Ninth Grade
1964
I swore under my breath and watched my old man come at me with his belt in his hand. When it was like this the air was all crackly, like I could feel the anger in the air. His eyes were narrowed at me and he sure was pissed, but I wasn't sure about what. I never knew anymore. It's not like I didn't do things for him to be pissed off about. I skipped school all the time and didn't come home, like they cared really. I hung out with people who did stuff like steal and jump people and get in fights and break out the windows in the school building. I didn't do stuff like that but when I was with them I sometimes got in trouble for it, too. So maybe it was one of those things he was mad about.
He was drunk. I could smell it. I could see it in his eyes and the way he was talking, and staggering a little bit. But he'd be able to prevent me from leaving and hit me with that belt, I knew that. It had happened plenty of times before. He'd have to be a lot drunker than this not to be able to get me. So I stood where I was and squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the blows.
When it was over I took off for Ponyboy's house. It might be kinda late but I hoped his parents would let him come out, or at least let me stay awhile. They probably would. His parents were pretty cool. Outside I lit a cigarette and touched right above my eye. I think he got me with that belt buckle near my eye cause it hurt an awful lot, and when I touched it it was wet, blood. Great. I didn't want to show up at Pony's house all bloody. I wiped at it with the sleeve of my jacket but it probably didn't help.
I knocked on the screen door and peeked inside. I saw his dad watching T.V. and beyond him I saw his mom in the kitchen doing dishes. I saw his dad peer out into the darkness but he couldn't see me.
"Come in!" he shouted. I pushed on the screen door and went in.
"Johnny," his dad said in a kind of stern voice, and he was looking at me all worried. It was the blood, I must not have wiped all of it off. He called to his wife and she came in from the kitchen and her face got all worried, too.
"Johnny, come here," she said, taking my arm and leading me to the kitchen table. I sat at the table and watched her go down the hall to the bathroom to get the first aid stuff. They used up most of it on me, and some of it on Ponyboy's clumsiness.
She came back with damp washcloths and band-aids and that antiseptic stuff that stung like crazy, but Ponyboy's mom loved that stuff.
"What happened?" she said, "was it your dad?"
"Yeah," I said, looking down while she dabbed at the cut with the washcloth. I wished that my parents were like Ponyboy's parents. They were so cool, and they took care of things, and they never hit Pony at all, ever. I knew this because almost every time I had to tell him about some beating, and this was when I was all banged up and he asked, he said his dad never hit him.
Yeah, my old man hit me but sometimes both of my parents just ignored me. That was worse, somehow. That's when I felt like I really didn't matter, or count, or anything.
"Hey, Johnny," Ponyboy had come out just as his mom was finishing up with the band-aid. Then she kissed my forehead. I couldn't remember my own mother ever kissing me.
"Stay here tonight, Johnny," his mom said, like an order. I looked at her with wide eyes and nodded. It was so much better staying here.