1963

I realize now why Soda loves the Rodeo. He likes the crowd, an adoring audience witnessing everything he does. The danger is also something that would appeal to my older brother, I realize, as I watch some guy's horse throws him every which way. Of course, this would appeal to Sodapop. Every bit of the rodeo is action.

It's fun coming to watch him and Dal. With Sodapop being an adrenaline junkie and Dal just being plain crazy. They're always trying to outdo one another, trying to prove their the best.

"I don't like this." My mother is clutching my father's hand so tight I think she might break it. She's repeated herself five times already, and Soda hasn't even ridden yet.

"Don't worry about it, Lily." My dad's southern accent is thick, but he sounds happy. Dad used to ride in Rodeo's until Mom made him quit, she said she didn't like the idea of Darry growing up without a dad. Dad flashes his iconic grin. "Our boy will do great."

"I agree with mom." The words don't shock me, but the fact that they came out of Darry's mouth does. He's always encouraging whatever hair-brained idea Soda's come up with. He squeezes my shoulder. "Thank god, we don't gotta worry about you."

I don't know whether to take it as a compliment or as an insult. Does he mean he's glad I don't do dangerous things? Or is he taking a jab at me, implying that I'm boring? I know I'm overthinking it, so I just smile.

It's weird being here with just my family. Normally, the guys come out, and we make a big thing of it. Today, however, everyone has something keeping them at home. The voice of God (the announcer) looms over the stadium. "Now up, Dallas Winston. A Tulsa boy with a record a mile long."

The gates open and the horse starts bucking, throwing Dally in every which direction. I don't know how he manages that because I think I'd get sick.

My mother gaps when Dally's flung off the horse, hitting the ground, hard. I wince, and so does Darry. That looked like it hurt. Unlike some other cowboys, who just lie on the ground for a minute, Dal hops up. There's a smile on his face.

I've only seen one other thing that'll make Dallas Winston smile, and I mean really smile. Johnny.

Dally walks off, flipping off my brother as he does so. Soda gives him a nice punch to the shoulder and the greaser handshake.

"Now, another Tulsa resident. Crowd Favourite, Sodapop Curtis." Everyone's used to the crazy name now, and they all cheer once it's said.

Unlike Dallas, Sodapop's a showman. He waves at us, then glances around the rodeo, smiling. His cowboy hat's placed back on his head and the gate opens. The horse bolts like a bat outta hell.

I love watching the rodeo, but I think it takes a special kind of crazy to love riding in it. And I know, watching this horse throw my brother every which way, he's got that crazy. Only Sodapop would be grinning as a horse did all it could to throw him off.

"Look, Lily... He's fine." My dad's grinning ear to ear, watching his boy ride that horse. I don't think my dad's ever heard of tempting fate.

—

I don't usually agree with mom when it comes to Soda's antics, but today is an exception. I don't like it when he's riding, having seen too many people come out in ambulances.

I'm glad Ponyboy's got more sense. Sitting here on the sidelines where I can watch him and make sure he's ok. He's always been the easy brother, and on rodeo days I love that he never does anything.

My dad makes some comment about him being fine to my mother and I want to hit him. Doesn't he know you don't tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing? (I didn't really listen in church). But of course, he doesn't because he doesn't listen either.

And the whatever is not impressed, but it's not my dad he sets his wrath on. The horse rams up against the wall and Soda loses his balance. His foot gets caught in the stirrup and the horse loses it's mind, dragging my brother around the ring. Everyone's watching, horrified because no one can step in and help him. Soda's trying and failing to get his foot unhooked. It's another minute before Finally, mercifully, gets his foot out and hits the ground.

Like Dallas, Soda's not one to wallow on the ground. Hell no. He jumps up right after he's done and walks off smiling. I hear everyone in my family let out a sigh of relief because he's moving and getting up. His weight's barely put on anything before he eats the dirt again.

My dad's already taking off towards the railing and I ain't far behind. Before I jump it I turn back around to face my brother. "Ponyboy, stay there. He's gonna be fine."

For once in his life, he listens to me and sits there, talking mom down from jumping the rail herself. But I can't focus on that right now, and I follow my father over the railing.

It's painfully obvious that his shoulder's dislocated once I get close enough. It's why he collapsed when trying to get up, he tried to put weight on his arm.

I'm wondering what happened to the horse, but I only have to look to my left to answer that question. Dally's calmly leading it back through the gate, away from my brother.

I'm on my knees in the dirt next to Soda. He's on his back now, looking over at me. No one wanted to get him to stand since his ankle looks pretty twisted too.

"You've dislocated your shoulder, little buddy."

He groans. "I think I got that... At least tell me I looked cool."

Of course that's what my fourteen-year-old brother is worried about. I laugh a little and smile. "Yeah, buddy. You were doin' real good until you fell off."

He tries to grin. "Tough."

One of the medics looking at his foot moves away and pulls our dad to the side. They talk in hushed tones, making sure Sodapop can't hear. The medic gestures to the foot and the conversation seems to pick up.

Soda gives me a resigned look. "That was my last rodeo, wasn't it?"

His suspicions are confirmed two hours later sitting in an emergency room cubicle thingy. A second-degree tear in his ligament and a dislocated shoulder. The doctor advises against riding in rodeos and dad flat out forbids it.

Sod'as expression mirrors the one he gave me lying on the dirt at the rodeo. It's resigned and devastated, and I would do anything to wipe it off his face.

It's irrational, but I'm mad at my dad. He's the reason my brother has this exp[ression on the face. Maybe if he hadn't tempted the wrath of the whatever on high atop the thing, we wouldn't be here and Soda would still be grinning.

The stupid whatever on high atop the thing.

Alright, so I have a confession to make... The line "tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing" does not belong to me, it belongs to

Aaron Sorkin. It was said by a character on The West Wing and I really liked it, so I decided to put it in a story. Then the story kind of went off that. So, thank you Aaron Sorkin for your amazing writing.

Big thanks to everyone who keeps reading and reviewing! love you guys!