. "It was nice to meet you Val, hope to see you again soon!" Neither Deb or I are good at a lie, but I have to give her props for trying. Val gives an attempt at a smile over her shoulder, but continues on towards Pony.
"Kitchen's clean. You ready to go home?" She says abruptly, but with some cordiality I can see she's desperately grasping towards. "I have some research to do before tomorrow's column is published."
Pony looks at Soda, "What do you think, Soda? You want to take that drive? I could be back in just a few minutes."
Soda scratches his head, "Y'all should get some rest. I'm sure you got a busy day ahead of you."
"Never too busy for a walk under the stars." Pony tries again, the hope in his eyes near devastating to me, knowing that a shut down from Soda hurts the worst.
Sure enough, Soda says nothing and shuts it down.
"Last chance, buddy." I offer, plead, really. He doesn't look away from Val, just shakes his head.
"Put me down for a rain check."
Grace and I wave from the porch as the cars drive away, Pony and Val first, and then Debbie and Darry behind. Without a word, Grace goes inside, her walk quick and determined in silence, which is how I know something's gotten under her skin today. I pray it was Val, and not me this time.
Thank God the constellations are visible tonight. It's always been night that I feel the safest. I let the smile go, climb out of the skin and bones I've been renting out all day, and sit on the steps of the porch to think.
I know they don't believe me. I know everyone's trying to figure if I'm putting up another act. But I'm not lying this time. There's so much up there that's just blank, like it's been blown to smithereens.
I can feel those memories down deep in my gut. I don't know what they hold, but I know it's not something I want to work towards uncovering. And if this evening's incident with the champagne is any indicator, they're lying and wait. Nightmares of that caliber don't prey on the innocent, and I'm not so eager to remember what I've done to deserve these kinds of hauntings. For now I'll stay safe in the dark.
When did I become such a coward?
I look through the window at Grace bobbing Marley on her hip as she finishes the kitchen.
I go inside to face the light and warmth of my girls, little by little.
My racing thoughts are quickly muted by the piercing ring of the telephone just inches from my ear. With hazy vision, I eye the clock, surprised it's already one in the morning, and wonder who might be trying to reach me at this hour on a holiday no less.
"Hello?"
"Ponyboy Curtis?" The voice on the other line is deep and weathered, one I don't recognize.
"Speaking." I push myself to a sitting position. "Who is this?"
"I got your messages, I was out of town... I was going to call you tomorrow." I count the three seconds of silence, "I'm sorry it's so late, I just couldn't shake this feeling that it couldn't wait until morning..."
"Who is this?"
The pause is deafening. "My name is James. I fought overseas with your brother."
"James... Crawford?" I ask, heart racing as I near knock over the nightstand lamp to reach for the notepad that lies next to it that's scribbled with all my unanswered questions from the last several months.
"Speaking."
Vietnam 1967
"I can't hold them all Curtis!" Finally belts from my lungs and without looking up at me or the men, eyes still on Parson's corpse, he stands upright, pulls his rifle from around his should and fires a single shot at Parson's failed grenade, and it explodes by the feet of the enclosing enemy, demolishing not only their existence but the two little village huts around where they'd tried to use as cover.
I'm over to them quick, Parson's eyes wide and empty in a lifeless stare as Curtis is working to mount the dead boy on his shoulders.
I tell him to leave him, that we've got to take cover, that he's already gone.
"I can't leave him, Crawford, he's my brother!" His voice is angry, protective, confused. My blood boils because nobody deserves this kind of torment and disorientation, least of all this eighteen-year-old just trying to get home to what's left of his family.
I set the record straight, remind him that Ponyboy's back at home, that Parson's loss sucks, but it's not the same as losing his own, real little brother he loves so much. I tell them they're alive, because I'm not sure he can work reality out in his mind just yet. And in a few moments of gunfire raining down around us in this exposed field, he finally ditches that heap of flesh and runs with me to take cover behind a cluster of bamboo plants where we can see and shoot, but can't be seen or be shot.
In a matter of minutes, the fire from the other side ceases, a smaller mission than most. As small as anything can be when the loss of human life is involved.
We'd only lost one, and though Parson was the youngest of us all, it could've been much worse, I've seen it be much worse. Parkinson and Liniewicz retreat from their cover ever so cautiously with guns ready for more fire we're all sure won't come.
The smoke clears pretty quickly and the little village looks pretty intact for what could've been. All that didn't make it appears to be those two huts that Curtis's grenade took out.
Curtis is already back over to Parson, grabbing his tags and the 'final' note that he'd stashed for his family, though now it's ripped apart and bloodied, Curtis tucks it in his pocket nonetheless, his duty to a fallen brother.
There's a sudden cry from the distance by the demolished huts, and all our heads and weapons go up quickly to examine the blurry distance.
A little girl sits by the debris of the huts, crouched next to two lumps of something that takes me a minute to put together must be bodies. Not just the bodies of anyone, though. Her parents. Both unmoving and breathless, taken as swiftly by the explosion of the grenade as Parson was by those bullets. The little girl doesn't look for help, she just reaches for them, a sudden orphan, and more of the villagers who'd come out of their shelters start to make their way towards her, too.
Curtis stands abruptly, his eyes wide in terror as he's putting it all together. Absorbed, he drops his rifle on the wet grass and starts to run towards her, it's then that I realize it's that same little girl he'd given the Lemon Head to just a couple of days ago. Liniewicz is quick enough to grab him before he can make it far enough to draw attention. As far as anyone knows, either side could've been responsible for this accident and we best leave it that way. But it pains me no less as Curtis is hardly able to stand anymore, as he sobs in guilt, in self hatred, leaning heavily against Liniewicz who's a big enough guy to have no problem holding up this young kid's lean frame.
"It's alright, Sodapop." Liniewicz says, first to use a first name in a while, because the kid's usual nickname 'Sugar Rush' just doesn't seem so appropriate right now. "It isn't your fault." He says it because any of us would've done the same thing, but Soda's falling to his knees now. An orphan mourning a newly orphaned, something I myself have blessed enough not to understand, but it aches to watch either way.
We may as well have lost two today. I've seen this before, this boy will be forever fractured.
Author's Note:
'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' by Elton John (1973) is the song playing at the very beginning with Val and Pony in the car, sort of supposed to be a reflection of Pony's thoughts on his life in the big city.
'Annie's Song' by John Denver (1974)
"Use enough dynamite there, Butch?" is from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid from 1969
S.E. Hinton owns pretty much everything here :)
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