I came up silently behind her and wrapped my hand around one of the black, metal bars that make up the gate in front of the cemetery. Her eyes were focused on something far off into the cemetery, so she didn't seem to notice my presence.
"You got somebody in there?" I asked.
She didn't respond.
"The cemetery, I mean," I clarified, "Someone you know buried in there?"
Still, no response.
I rolled my eyes in annoyance and followed her gaze out into the graveyard.
I could almost see Johnny's grave from here. I hadn't been up-close to the small, cheap tombstone since the funeral- the funeral that the gang and I had barely paid for, putting all of our money together. His parents made it obvious that they wanted nothing to do with it. They didn't even show up to their own son's funeral. If only I could get my hands on those stupid, little…
I didn't notice how tight my grip on the metal bar was getting until it sent a shooting pain up my arm. Automatically, my hand went straight to the point on my chest where the all-too-recent bullet mark was. The cop's bullet had just missed my heart, the doctor had said. I'm lucky to be alive, apparently. Really, I'm just lucky not to be locked up again. The doctors told the cops to go easy on me because the weapon I'd pulled wasn't loaded and they also said to consider my - what had they called it? - current stressful situation. Yeah, that hadn't made the fuzz too happy, but they decided to let me off easy anyway. Not that I could think about any of this. I don't remember that day very clearly. The only thing that my mind would process was the fact that Johnny was dead. Gone. Forever.
It hadn't been until a day or two after that I had begun to notice everyone else again. Stevie was real quiet. Soda was cryin'. Two-Bit was cryin', too. And Pony, man.. That kid was all kinds of torn up. You could even see tears in Darry's eyes if you looked real close. Course, they all came to visit me in the hospital, but not a whole lotta talking got done. Most of us just sat around and smoked until the doctors and nurses had to kick them out and take my cigarettes. Things were this way for a few weeks. In fact, now, almost 3 months later, things were just startin' to settle again. For everyone but me, it seemed like.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, and reached into my back pocket to grab my pack of smokes when Hallie finally spoke up.
"I thought I told you smoking was a bad habit?" She said, looking up at me with a hint of a smile.
I shot her a scowl and reached back to get my cigarettes anyway.
"What was that about last night?" I asked, lighting up, "You some kind of pick-pocket or something?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her smile widen.
"Why don't we take another walk and I'll let you know."
I rolled my eyes and threw my head back in annoyance. Here we go again with the walking.
"Is there a particular reason you can't tell me right here?" I asked, "What is with you and taking walks?"
"I like to take walks," she said simply.
I rolled my eyes and blew out a gust of smoke from my cigarette.
"Well?" She asked, blinking innocently.
I sighed and put the box of cigarettes back in my pocket. Whatever. I needed to get away from this gravesite in any case. I shrugged and followed her as she began walking back to the Greaser territory area. The graveyard, along with a lot of other public places (like the library, shopping center, and central park), were all in the 'middle class' side of town. Basically, it was between the borders. Socs and Greasers both came here at the same time, but never made much contact.
"We used to be poor," Hallie said out of nowhere.
"What?" I asked.
"We used to be real poor," she repeated, "So I had to steal. To get food, money, whatever. That's where I learned to take your cigarettes like that."
"Oh," I said. I never would of guessed that, coming from this chick who dressed in designer clothes and lived in a good neighborhood.
"Yeah," she continued, "We were homeless a few times, up until I was old enough to get my own job."
"Impressive," I muttered, sarcastically.
"I wasn't trying to be," she said, suddenly serious.
I laughed.
"It was a joke, sweetheart," I said.
"Okay," she said, "what is with all this 'sweetheart' and 'darlin' stuff. I have a name you know."
I stared at her blankly.
"Hallie..?" She said, seeing if it would ring some sort of bell in my head. It did.
"Whatever you say, babe," I smirked, knowing that it would tick her off.
Instead of getting angry and walking off (like most girls eventually end up doing with me) she smirked and rolled her eyes. Good, I thought, She's not the whiney, angry type.
Sylvia had given me enough of that garbage to last me a lifetime and a half.
"So where are we walking to, exactly?" I asked.
She shrugged.
"Wherever," She said.
A smirk grew on my face without my permission.
"You ever been to Buck's?" I asked.
The music was loud and the place was packed. It was only 5:30 when we got there, but the party had already started. I pulled Hallie through the door and walked her up to the bar. Buck was there, filling up someone's cup and hading it to them. When he saw Hallie and I coming, he stopped what he was doing and waved to me.
"Hey, there, Dally!" He said, "What'll it be for you two tonight?"
I took a bill out my back pocket and slid it across the counter.
"Two beers," I said.
He nodded and turned to get the bottles when Hallie stopped him.
"I don't drink," she shouted over the loud music.
"What?" I asked.
"I don't drink!" She shouted even louder.
"Fine," I grumbled, "A beer and a water."
Buck smirked and turned to get our drinks.
So much for getting her drunk, I thought.
We both took our seats on the stools in front of the bar. I was about to ask her why she didn't drink when I heard a familiar voice call out.
"Winton !" Tim Shepard called.
I spun stood up and turned to face him.
"What?" I shouted over the music as he began walking closer.
He looked angry and drunk - never a good combination with him.
"I heard you denied my offer the other night," he said in a menacing voice.
"Yeah," I said, "I did. What's it to you?"
He laughed darkly and shook his head.
"Look, Winston, I don't make offers like that very often. So I get real testy when someone doesn't take me up on it, you dig?"
"Let it go, man," I said turning around to sit in my stool again.
That's when I felt his hand shove me.
"Let's settle this!" He yelled.
A small crowd was beginning to form around us.
My face was still turned away from him as I felt my fists tighten and my face scrunch up with anger. It must have been obvious, too, because I heard Hallie's voice from beside me.
"Dallas, let's go," she said softly.
I ignored her, finally spinning around to face Tim.
"Dallas!" She said again as I took a step forward.
Tim didn't need any other cue. He stepped towards me, closing the small distance between us and punched me in the face. I heard Hallie shriek as I steadied myself and threw a punch of my own at him. It went like this for a few seconds, just a simple back and forth until Tim reached into his pocket and grabbed a knife. Without hesitation, my hand went to my pocket, only to find it empty. I looked up at Tim and he looked mad. Usually, he would fight fair. He must be in a bad mood tonight.
Before I had time to react, I saw Tim's switchblade coming at me and felt a searing pain in my left shoulder.
I let out a small grunt of pain, but it was drown out by Hallies loud screaming. I looked up from the bloody mess on my shirt to see Tim running out of the room with a couple of his guys behind him.
"Are you okay?" Hallie asked frantically from beside me, touching my arm.
"Yeah," I groaned, but I was still holding the spot on my shirt where blood was seeping through.
"No you're not," she insisted, "You're coming with me."
I didn't put up a fight as she took my wrist and pulled me out the door. We began walking up the same sidewalk as we had last night on the way to her apartment.
"You sure you don't need a hospital?" She asked wearily.
I nodded stiffly.
"Okay," she said, "but you're coming back to my place. I have a first aid kit."
I didn't respond, I just let her pull me the rest of the way to her apartment.
When we got there, she took out her keys and unlocked the door. She didn't hesitate as she pulled me through the doorway and up the narrow set of stairs. Ironic, how this is how I intended for the night to end, me at her apartment, but now it was under completely different circumstances.
She pulled me straight into her bathroom and sat me down on her closed toilet seat.
"Take off your shirt," she ordered.
Despite the situation, I smirked.
"You could at least buy me dinner first," I joked.
She didn't seem to find it funny.
I sighed and pulled my shirt over my head, ignoring the pain it caused my cut.
By then, she already had her first aid kid out and open on the sink.
"This may hurt a little," she said after dousing a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. She touched the ball lightly to my cut and looked at my face for a reaction. It burned but I didn't show it on my face. It wasn't bad compared to actually getting the cut. When she was confident that she wasn't hurting me too bad, she rubbed a little bit harder, wiping all the blood away from the area.
"I don't think you'll need any stitches," she said, throwing the reddened cotton ball into the trashcan, "But you will need to bandage it up."
She got out some gauze and medical tape and began to work over me. I admired the look of concentration on her face as her hands busily moved.
"Were you a Civil War nurse in another life or something?" I asked with a chuckle.
She smiled a little bit, not looking away from her work.
"No," she said, "I do want to be a nurse, though."
I nodded, wincing a little bit as some of the tape got caught on my cut.
"Sorry," she mumbled absently.
Finally, a few seconds later, she stood up and admired her work proudly.
"There," she said, smiling, "All finished."
She leaned over to the sink and washed her bloody hands off.
"Uh, thanks," I muttered as I bent over to grab my bloodied shirt.
"Oh," she said looking at my shirt, "Hold on, I'll be right back."
She left the room and I heard rustling in the room next to this one. She returned a few moments later, holding out a large, faded tee shirt out to me.
I looked at her in confusion.
"It was my dad's," she explained, "You need something clean to wear home."
"Oh," I said, "Thanks."
I took the shirt from her and put it on. It was a little loose on me, but it fit good enough.
It was quiet for a few seconds until she spoke up with a smile.
"You owe me," she said.
I raised my eyebrows at her.
She simply grinned back before shutting the bathroom light off and skipping down the stairs.
I followed after her. We both stopped when we were in the doorway.
"Tomorrow," she said, "meet me in that old lot down the street. 8 o'clock sharp."
She must have meant the lot that the gang and I go to sometimes.
My eyes must have shown reluctance because she looked at me sternly and crossed her arms.
"You owe me," she said again.
I sighed.
"Fine," I said.
She smiled.
"8 o'clock," she reminded me.
"8 o'clock," I repeated and walked out the door.