Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any books/bands/movies mentioned in this chapter.
I had another nightmare. It was around 5:30 and I couldn't get back to sleep.
I started to clean the house. I tidied up me and Soda's bedroom, Soda's old room, the bathroom, had breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, went for a run, came home, got a shower, made breakfast for Darry and Soda, and then started to clean the living room.
I hadn't noticed anyone else was up right away. I was wiping off the coffee table when I did. They were both just staring at me. Darry had a cup of coffee, and Soda was looking up from the newspaper.
"Are you okay, Pone?" Darry asked me.
"Yeah, Dar. Why'd you ask?"
"Well, for one, the house is damn near spotless, and two, you're been cleanin' that same spot for the last five minutes." Soda pointed that out too me.
"Oh…"
I stood up, and Darry came over and put his hand on my forehead.
"You don't feel warm…" He told me. I told him I wasn't sick, just that I couldn't sleep. He let the topic drop. I never remembered anything from the nightmares, so there was nothing really to talk about.
After Sodapop and Darry left for work, I read for a bit, watched a little T.V. By 9:30 I was very bored, and wasn't due to meet up with Rose for another hour.
Not able to sit around the house any longer, I got up and walked to her house.
Once I knocked, I kept thinking, ' Right part- Oscar, Left part – Sebastian' But of course once the door is opened, one of the twins is on the other side, hair, not slicked back, not in any particular style, and was parted in the middle.
"Hi…" I had no idea which one he was, so I didn't bother making a more personal greeting. I could see the German Shepards in the hall behind him, growling.
"Hullo…"
"…Is…Rose awake?"
"Yes."
Damn it. I really didn't like it when there was one of those long silences.
"…Can I go see her?"
"Well, I suppose so…" He took a few steps back and let me into the house. He pointed to the staircase, "third door on the left."
I knew that already, but just nodded and mumbled thanks.
Her door was closed, and I was pretty sure I could hear Little Richard playing on her record player. I went in without knocking. She didn't seem to notice the door open and close.
She was standing in front of a vanity (which I hadn't seen in the room last night, so I figured it was brought up from…somewhere else, along with a few more boxes, a chest of drawers and a bookcase). She was only wearing her bra and panties, which were yellow. She was holding various items of clothing to her body, seeing what looks good with what, her body moving ever so slightly to the music.
I started to say something. She let out this startled kind of squeak that I only ever heard a girl make, and attempted to cover her self with the clothes she had in her hands. I laughed and she pouted, saying that it wasn't funny. I disagreed with her, but stopped laughing.
"You're early," She stated. I told her I couldn't sleep and how I spent my morning. I then told her about the night before when I was almost ripped apart by the German Shepards. Now apparently it was her turn to laugh, telling me that Bear and Bruno were harmless, and that their bark was worse than their bite. Well, there bark was pretty damn bad.
She told me that she wouldn't be able to stay out too long, because she had to unpack most of her belongings. I told her that we could stay in and I would help her. She gave me a hug. I enjoyed that. Since we weren't going out, she just put on a pair of gym shorts and a tee-shirt.
The first box we emptied was filled with books. Collections of the works of Poe, Lovecraft and Wilde. The Devil's Dictionary, and only a handful other titles and authors I recognized. She also had shit load of those pulp fiction novels, gothic novels and Penny Dreadfuls. In box number two, which was also filled with book, I knew more of the authors. Chaucer, Burgess, Salinger, Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Austin, Orwell, Twain and Shakespeare. There was also books on the Celts, and the Romans, and the Anglo-Saxons, the Crusades, and Ancient worlds. Several books on art, and several others in a different language( she said they were in Gaelic). She had packed them in alphabetical order. All except for one. At the bottom of the box was Lady Chatterley's Lover. I looked over at her, grinning. She noticed me holding the book and began to blush. She took the book and put it on the shelf. She avoided any discussion on the book by going and opening up another box.
"What goes on the rest of these shelves?" I asked. All of her books filled just more than half of the bookcase.
"Oh, this and that." She started to pull things out of the box, most of which was wrapped in news paper. She sat down beside the box and started to un-wrap the items, which I assumed were breakable. I sat down beside her and helped.
They were pretty little things. Two ivory elephant, several small jade sculptures, a Venus figurine (which I am assuming is a replica), a shrunken head, something that I think is a voodoo doll (never seeing one before, I couldn't really be sure. I wasn't sure why it was wrapped in newspaper either) and a large number of porcelain and china figurines in different national garb, several of which looked antique.
"Where did you get all these?" I asked her, picking up a few and getting up to place them on the shelves. She was doing the same.
"Well…my dad's job lets him go all over the world." She told me, "He always picks me up things." I found it a little odd that she called her step-father dad. The people I know with step parents never call them mom or dad. Usually just their first names.
After we set up the figurines, she opened another box. It was filled with clothes. As she put them into the drawers, I opened another box. There were several rolled up posters, and stuffed animals. As I took them out, I noticed a porcelain doll in a faded, extravagant dress, tiny fake pearls around its neck, and no head. I looked through the rest of the box, but there were only some pictures in frames and postcards.
"This doll doesn't have a head," I told her.
She looked over at me, "Oh, yeah. I know."
"Well, where is it?"
"I dunno. I got it like that."
"What?"
"Yeah. My dad got it for me."
I asked her why her dad would give her an old, broken doll. Why not just get you a new one?
She said it was from her real dad, before her parents got a divorce, and they were still living in 'The Kitchen'. Sometime between buying the doll and giving it to her, the head came off. He had told her that it was supposed to be like that, because it was Marie Antoinette. She said that since she had only been six at the time, she didn't know who Marie Antoinette was, so her father spent the rest of the night telling her about the French Revolution.
I thought that was cute. She took the doll and put it on the bed, by her pillows.
I pulled out a frame from the box. "Who're these guys?" I asked. The picture had 12 men and one woman standing together. They all were wearing jeans and tee shirts. Big and strong. Looking closely I could see outlines of tattoos and possible scars. Probably all between fifteen and twenty five, except for the man and woman in the middle, who looked much older.
She stepped next to me and looked at the picture, "Oh. Well, there's Thàmhais and Teàrlach." She said, pointing to two men on the left side of the picture, " They're twins." She added, "Ríordanand Muireadhach," She pointed to another two, " Mael, Lonàn, Brolach…my father. Um…Aedàn, Liam, Caderyn…Críostóir. And they," she pointed to the older two in the middle, "are Grampa Teague, and Granny Bríghe." They had the strangest names I've ever heard.
"That was taken in Tipperary, before my Dad came to New York."
"Tipperary?"
"Uh-huh."
I nodded a little and we went back to unpacking. We took a break around noon. It was kind of awkward. Her step father was there, and kept looking over at me. I think he knows it was me who left her last night…not like I was overly quiet about it. And the dogs seemed friendly…after Rose got them to stop growling and sit down. I actually petted the beasts.
Marc Antony followed us as we went back upstairs. We traded stories as we worked, like she told me about the time she went to Canterbury two years ago, and I told her about the first time I went to the zoo. I told her about the time I went hunting and she told me about the time she went to see Hadrian's Wall.
Her life seemed to be a bit more exiting that mine. But I bet she's never been on the lam before…
Shit. That was a depressing thought.
I got quiet, and must have looked upset because she asked me if I was okay. She looked concerned. I smiled and said I was fine. She let it drop.
The last thing we did was hang up the posters.
There was a 'Duck Soup' movie poster with the 4 Marx Brothers, a 'Rebel Without a Cause' movie poster with James Dean, a 'Count of Monte Cristo' movie poster, a Velvet Underground poster, and a Little Richard poster.
Afterwards, we lay down on the bed for a little while, sharing it with the Great Dane. We listen to an album by some band called 'The Who'. We talked about little things for a while.
Eventually there was a knock on the door." Supper will be ready soon." It was her fathers voice.
Rose sat up and looked over at me. She asked me if I wanted to stay for supper. I said that Darry was expecting me home. I asked her if she like to come to my place for supper.
She smiled, then went up and opened the door and told her dad she was going to me place. She came back into her room and went over to her closet.
"What are you doing?" I asked her.
"Changing."
"Why?"
"Why? I can't go out looking like this!"
So I sat on the bed while she got changed, put on her make up and did her hair. I wanted to ask her why she couldn't go out like that. Plenty of other girls did...occasionally…in the summer.
I can never figure out why woman take so long. They seemed to get dressed up for the most casual of occasions, and spent a lot of time on make up which they don't really need to wear. They act differently in private than they do in public…
And, like always, Oscar Wilde is right. Women are meant to be loved, no understood.
Poe, as in Edgar Allen.
Lovecraft, as in H.P
Wilde, as in Oscar
Chaucer, as in Geoffrey
Burgess, as in Anthony
Salinger, as in J.D
Hemingway, as in Earnest
Dostoevsky, as in Fyodor
Austin, as in Jane
Orwell, as in George
Twain, as in Mark
Shakespeare, as in William.
The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce . The book skillfully lampoons cant and political double talk by cleverly redefining the words. Examples
BEARD, n. The hair that is commonly cut off by those who justly execrate the absurd Chinese custom of shaving the head.
CONSULT, v.i. To seek another's disapproval of a course already decided on.
TRUTHFUL, adj. Dumb and illiterate.
TURKEY, n. A large bird whose flesh when eaten on certain religious anniversaries has the peculiar property of attesting piety and gratitude. Incidentally, it is pretty good eating.
As you can see, it is quite funny.
I think it was '59 in the U.S and '60 in the UK when they had this big court case so that they could make prints Lady Chatterley's Lover(1928). They had problems with something called the Obscene Publications Act ( I'm not too sure about these American acts.) It was the first serious work of English literature that used the words fuck and cunt.
Tipperary is in Ireland, and all the names of Rose's uncles, her dad and grandparents are Gaelic. Pronunciations are as follows
Thàmhais - TAW vish
Teàrlach - CHAIR lach
Ríordan - REER den
Muireadhach- MYOOR dahk
Mael sounds like it's spelled.
Lonàn sounds like it's spelled
Brolach not entirely sure how it is pronounced, which is why he will mostly be refeered to as either 'Dad' or 'Brolly'
Aedàn - EE dahn
Liam - LEE um
Caderyn - kad ER in
Críostóir - kris ter
Teague - teeg
Bríghe. - BREE
um...I think that is all the explaning I need for this chapter...