Kathryn and Casey carried the cases of Pepsi-Cola into the house while I held the door open. The mood inside was quieter than it would have been if Johnny and Dallas were alive. Darry was reading the newspaper, probably worrying about my whereabouts, while Sodapop, Steve and Two-Bit played cards at the dining room table. I didn't see Ponyboy, so I just figured he was in his room, as usual.
"Hi Darry." Kathryn started the conversation when Darry jumped up from his chair. "Scout and Casey were with me. Sorry we were out so long. I brought some Pepsi for everyone." My brother took the case of pop from his girl and kissed her on the lips. I blushed at the affection, and Casey put the second case of pop on the coffee table.
"Casey! How are you doing?" Two-Bit yelled and stood up to greet my friend.
"Good to see you again." Steve added from his seat at the table.
I was glad for her, as she got reacquainted with the boys, but I preferred not to stay and chat. Instead, I went into the kitchen and searched for something to keep me busy, so I wouldn't think about my disappointment with Owen. I found the chocolate cake in the icebox and knew that would do the trick. I had never really liked chocolate cake until I began going through hormonal changes. It was then that I found out how well it can help you with your sorrows. I grabbed a fork out of the silverware drawer, and sat down on the floor with the cake plate sitting next to me.
My friend came through the doorway with a bottle of Pepsi in her hand. "You look like you could use a friend to help you eat all that chocolate cake." I held the fork up in her direction. Casey popped the cap off the soda bottle, and sat on the floor next to me. The two of us rested our backs against the kitchen cabinet doors. We sat quiet, and ate small bites of cake.
The sound from the boys in the dining room diminished, and Sodapop appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Everything okay?" I looked up at my brother and shrugged. A knock at the front door drew his attention away from me as he walked into the living room to see who it was.
I turned to Casey and handed her the fork. "I don't know if I did the right thing. Maybe I should have just minded my own business."
Casey dug into the cake with the fork. "I don't think you did anything wrong. You just wanted to help."
"Scout!" Soda yelled to me from the living room. "Owen's here to see you!"
My eyes grew wide. I looked to my friend who was shaking her head in dismay. "You said you were through with him. He wouldn't talk to you then, so you shouldn't talk to him now." Her reasoning made sense to me for the moment.
I sighed and stabbed the fork deep into the middle of the cake. "You're right. If he isn't going to talk to me about things in his life then I don't need him."
Casey yelled a response back to my brother. "Tell him she doesn't want to see him anymore!" Chatter in the house went silent. Even I could hear Sodapop's hesitation at the door then he repeated the message to the visitor. Owen's voice was muffled as he responded, and Sodapop slowly closed the front door.
I stared at the cracks in our kitchen wall and I could feel the questions building on the other side. Soda pitter patted back to the kitchen in his stocking feet, a frown on his face as he looked at me. "He left, but he wanted to give you a message. He told me to tell you, his mother."
Shock surged through my body as I realized Owen had come here to talk about what had happened to him and I had turned him away. I looked over at Casey who gritted her teeth and frowned because she recognized she had misled me. Just behind Soda I heard Kathryn quietly gasp.
Sodapop furrowed his brow with question and asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"
I scrambled to my feet. "Is he waiting for me? Is he still here?"
Soda looked over his shoulder at the front door. "I don't know? I think he left."
I pushed past the crowd in the doorway and sprinted to the porch. I stepped outside and noticed the truck on the other side of the street. "Owen?" I yelled and darted down the sidewalk to the shiny Chevrolet. "Owen wait!" I ran up to the truck, and Owen rolled the window down. With the help of the street lamp I could clearly see the large bruise on the side of his face. He did nothing to hide it. I leaned on the window ledge and pleaded. "Please don't go."
Inside the truck Owen stared straight ahead and simply said, "You wanted to know who hit me. It was my mother."
My heart sank upon hearing the answer again. I spoke gently. "Why? What happened?"
Owen leaned his head back against the headrest and a tear streamed down his cheek. He tried to stifle in his emotions. "It doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter that she did, or that she does. All that matters is I am just sick of hiding it. I'm sick of blaming the bruises on a football game. I'm sick of being scared to go home. I'm sick of feeling guilty because I wasn't home to protect my little sister from my mother's fits of rage." Owen wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve and cried out. "Scout, I am just so tired of it all!"
His words were eerie as memories of conversations with Johnny Cade returned to my mind. For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I had never considered that mothers on the south side of town would hit their kids too. I had assumed it was only low class drunks who participated in that crime.
"You're right." Owen said and looked me in the eye. "It's not fair that everything bad that happens to you I can read about, and anything that happens to me, you may never know unless I tell you. So, from now on I'm going to tell you all about it. I need to learn to trust you because I don't want to push you away."
"Owen, I am sorry I yelled at you."
"No, you did the right thing." Owen looked past me at my house then back to me. "Do you think we could go out tonight? Just the two of us."
Thinking about begging Darry for permission, I turned and looked at my house. I noticed the silhouettes of people watching from the window. Without consideration for my oldest brother's rules, I ran around to the other side of the truck, and slid across the seat, resting next to Owen. "Let's get out of here for awhile."
The boy's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" I shook my head yes, Owen stared the truck and pulled away. For a brief moment, I worried about Darry's impending wrath then I realized Kathryn and Casey were there to convince him to trust me.
Owen drove and spoke. "Scout, I want you to know, I've never told anyone about my mother's behavior."
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
"It's not that I think you will tell someone, it's … things are different on my side of town. What happens behind closed doors, stays behind closed doors. I guess what I am saying is that it's not uncommon for families on my side of town to have well guarded secrets. It's important to our image, in business and in the community. It wouldn't be good for people to know about my mother."
"I understand." I said, wishing I really did. It was hard to think of all the times I had seen Johnny pushed around by his mother right in front of everyone. I couldn't imagine a sweet boy, like Owen, having a mother as mean as Johnny's mother was. "What does your father do about all of this?"
"My dad?" Owen laughed a little in disgust. "My dad sticks up for her most of the time. He's the one who comes in afterwards to pick up the pieces. He buys my sister, Olivia, and me things and begs us to forgive her for what she's done. I asked him once why they stay together and he told me it was because of his wedding vows, for better or worse, till death do we part. He takes that last part really serious."
"I guess you'd have to admire him for that, but she's hurting her own children. How can he tolerate that?"
"First of all, it doesn't happen as often as you might be thinking. She usually only gets really bad every few months. Secondly, it's because he loves her. He once told me he loves her so much he couldn't imagine living with out her. No matter how drunk she gets or how hurtful she is to us, he just makes excuses for her. He tells me I don't understand her pain." Tears collected in Owen's eyes and he blurted out. "They're not the only one's in pain!"
I had no idea what Owen was talking about, but I could tell he was hurting. I moved closer to the boy, wrapped my arms around his shoulder, and wiped a tear from his cheek. Our drive took us to the gates of the cemetery where my parents were buried, and where Owen was working earlier in the evening. I picked my head up from where I was resting it on the young man's broad shoulder. "What are we doing here?"
"You want to get to know me better, right?"
"Sure."
"There's someone here I want you to meet." Owen drove to the section of the cemetery where the marble and granite headstones stood as tall, or taller than him. He climbed out of the truck and held the door open for me. We walked, hand in hand, through the freshly trimmed grass to a tall, stately piece of rock. I notice the last name chiseled in large letters. JASPER.
"Scout…" Owen's voice cracked and his eyes were filled with sorrow. "This is my brother, Oliver."
The shock of the introduction knocked me back a step then I looked closer at the nameplate on the headstone. Oliver Joseph Jasper, born June 28, 1950, died October 12, 1961. Suddenly, I understood how hard each day must be for Owen. "He was your twin brother."
The muscles in the young man's face tightened as he fought back tears and nodded his head. "Oli?" He said to the stone, inhaled his emotions and stood tall. "This is Scout. She's the girl I've been telling you about for the past few months." Owen cracked a smile. "Pretty. Isn't she?"
I turned to Owen and wrapped his lean body in my arms. Immediately, he let go of his emotions like a child. Together we sat down in the cool grass and wept. I waited a few minutes then cautiously asked. "How did he die?"
Owen pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his arms on them. "Do
\you want to know what the papers said, or do you want the truth?"
I pulled a few of his long bangs away from his eyes and calmly spoke. "I want to know what you want me to know."
"Officially, it was an accident that my dad took the rap for. The story on record was that my dad was backing the car down the driveway when my brother rode on his bike into the path of his car. In fact, my dad has told that story so many times, I think he believes it."
"Do you know what really happened?" I asked.
"Hell yeah I know! My dad was no where near the car when it happened!" Owen blurted out, not meaning to yell at me. "Oliver and I were outside because Mom and Dad had been fighting inside for hours. My mom had arrived home that morning, smelling of a cologne my dad never wore. She spent the morning drinking and denying everything. She was sick of arguing with my dad so she decided to get out of the house in a hurry.
See, we have this driveway that makes a circle and Oli and I were racing. He was ahead of me, cause he was always faster than me." Owen laughed a little at the memory then his eyes went ice cold. "She slammed her Cadillac in reverse and backed out of the garage faster than she should have. My mother never looked behind her. She hit my brother with the back of the car. He let out this terror filled scream and then he was quiet." Owen began to cry. "She didn't even see him! She continued to back up into a tree, near our fence. I cried out in horror, jumped off my bike, and ran to my brother's side. He lay there, drowning in his own blood, and she didn't even know she ran him over. Instead, she stumbled out of the car, screaming at me for leaving my bike lay on the driveway. My dad came running from the garage, ordering me to call an ambulance. At first I couldn't move. I guess I was in shock." Owen looked at me with his ocean blue eyes. "That was the first time she ever hit me. She slapped me hard and told me to get inside and call for help. Oli died before the ambulance arrived."
"Owen…." I tried to think of something to say to make everything better, or to make the pain go away, but I knew there were no words to do that.
"Most of the time my mom blames me. She says I hesitated, and dragged my feet too long. For years I believed her. I really thought I could have made the difference if I had been faster. After that I spent nearly everyday running outside on our property. I worked on my quickness and reaction time. That's why I am so good at football. I didn't ever want to be slow again."
My mouth slowly dropped open and my heart ached for the boy. "Owen, you know it wasn't your fault."
"I know that now that I'm older, but when you're a kid you trust your parents and believe what they say is true." Owen dropped his head to his knees and cried out in pain. "She's hated me ever since, and it wasn't even my fault!"