Author's note: Sorry, guys, this'll be a short one. The next one's gonna be way longer to make up for it. I swear on Dally's grave. Either way, here ya go.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders or anything else
Chapter 3: Something Was Broken
SODAPOP'S POV
When I woke up, it was about ten. Ponyboy and Johnny were gone, and I could hear voices coming from the front room.
When I got up and padded, barefoot and shirtless, into the living room, the people talking paused. Ponyboy and Johnny were playing Crazy Eights at the kitchen table, which surprised me. They were usually playing poker. Darry was sitting on the couch, talking with a weirdo in a suit.
"Would this be Sodapop?" the guy asked. Darry nodded. The guy stood up and offered me his hand. As I shook it, he said, "Hello, Soda. I'm Carl Ludlow, I work for social services."
I nodded carefully. I suddenly understood why Johnny and Ponyboy were playing Crazy Eights instead of poker.
DARRY'S POV
Mr. Ludlow and I had everything worked out after about an hour. Soda and Ponyboy would continue to live with me as long as we all behaved. He told me he couldn't 'emphasize enough how fragile your situation is.' It sounded like the littlest thing could knock it all apart. He explained to me about all the responsibilities of running a house and taking care of two brothers - especially brothers like mine.
I hadn't liked the way he said that, with so much contempt in his voice he sounded like a soc. And the way he looked at Soda and Ponyboy right then, like they were the worst trash in the world, taking in their clothes - or lack of some items in Soda's case. It made me wanna punch his face in, but now wasn't the time.
So I responded instead with, "At least I ain't takin' care of Dallas Winston."
Mr. Ludlow shrugged. I had a point. While Dallas was my buddy and everything, I could only imagine what a nightmare it would be to be in charge of him. I almost felt sorry for his parents.
But then, as far as I knew, they hadn't really tried in the first place, and that was why he turned out like he did. At least, his old man. I didn't know much about his mother other than she was dead.
We also worked through funeral arrangements because, apparently, they'd made this guy handle those too. We'd talked about coffins and flowers and gravestones and locations and bits of land at the cemetery so long I wanted to slit my wrists, but finally we had it all figured out and set for Tuesday evening, two days from now. Finally, he left.
I started laughing quietly when Johnny and Ponyboy literally threw the Crazy Eights cards off the table and out into the room. Johnny reached in his pocket for a deck of face cards, and they got started on the poker game they'd wanted to play the whole time.
XxXxX
Two days later, I'd managed to get enough money to bail Dallas out so he could come to the funeral. None of us was looking forward to going, but we kinda had to. It'd be sorta weird if we didn't show.
I was all ready and came out into the living room. Two-Bit, Johnny, Dallas, and Steve were all sitting there, looking fancier than usual, but at different stages.
Two-Bit had got his hands on what I thought were his father's old slacks and white button up shirt.
Steve had managed to find a dress shirt somewhere, left it untucked, rolled up the sleeves, and moved on with his life.
Johnny'd gotten hold of a white shirt too, but it about swallowed him it was so big. He had taken the care to tuck it into his jeans, but he had to roll up the sleeves so he could have use of his hands. I assumed it was probably his father's as well.
Dallas, miracle of all miracles, had managed to dig a white shirt out of somewhere too. It didn't look as nice as the others, wrinkled so it resembled a wrung out washcloth and torn in some places. He wore a black t-shirt underneath, left it unbuttoned, and rolled up the sleeves, just like Soda usually wore his flannel shirts. But I felt touched all the same. Dallas was actually making an effort, and that meant a lot.
"Where're Pony and Soda?" I asked.
"Still back in their room." Steve answered.
"Why're they always so slow?" I muttered, heading back to check on them.
When I walked in, the room was a nightmare. Clothes and books and old hair grease containers littered the floor. Soda was trying to tie a tye looking at his reflection in the clock on the wall, and Ponyboy was at the closet door, still in the jeans he'd slept in the night before, throwing things everywhere. Now I knew why the world was such a mess.
Suddenly, Pony shouted "A-ha!" and pulled an old pair of slacks and a dress shirt from the very depths of the closet.
At the exact same time Soda gave the tye up as a bad job, ripped it in half, threw it out the open window, and screamed, "SCREW THIS!" Then he sat down hard on the bed, his head in his hands.
I'd never seen him like that, and I didn't much like it.
Ponyboy frozen in the act of taking his jeans off, was staring at Soda, mouth open slightly.
I went over and sat down next to Soda. I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed tight. "It's gonna be okay." I whispered. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but no matter what happens, it is gonna be okay."
He nodded, and slowly stood up.
I'd always admired this quality in Soda. His ability to look at something so hard and think to himself, 'this is reality. Like it or not, this is the life you live. Accept it and move on. The sooner you do that, the sooner you'll be happy.'
XxXxX
The funeral was a right nightmare.
I don't mean stuff went wrong or anything; I actually couldn't have asked for a smoother funeral. What I mean is that it was an emotional nightmare.
Ponyboy had just sat there sobbing, tears pouring down his face, and I wasn't sure if that kid was ever gonna be quite right again.
And Soda?
Well, something just seemed to snap inside him, and he broke down and bawled like a baby. I knew for sure he'd never be the same. Outwardly maybe, he'd keep being the same old Sodapop, but inside, in that place he kept hidden from everyone but himself, something was broken that I knew couldn't ever be fixed. And it made me sad.
I just stood there with my fists in my pockets, feeling desperate. The way I saw it, we'd never been in a worse fix. No parents, a fragile home situation, and my brothers emotional stability coming down like a house of cards.
Not to mention my own. I couldn't remember ever feeling even close to as bad as I felt right then. What were we gonna do?
What even was there to do?