Several days later, I was looking around the local record shop. No one else was with me because they all had other things to do. Normally, Two-Bit would have come with he probably would have found a way to leave the store with a record tucked under his shirt without anyone seeing it, but he had to watch his sister. So I went by myself and decided to look through the Elvis records, wishing that I had enough money on me to buy one.
"Can I help you find anything?" The store owner asked as he walked up to me with a smile plastered on his face. But I knew he wasn't trying to be friendly store owners are rarely friendly towards greasers. I could tell by the way his eyes suspiciously looked at me. Like he was expecting me to take one of the records and run out the door with it or suddenly pull a gun out of my jeans jacket and demand that he give me all the money in the register.
"No thanks," I said as politely as I could, wishing that he didn't have to stare at me like he was. I had just as much right to be there as anyone else. "I was just looking."
The owner gave me one more suspicious glance before returning to his position behind the counter. I could feel his eyes on me as I went back to looking through the records. But I didn't stay long. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the owner staring at me like I was a criminal, it made me feel like I really was a criminal and I wanted to just hang my head in shame event though I knew I wasn't doing anything wrong.
As I was leaving, a mother and her young daughter who was probably four or five were walking in. I held the door open for them and while the mother muttered, "thank you," she took her daughter's hand and hurried inside giving me a look that was part fear and part disgust. The little girl turned and smiled at me and I smiled back. She had no idea what it was like to have people stare at you because you dress or look a certain way. The kid was still innocent and I hoped for her sake that she could stay that way. Maybe by the time she's fifteen like me, people will learn how to accept each other instead of feeling that they have to judge each other.
As I started to walk down the street, I noticed more people giving me looks that made me want to get out of there as quickly as possible. Looks that clearly showed that they expected me to do something bad. One elderly lady even held her purse to her chest like she was trying to keep a newborn baby from getting cold. I wouldn't have blamed them if Dally had been with me. But, I'm nothing like Dally. Just because I'm a greaser doesn't mean I'm going to rob stores or jump people. That's not who I am at all. I'd rather help people than cause harm.
"Hey grease!" Some soc yelled out a car window as it went past, and the driver honked a few times, causing others to look to see what was going on.
I felt my face get hot as I turned and looked at where the car was now turning. I wouldn't mind having a car like that. It was a tuff looking Mustang. A blue one and probably brand new from the looks of it. It could have been a birthday gift for the soc driving the car. From what I hear, the socs have all kinds of money and can have anything they want. Their lives seem perfect compared to mine and my friends, I wonder if it's true.
After a minute or two of just standing there, I turned and continued to walk home. Knowing that I'd probably end up going somewhere else instead like the vacant lot or one of my friend's homes. I guess a small part of me hopes that I can go home for once and have a decent meal, maybe even a normal conversation with my folks, but I know it won't happen. Still, it would be nice.
The only time my parents ever acknowledge me is if they're hollering at me or if my old man is beating me with something. Sometimes I wonder if they care about me, even just a little, or do they only think that I'm some burden that they can't wait to get rid of. I told Dally this once and he made some comment about how he didn't care about what his folks thought so why should I care about what mine think? Maybe I care about what my folks think because I want them to accept me. I want them to care about me and maybe tell me that they love me once in a while. Unlike Dally, I can't go through life not caring about what people think. Especially when it comes to my folks or the gang. I care about them too much to not care about what they think.
I think that's why I like spending time with the Curtis family. Sure things weren't alway's perfect for them either, but at least they're not like my family. I don't think I've ever seen Mr. or Mrs. Curtis ever hit any of their kids. Sure, I've seen them get mad, usually when Soda brings home an F or the time when Soda and Steve got caught skipping school so they could go to the stables. But, I've never seen them raise a hand to hit anyone. Even Steve has commented on how their family is nice compared to his. I know that the Curtis family is far from being the Cleavers on 'Leave it to Beaver' but for myself, Steve and even Dally, who would never admit it out loud, they are probably the closest thing to the ideal family that we will ever know. I probably wouldn't know what a caring family was like if I wasn't friends with Ponyboy and Sodapop.