"Get me another beer, boy," That was probably the closest my father ever got to speaking to me at home. The few times we did do something together, and believe me there are only a few, he'd try to make small talk so he'd look like a good father. Usually, the only time we went anywhere together was when there was some meeting of Cherokee Indians taking place.

Both of my parents are full blodded Cherokee Indian. I guess that makes me a Cherokee, too. I don't have much interest in the meetings or my family's history. But, my father always insists that I go with. Our Cherokee back ground is the only thing he takes pride in.

I handed my father a cold bottle of beer from the ice box only to have it shoved back into my hand.

"Are you stupid?" My father snapped. "Open it before giving it to me."

I removed the cap from the bottle, cutting my finger on the cap's metal edge. Then, I handed the beer back to my father who took a drink and grumbled something about how my mother should return homeand make dinner soon because he was ready to eat. He took another drink and looked at me through narrowed eyes.

"You need to do something about that hair, boy. It makes you look like a slob," My father said.

I reached up and touched my heavily greased hair. it was getting long and always ended up in my face, but I liked it the way it was.

"It looks like you haven't washed it in weeks," My old man commented. "You put so much junk in it."

"It's hair grease," I mumbled.

"Grease?" He looked up at me. "Grease belongs on cars, not on hair. And look at your clothes. What the hell is wrong with you?"

I didn't respond. I knew my clothes had holes and stains, but my father's own clothing wasn't much beter. However, I knew better than to say that.

"Get me another beer," My fathe said, throwing the now empty bottle I had just given to him at me. I quickly moved out of the way, barely missing getting hit by the flying bottle which shattered against the wall just under the only picture of me that is visible in the entire house. In it, I'm probably two or three and I'm dressed like an Indian.

"Look at you, sitting there like this place will clean itself," My mother said walking inside the house.

"That's the woman's job," My fathe told her. "Hurryup and fix my dinner."

My mother glared at him. "Fix your own dinner!"

I started to leave the room; not wanting to endup in the midst of another argument. The last thing I wanted was to get hollered at or beaten. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough.

"And you," My mother said, pointing at me. "You are nothing but a mistake. Do you hear me? a mistake. Things would be better without you. You are a disgrace. Just like those hoods you spend time with. I wish I had never given birth to you."

She ws screaming as usual. I don't think she can talk any quieter and if she can, I never hear it. All she does at home is scream or yell.

The neighbors gave up on trying to convince my parents to control their behavior. Now, they just ignore the fighting and the shouting. If they can pretend that the stuff that goes on in my house isn't happening then they can go on with their own lives guilt free.

I'm glad my friends don't ignore what goes on at my place and as I finally managed to get out of the house, Steve just happened to be walking past. He slowed down so I could catch up with him. His eyes held an angry glare as he looked at my house and he was shaking his head.

"Glory Johnny, I don't know why you put up with that all the time," Steve told me once we were past my house. "I would have run away by now if I had to deal with that garbage."

Steve's home life wasn't much better than mine. His father says things about him like my mother says about me, and, Steve spends at least two nights a week at the Curtis' home. The only difference between our home lives was Steve's parent's didn't physically hurt him so he had no visible marks on his body. But I knew his father's words hurt him more than he showed. After all, I dealt with it myself. I don't always show others that I'm hurting, why should Steve?

"I've thought about it," I said softly as Steve lit up a cigarette and offered me one.

"Huh?" Steve looked at me as I lit the cigarette I had took.

"I've thought about running away," I said. "Many times."

"Why don't you?" Steve asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess there's a small part of me that wants to believe that my folks will stop their behavior and will say they're sorry."

Steve sighed. "My old man told me he was sorry three days ago and gave me five dollars. Only to tell me to get out and never come back again tonight."

I gave him a sympathetic look and he laughed. "What?"

"I should be giving you that sympathetic look, Johnny," Steve said. "Your home life is much worse than mine. Let's go see if we can stay at the Curtis' home tonight. Dally's with Tim Shephard tonight so I doubt he'll be around."

I remembered that I had told the others about Dally and me staying at Buck's the night before. It didn't surprise me that Dally would be with Tim; probably causing some sort of trouble. That's what Dally was known for and he liked it that way.

When we got to the Curtis' home, Steve opened the door and waited for me to go inside. We never have to knock at their place; although I sometimes do just in case. It was obvious when Steve and I walked in that they had just finished eating dinner, which was a reminder that I hadn't eaten since lunch.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in," Mr. Curtis said. "What brings you two here on this fine evening?"

Mrs. Curtis swatted his head with a dish towel and laughed. "Leave them alone, Darrel. You both need a place to stay, don't you?"

"Johnny can stay in my room," Ponyboy spoke up. He rinned at me and looked at his parents.

"Okay," Mrs. Curtisagreed. "But remember, it's still a school night. I don't want you up late talking."

"We won't," I promised.

Mrs. Curtis gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know you won't."

"Is Steve going to stay in our room?" Soda asked while pointing towards Darry.

Darry groaned. "No, you two will stay up all night and I have to go to work in the morning. I'd rather sleep in Pony's room with him and Johnny."

"I'm sorry, Soda, but your brother's right," Mrs. Curtis said. Besides, you have an English test tomorrow and need your rest."

"You can go do something together, though," Mr. Curtis said. "It's still early."

"Let's go to the Dingo," Soda said to Steve.

"You just ate!" Mrs. Curtis laughed as Soda and Steve walked out the door. She turned to me. "Did you eat dinner? There's some stew if you're hungry."

I walked to the kitchen where Ponyboy had gone to start his homework. and helped myself to the stew. Normally, I don't just help myself to someone else's food, even if they say it's okay. But I knew I could at the the Curtis' home. They would have insisted that I have some of the stew until I took some, anyway.

"What are you doing?" I asked Ponyboy as I sat down across from him.

"Algebra," Pony mumbled. He looked out the doorway and yelled, "Hey Darry, can you explain this to me?"

Darry walked into the kitchen and said to me, "Isn't that good stew, Johnny?"

I nodded as he sat down next to Ponyboy and went over the assignment with him. The two of them were soon laughing and talking about what they did that day and I wondered if I would have had that kind of relationship with my siblings if my parents had had more kids. But then I decided that it was probably a good thing that my folks didn't have more kids. I'd hate to think that someone else would have to go through what I do.

"Johnny, do you have homework?" Darry asked. "I could help you too, if you want."

I shook my head. "I left it at school. I get special help during my study hall, anyway."

I stood up and put the bol in the sink before going into the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were watching 'Lassie'. Mrs. Curtis was crotcheting something while she watched the television and patted the couch next to her when she saw me.

"You're stronger than you think, Johnny," Mrs. Curtis told me as I sat down. "You can get through anything."

I just looked at her. Wondering what she was talking about.

"Not many people can live in a house with parents like yours and not be angry themselves," Mrs. Curtis said. "Especially in this neighborhood. Trust me, Johnny,you're a strong person because of it. You might not think so, but you are."

I turned my atention to the television and thought about what Mrs. Curtis just said. She was right about me not feeling strong. I felt anything but strong. But she was also right about me not being angry. I was more sad with how my folks were than angry. I was disappointed that my folks weren't more like Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. But, I couldn't get angry with them. Even though there are times when I want to and should be angry with them.