Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just like them.
Daydreams
Pony's at school and Darry's at work, but the rest of us are hanging out at the DX killing time when a familiar jalopy pulls up. I know who it belongs to the moment I see it, even if I tell myself a million other people have that car. I know. I don't do much about it, though, 'cept step behind Dally, pretending it's casual. Pretending not to hide. Two-Bit's finishing the punchline to his joke, but I'm so busy staring at that car I don't catch the first long, rambling half.
"...and she says, he's not an eggplant, he's retarded!"
The boys don't notice something's wrong. Two-Bit slaps his knee, cracking himself up. Steve and Soda laugh right along with him. Dal coughs on his cigarette and pretends like he don't find it funny. I want them to see him, to help me. Naw. That's not it. I don't want them to know. I wanna get outa there.
He gets out of the car and has to shut the rusty driver's door twice before it fully closes. He's pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, not minding the parking lot traffic as he walks toward the shop where we're loitering. My gut drops and my heart's beating rampant.
"Hey Dal, can I have a cancer stick?"
Dally pulls out a Kool from his leather jacket pocket, puts it in his mouth, and lights it before handing it over, giving me a confused look the whole while. I don't usually ask him, or nobody, for nothing. Not even a cancer stick. I hate to be a burden.
The old man keeps walking closer. He hasn't noticed me. I need to leave. Now.
"Hey, why don't we go to the movies?" I suck in the cancer stick too heavily and cough. "See if anything's playing."
"It's too early, runt." Steve punches my arm, and it ain't exactly playful. Sometimes I think I annoy him as much as Ponyboy does. "'sides, be an Soda are working."
"Yeah, real hard," Dallas mutters.
"Watch your mouth, Winston," Soda warns, but unable to hold back his grin. That boy can't get mad at anybody.
He's walking closer. "Look, it was nice hanging out, but I really gotta get-" My throat's caught. I can't speak. I can't swallow. He sees me. He sees and he stares, and I can't tell if he's angry or not.
'bout a week ago he beat me pretty bad, worse than usual actually, and I haven't been home since. I know my folks don't normally care when I'm gone, but it's longest I've ever been away. Shoot, he probably thinks I ran. The gang don't know how long it's been since I've been home, 'cause I've been sleeping most nights at the lot. They don't even know who was that hit me. I told them I was jumped by two Socs.
I start breathing real fast and shallow and I hear Soda ask: "What's wrong, Johnnycake?" but it sounds like he's miles off. All I can do is submit to the fear that's locking my throat shut, locking my feet to the ground. He's gonna beat me. He's gonna beat me like he did last time, only it'll be worse now, 'cause it'll be in front of my buddies and they'll all know what a wimp I am. My hands get jittery and I drop the cancer stick.
"Johnny chill out," Dal says, irritated, but he picks it up for me.
The old man steps in front of Dallas. "Move aside kid." He's too close, confrontational.
Dally takes his good old time. He grins and inhales long and luxuriously, drops his cigarette, and stubs it on the gravel with his cowboy boot. "I'm not in the mood."
Dad shoves Dally with his shoulder and then points at me. "Boy, we need to talk." His voice is stern, but it ain't got that drunken slovenliness to it that makes me sick to my stomach. I calm down a little. Just a little.
"You know this guy?" Dally aims his thumb in the old man's direction.
I don't exactly look like him. All that liquor has given him a gut, and unlike me he's sorta a man's man: he's a big-boned, broad-shouldered guy with a haggard look around his green eyes. I get my pathetic skinny body and my boring brown eyes from my mom. Dad's hairline's receding too, and that worries me, considering my hair's the only thing I got going for me in the looks department.
Dally looks at him, looks at me, and even though we ain't exactly twins, Dal realizes who he must be. Dally pushes me further behind him and stares the old man down. "Get the fuck outa here."
"Excuse me?" Dad's shouting. "When I want a worthless hoodlum to tell me when I'm allowed to be on public property, I'll ask a worthless hoodlum. Got it, worthless hoodlum?" Thank god them pretty Soc girls who flirt with Soda are at school. It'd kill me for them to see this.
"I'm gonna beat the shit outa you. Give you a taste of your own medicine."
I see the look on Dal's face. It's that look he gets, right before he slashes tires or does something illegal, right before he jumps somebody, right before he says something nasty to embarrass a girl, right before a rumble. Determined and delighted and spiteful. Dal's record's bad enough as it is and he'll land in the cooler if he gets started now. And it will be all my fault.
Dally's hand is fisted. I tug on his wrist. "Come on, Dal."
"Johnny," he says, like he's warning me.
"Come on, Dally. Let it go."
"John Daniel Cade I said I want a word with you."
I nod, tracing the gravel with my tennis shoe. "Yeah. Okay."
"Sir," Dad corrects.
"Okay, sir," I mumble.
Dally grabs the neck edge of my t-shirt and jerks me. "Jesus, Johnny, quit being such an idiot! That bastard doesn't get a word with you."
"Don't touch my kid, you piece of trash," the old man warns.
Dallas flicks his hand off me theatrically. "Don't worry. I think you have that covered."
Dad glares at him, but he don't got anything to say in his defense. "Johnny, come on." The old man grabs me by the arm. What surprises me about it is that it ain't rough. He's not trying to force me or hurt me like he usually is. I could pull away if I wanted to. I guess that's why I don't.
"I'll be right back," I tell the gang. I'm pretending this is normal, but my voice is shaking and I ain't fooling nobody. Not like I'd be fooling them anyway. "I'm just gonna go talk to my dad. I'll be right back."
Soda nods. He's not smiling anymore. Steve and Two-Bit ain't looking at me.
Dal glares at them accusingly. "Are you just gonna let him go?"
"Johnny can decide for himself." It's Two-Bit. It's the most serious I've ever heard him.
I don't look back at them as I follow Dad towards the car. I can hear Dally cussing up a storm and the sound of kicked gravel.
#
"Where have you been?"
From my peripheral vision, I can see the boys staring over at us, anxious, ready to jump in at any second. But the old man could clock me right now, 'fore they could get to me.
I shrug my shoulders. "Around."
"Around?" He says it like it's a swear word. "Your mother's been worried sick and all you can say is around?"
"She has?" When I ask, it's hopeful. I know that's messed up. But I'm a pretty messed up all over, I guess.
"Well she ain't said nothing, but that's what mothers do. Worry."
I bite my lip. I doubt it.
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry Dad-"
"Don't give me that bullshit. I know where you've been. Skipping school and hanging around them greasers." He points in the gang's direction. His hand comes toward me and I cower as he grabs the cigarette outa my mouth and tosses it to the ground. "You better stop that disgusting habit. And I don't want you hanging out with them delinquents anymore."
I nod. I know I ain't gonna listen, and I know I'll get punished for it. Shoot, he knows it too.
"I've been thinking," he says, and his voice gets a little softer, a little kinder. "I'm gonna make some changes around the house. I went to church the other day, and it got me thinking, you know?" I like church. Pony and I go sometimes. It's calming. Mom used to go when she was little.
Dad looks at me like he's waiting for me to answer, but I don't know what he wants me to say so I stay quiet, which is safer than saying the wrong thing. "We're gonna start acting like a family," Dad continues, and his voice is strong, like he means it. "Your mom and I had a talk, and your mom's gonna start cooking real dinners again and we're gonna eat together. You're gonna start going to school and getting good grades and doing some chores around the house. And I'm..." he clears his throat. "I'm gonna cut down on my drinking."
He says this with conviction, as if daring me to say anything against it. From what I can tell, he's completely sober. Maybe he even means it. He grabs my chin, not even roughly, and moves around my face, checking for the damage he's done. Most of the bruises are pretty faded by now. In the yellow stage, you know how it is.
"I wasn't too hard on you last time, huh? Not too bad, right kid?"
I wanna tell him that it wasn't just the eye and the lip. That he hit me so hard in the kidney I pissed blood for three days. But I also wanna protect him from knowing what he did. Does. I mean, man, no one wants to be that person. Not even the people who are that person. Why should I hurt my dad just 'cause he hurts me?
"Naw. It ain't that bad. I'm fine. It was nothing."
"I've gotta toughen up my boy," he jokes. He squeezes my shoulder, like he's real proud of me. Proud that I can take whatever he's given me, whatever he can't remember. "Come on home with your old man, huh? It's gonna be different this time, Johnny, I mean it."
I glance over at the boys. They're restless, waiting for me to come back. Dad's giving me this look like he's anxious, too.
"All right. I'll come home." He pats me on the back-hard, manly slaps of approval-and I know I made the right decision.
I open the passenger door and look back at the gang. I know they're kinda far away, but they're close enough I can still make out their expressions. Disappointed expressions. I hop in and shut the door and Dad turns on the engine. It blocks out the sound of Dally's new burst of cussing.
#
Six days later I'm back at the lot and I got a new shiner to prove what a complete idiot I am. But it was good for a while, at least for six days. Everybody tried real hard. My folks didn't bicker half as much as normal. I didn't miss any school and I even did most of my homework. I've kinda been avoiding the gang. Ma cooked spaghetti, chicken, meatloaf, and leftovers. It was pretty good, too. Dad went to two meetings and didn't drink 'til he did.
I hate myself.
I'm curled up in the lot, my cheeks burning up 'cause I'm laying too close to the fire, when I hear a familiar whistle. It could be any of the boys, but it turns out it's Pony. I stand up and wave.
"Johnny!" He runs over, smiling broadly just like his brother Soda, arms outstretched. He pulls me into a hug before he even looks at me and practically crushes me. Those track practices must be making that kid strong. He's lucky. All the Curtis boys are good looking.
"Jesus, Pony." I push him off me, partly 'cause I've got a few smarting bruises he can't see, partly 'cause his affection embarrasses me.
"It's been forever."
"It's been four days, Pone."
"I know! Forever." That's the thing about Pony. He don't try to act tough nearly as much as the other guys. Like one time he asked Dally if the stars looked different in New York and went on and on about the shapes he imagines in them. He was only eleven at the time, but still. He should've known better than to bother Dal about that nonsense.
"What, ya miss me?" I cross my arms and smirk at him, pulling a Two-Bit.
"Ye...yeah..."
And now Pony's seen it. He looks away briefly and gets real quiet. "You okay, Johnny?"
That's the other thing about Pony: he says stuff. We all pretend it don't happen. But Pony, when we're alone, he'll ask, no matter how many times I don't say nothing back. And he'll hug me no matter how many times I pull away. Maybe it's 'cause he's only a thirteen year old kid and he don't know the score yet. It's funny he don't understand he ain't supposed to do that, 'cause he's so smart for thirteen in other ways. I ain't ever gonna be that smart even if I live 'til I'm a hundred.
"Pony, it's nothing."
"Don't look like nothing."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"But I thought...I thought things were going good. You said your old man cleaned up his act..." He sounds as betrayed as I feel about the whole mess.
That's the other thing 'bout Pony. He's the only one who believes me when I says things are gonna get better. During lunchtime in the cafeteria on Tuesday I told him I had to keep my nose clean for a few weeks while I sorted things out with my folks and I wouldn't be around much. He was hurt, but he was real happy for me, too. He actually started rambling on about how once my family works everything out he'd come over for dinner and we'd do our homework together and maybe my dad would throw around a football with us like his dad used to. Honestly, I think Pony wanted it to be true more than I did.
"It didn't work out," I mumble. "So drop it."
Pony nods. His eyes are all teary. He's ready to cry.
"I promise, Pone, I'm fine. Don't bawl on me."
"I'm not," he says, just as he starts. Ponyboy pulls me into another bear hug, squeezing me tight like he's gotta hold onto me or else.
"Jesus Pony, you're like a barnacle or something." He stops crying for a second so he can laugh.
"Wanna come back to my place? Darry's made chocolate cake for dessert."
I am hungry, but as tempting as that offer is is, I'm not ready to face the others yet. I don't wanna deal with how nobody will look me in the eye at the dinner table 'cause they don't want to get caught staring at my shiner. And there's a chance Dally might stop by, which is the best and the worst, because I just hate disappointing him and I know I have. Even though it feels good that he cares, I don't want to deal with Dal getting pissy and insisting on bandaging me up in the bathroom while he gives me the same, tired old lecture about how I have to stick up for myself as if Two-Bit and Soda aren't listening outside the door. It's humiliating, the whole ordeal.
"Why don't we just hang here for a bit? It's nice to be alone sometimes."
"It's not alone if I'm here."
"It feels like alone, if feeling alone were nice." Pony nods, and I think he digs it. What I mean is that Pony and I can sit in silence for hours, doing nothing and not even really interacting. We completely understand each other, like we're the same person.
We head back down to where the dying fire is and the spot that I've claimed as my territory: the ripped up carseat that Steve picked up for me in a junkyard. I guess even if I annoy him that kid doesn't hate me completely. I sit down and take out a cancer stick that I give to Pony; I take out one for myself and we smoke together for a bit, not saying anything. When the cigarettes are through, I lie down and stare up at the sky, and Pony lies down next to me, real close. The sun's setting, and he rests his head on my shoulder and he wraps his arm around my waist.
Ponyboy likes to cuddle. I mean, it's kinda weird 'cause I'm fifteen and way too old to be doing that, but I think he's used to it with his brothers so he don't know it's weird. Most times I let him after he's worn me down some. He's usually warm even in cold weather, and lying with him feels good. Like you can relax and know that someone's relaxing with you and you don't have to think about all the bad stuff you're gonna have to face tomorrow. Or when you can't stop yourself from thinking about that stuff, you know you can handle it in a way you don't know when you're alone.
"Johnny," he says, "someday the two of us are gonna go to college together." This is a new one. We've already been war hero buddies, firefighting best friends who save children, gold exploring adventurers in South America, cowboys who fight off bandits, sun-bleached surfers, international spies, a hardboiled detective duo that solves murders in L.A., and we've both won the lottery.
"Yeah, we're gonna up north and go to the same school, and I'm gonna be a track star and you're gonna be the captain of the fencing team 'cause you're good at fighting, but in a brave old fashioned way..."
I don't know where he gets this stuff. Probably from all them books and movies. When we're lying down, Ponyboy daydreams out loud and in a way it's real nice to hear. That kid always has some neat ideas about happy things that won't come true.
But when he talks all sweet like that, I know it's my duty as his older pal to protect him from knowing the score. Like, I don't tell him how stupid all of it is, and I don't tell him how he should just stop hoping. I let him imagine and I let him dream. I really don't want that kid to grow up. I feel guilty sometimes, hanging out with him when I'm bruised up, like I'm walking evidence that his daydreams are lies. I don't want him to know the truth-that sometimes life deals you a bad hand and it's not ever gonna get better.
You'd think he'd've learned that lesson now that his folks are gone, but it's actually gotten worse. When he talks to me in private, he talks about them like they're still around. Like they've gone away on vacation or something. It really worries me. I know he's got Soda and Darry to take care of him, but I gotta take care of him, too. I mean, he's gotta know his folks are dead, don't he?
But then, I dig Pony. If I'm honest with myself, he's not the only one who acts too young for his age. I don't have a good imagination, so we only go on adventures when he's doing the talking, but I daydream, too. Simple daydreams, simple lies I tell myself, like one day I'll come home and my folks will love me. I mean, I don't know, I guess they might, but deep down I know they probably don't. Only, it's easier to go back and get hit and screamed at than stick up for myself and face the facts. When I tell myself I deserve it, it makes what my old man does okay. And I'd rather be okay with it than upset by it. Wouldn't you? What I mean is, if you lived in your mind as much as I do, giving up your secret, private life-the version of it that goes on in your head where everything is justified-would be like giving up everything you are.
Yeah, I guess Pony and I dream the same daydream, and that's why we're best friends. We both wanna be somebody and we both want our folks back. I want folks who never existed, and he wants folks who stopped existing. I don't know which is worse.
"Hey Pony, I'm gonna walk you back to your place. It's getting dark." The warm golden hues of the sky have turned the earliest blue, and it's time for Pony to go home 'fore his brothers start to worry.
"I can walk myself." But I'm already standing up. There's no way I'd ever let Pony walk around this neighborhood on his lonesome. He could get jumped. He never checks his surroundings, neither, he's always so busy thinking. I sling my arm around his shoulder, alert each step of the way, ready to defend him if I need to.
When I drop Pony off at his place, from the screen under the open window I can see Darry waiting up for him in their dad's chair. I guess it's Darry's chair now. Darry waves, like he appreciates me looking out for Pony, and I feel good about myself, like I'm needed. I wave back. I don't leave 'til I watch Ponyboy go inside, safe under the protection of his older brothers. Then I turn around and walk back to the lot alone.