I own nothing.
Once the movie ends, I find myself reluctant to get up and leave. It just feels so normal to be here. I feel like just by being here, I gain a little piece of my old self back. But thoughts of "old selves" also bring a chill with them, so I stand up and leave.
When I step out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I'm struck with a strange sense of déjà vu. I feel like I'm seeing the newly paved street, the new 24-hour store across the street, and the new cars rumbling down the street with old eyes. I shake me head, dig my hands deeper in my pockets, and head for the apartment again. I've killed enough time; time to go back and face Dallas. As much as we both hate to admit it, something needs to be done about our money situation.
He's passed out again by the time I'm slipping out of my shoes. I stretch and yawn, realizing that it's only mid-afternoon. My back feels sore, a little stiff, and I reach a hand around to scratch it. My fingers are met by a light dressing. In the bathroom, I take my shirt off and turn around in front of the mirror, staring at the white patch. There's a spot of red showing through, and I'm surprised that I hadn't noticed before now. I sigh, and put my shirt back on. Dallas must've patched me back up again. He may be stubborn as a mule, but sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve him.
To repay him, I walk back to the bedroom and nudge him with my foot. He rolls over and cracks one eyes open.
"Wha-?" He mumbles, blinking up at me a few times. I just point to my back and smile. He nods, rolls over, and is snoring again within minutes.
I laugh quietly to myself. Dallas' ability to sleep amazes me. No matter what's going on, if he wants seven hours of shut eye, he'll get it. I, on the other hand, am lucky if I get four. For a time, I was so exhausted that I'd resort to drugging myself up before bed, but that just made me fall asleep quickly and have a hard time waking up. The drugs didn't stop the nightmares, which were worse than ever.
I still remember the first anniversary of Soda's death. The nightmares had been so horrible, so gut-wrenching, and so real that I'd actually taken a chunk out of my arm. Darry had flipped out when he saw all the blood on my bed and had almost taken me to the hospital, but I was so scared that I begged him to just clean it out. It wasn't as bad as it had bled, but I was sure Darry was going to make me sleep in a straightjacket after that.
I rub my scar absentmindedly, reliving that night. Following Soda's death, Darry and I had grown distant. He buried himself in his work, taking on extra jobs whenever he could. Likewise, I buried myself in my books. I was determined to graduate and get out as soon as possible. I couldn't stand living in the space Soda once had, knowing that he'd never return. I started sleeping on the couch and spending most of my time at the library, or at school: anywhere but home with Darry, who alternately wanted to talk about Soda and shun me in favor of staring off into space.
That night was the first time in a year that Darry and I really saw each other. We'd been avoiding reality for so long, and succeeding, that everything just sort of crashed into place in that moment. There were only two of us left. More headstones than live bodies. There had been a lot of crying and hugging, and after that we renewed our efforts to help each other out. As long as we had each other, we'd still make it...
Dallas is awake now, and his cursing as he stumbles into the corner of the wall brings me out of my reverie. He sees me, misty-eyed as I am, and gives me a look I can't quite place.
"Whatcha' thinking about, kid?" I shake my head. Now's not the time to bring up that past. There's never a time for the past anymore.
"Nothing, Dal. Nothing."
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