"Ma, where do people go when they die?" A girl with cola pigtails and dark cherry eyes perked, tugging at her mother's apron. But this girl wasn't me. It was a ghost from a thousand years ago.
"They turn into angels and go up to heaven, honey." The woman, no older than thirty, coughed and hacked, ripping the apron out of the little girl's hands to have something to heave in. Her voice was raspy when she spoke. "Go play in your room."
"Where is heaven, ma?" The girl looked down at her scraped knees. She played rough, even as a child.
"It's right behind the sunset. Only angels can reach it, though, because even though it seems so close, heaven's always real far away." The mother looked pale and washed out, as she patted on the little girl's back, motioning towards her room.
"Are you going to go to heaven soon?" A pout. The woman looked down at her daughter, with a horrifying look. Wide eyes, and furrowed brows, that the child nearly trembled in her sneakers. Her look softened, suddenly, and she kneeled down, tugging gently at a pigtail and then stroking her daughter's scalp.
"Honey, I'll always be with you. Just look at the sun setting, and even if I'm not there with you, I'll always be hiding behind it. I'll be your guardian angel and I'll always be there for you.. just wait until the sun sets." A warm, pitiful smile crept along the woman's face. Even though she was only twenty-nine, she was much older. She was a thousand years older than what she really was; her golden eyes were dim and fading.
There was a stir and suddenly the little girl ended up on the ground, with a deep pain in her chest. She heard a bunch of rough, scary noises, as it grew closer and closer..
"Fuck." I woke up with nails in my lungs. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. The sun was rising, almost resembling a sunset, but backwards. This was the first time I've slept in my own bed in a month. I fumbled around for a cigarette, and sucked on it even before it was lit. Dragging long, I exhaled and shut the blinds as roughly and dramatically as possible.
"I hate sunsets."
Life outside of home had been so good lately. Well, no, I didn't really have a home anymore. The only time I'm home is when I take a shower, change clothes, and grab some cigarettes. A house with a father like mine was never a home in the first place.
Anyway, thinking about a lot of stuff since I always had the time, I had managed to skip first, second, and third block without realizing it. I kind of liked school, when I had classes with friends. Two-Bit and I could have been mistaken for lovers, we had been around eachother so much. We were a lot alike, except he was funnier but we thought the same thoughts. I could be real funny if I wanted, I just never really spoke of the humor that went on in my head.
But then again, I don't like pleasing too many people, so maybe I'm more like Dallas. His hatred for the world is unrivaled, but I do hate a lot of people, and I'm always looking for some kind of action. I never really go through with a lot of what I want to, so I guess that's what separates me from him. Aside from his piercing blue eyes. I never really liked blue eyes, they seemed too cliche, but on Dallas it's so alluring.
The way that I think about so much about so little makes me a lot like Pony, though. I've never sat down and had a one-on-one conversation with the kid, but I could tell that he thinks about a lot of stuff. Not to mention I've heard plenty from Johnny about how deep and dreamy he is, but Pony is too shy to talk to me like that. I sometimes wish I could get to know him personally, though. It's nice to have someone who you can relate to.
I'm nothing like Darry or Sodapop, though. Sodapop is too happy and innocent for anything. Darry is too strict and his mind filled with rules and regulations. Nearly opposites. Johnny and I are kind of alike; we talk a lot now, too. I can relate to him in a few ways, I guess. But nothing real significant.
I feel real sorry, whenever I think deeply about all of them. Every single one of them has some kind of pitiful story, the kind that makes you feel bad just by hearing about them. And each one has their own way of dealing with it; behind humor to help heal others while healing themselves, or turning their pain into hatred towards everyone, or thinking about everything and keeping their noses in books and movie theatres, or smoking and taking all of the abuse, or creating more rules and being strict towards themselves and everyone else to keep from anything bad happening, or smiling and bearing all of the pain and still being optimistic after all of what's happened..
What do I do? When I'm in pain, do I grin and bear it? Or do I cry, or do I do everything to try not to cry? Or do I end up hating everyone and everything, or smoking and drinking away my problems?
To be honest, I can't remember the last time I've been hurt. The past is all behind me and all, and sure, some shit hurts, but I haven't had any fresh heartbreaks in a while. Shit, the Curtis' brothers parents just died a half a year ago. My mom died when I was younger, so it was easier to deal with. I was a little kid, I didn't know my heart was broken then.
Exhale. This is my third cigarette this hour; I smoke a lot when I think. So I'm smoking all the time. It's half past eleven, so the gang should show up sometime soon for lunch break. We normally hop the fence and go over to Pop's, so I've been hanging across the street to the Pop Shop in an old lot.
I wonder. What if I ever tried to sit down and talk to every single one of them individually about their pain? Would Two-Bit continue to be funny? Would Dallas glare at me and say I'm just a bullshit-talkin' pussy, and would Ponyboy just look at me weird and claim that everything is okay?
Inhale. The smooth burning in my lungs gives me some kind of unthinkable high. No one ever really talks about it, but cigs get you higher than anything. At least, in my opinion, I think cigarettes are more appealing than drinking. Being drunk is fun and all, 'cause you never think about anything, but I like cigarettes because they let you think about everything. I like thinking. It keeps me sane.
They never showed up. Guess they decided to trust the school meat today, but I didn't feel like finding out for myself. I decided to skip school all day, but hanging around there was useless. Getting up, I brushed my ass off and I looked up when I heard the roaring of an engine.
"Wanna' ride?" Dallas had shades on that blocked his eyes. He was driving a real nice car, but it wasn't his. Those sunglasses probably weren't, either.
"Who'd you steal that from?" I crossed my arms; he didn't need to try to look cool. But, that car was real tuff, and the top was off. It was a pretty nice day, too.
"Some old lady down the road." He stated casually. Last time I checked, old ladies don't come after you with crowbars wanting their car back, so I shrugged and hopped in.
"Liar." But also, the last time I checked, old ladies don't drive lipstick red convertibles. He grinned, and slammed on the gas, as we peeled out of the lot.
We didn't say anything to eachother for a while, but the ride wasn't silent. With the engine roaring, the tires screaming, and the radio blasting, even if I tried to say anything, it wouldn't matter. Neither of us would hear me. I held my hand out, feeling the strong winds pull my arm back. If I let my arm go limp, it'd probably still be in the same position.
"Where are we going?" He had turned the music off when a shitty Hank Williams song came on. I'm halfway surprised that the cops haven't yet pulled us over for speeding. He acted like he didn't hear me. I don't think he knew where we were going, either. I think he just wanted someone to ride with, but why me? It's not like I'm a presentable woman. I don't have long, golden locks, or even cute red curls. Just a dark brown mop of crap and some ripped up jeans. I was one of the guys, basically, with a set of small tits and a pretty face.
We were getting near the south side of town, and I had realized this because it was getting slummier. Even slummier than our own neighborhood. I was getting a little uptight because, well, frankly, the last thing I want is to run into the Shepard gang again. And everyone knows that they just breed over here, those fucking hoods.
To my relief, though, we kept driving past the bad part of town, and shit, we left the town from what I know. Unless Tulsa has a countryside to it that I didn't know about, we were nearly on dirt roads, unmapped.
"Dallas, where the fuck are we?" I knew I could cuss around him and he wouldn't care. He cusses more, dirtier, and better than I do.
"Rodeo. You looked bored, so I figured you might wanna see a show." He was still speeding, and if there were any speed limit signs around here they'd probably be saying 20 less than what Dallas was going.
"Yeah, I look bored so you take me out to see some old rednecks get thrown off of horses." I was never interested in ten-gallon hats and horse shit.
"Last I checked, I wasn't an old redneck." He looked over to me, still grinning. He was excited. Then it hit me, why he wore rodeo boots in the middle of the fucking city. Johnny had told me once or twice about how Dally rides in rodeos to make a couple extra bucks, but I never would have thought I would have seen it.
"Could'a fooled me." I snickered. I didn't look over at him, but he was probably scowling, because he pressed even harder on the gas as we nearly flew down the road. If he wasn't so excited to go break his neck in the rodeo ring, I bet he would have cussed me out and thrown me in the middle of nowhere.
I always test him like that, just to see if he'll actually turn around and belt me one of these days. He does it to everyone else. I don't know why I'm an exception.