The interview was finished, and I had to say it went okay. Pony didn't make it past the first question, with the journalist from the newspaper, and he refused to go on camera. I never had been more thankful for Dallas Winston a day in his life. We all saw Pony's face, and for a second there I thought he'd retreat back to not talking again. Dally just put his hand on top of Pony hair and said, "let's go around." They disappeared to the back yard. I rounded the side of the house and stopped dead in my tracks at the site in front of me. Dallas was leaning against the deck railings smoking a cigarette with one hand and the other hand he was using to toss a beat up baseball back and forth to Pony.
It was funny to think about, we really didn't know too much about Dally's past. We just new the person he was today. He was a JD, a hood, hell even a common thug, but he had the biggest soft spot for little kids, especially the beaten up ones. I thought it was just Johnny he had the spot for. I figured it was because Johnny gave him and ego boost by worshipping the ground he walked on, but lately that spot got bigger for Pony.
"He okay?" I questioned.
Dallas shrugged. "He's fine," he said nonchalantly. "How'd the interview go?"
"It went alright, what needed to get said, got said."
Dally stomped his cigarette out. "It's about time."
"Did Ponyboy say anything to you?"
Dally shook his head. "He doesn't talk, he's too" Dallas searched for words. "Troubled," it killed him to say it; he knew that's exactly what the cops said about him.
I punched his shoulder, like I punched Soda's playfully. "Thanks Dally. Ponyboy, go get a shower kid, it's almost bed time."
"What' are you drawling?" Soda asked. We were sitting in the living room with everyone. Pony was drawling furiously.
Pony lifted his pencil away from paper. He was really good at art; it was a drawling of Dally that he was doing right now.
"That tuff, Pony," Soda said. "What else did you draw? he started flipping through the pages of his sketch book.
"No!" He screamed. He slammed his fist on top of Soda's hand.
Soda pulled his hand back. That had to sting. "Chill out, I was only looking."
"No!" Pony screamed again. He was even louder because he was sitting next to me, and I'd be a liar to say I wasn't frustrated.
"Okay, calm down. I'm sorry." Soda grinned and reached out to rub his hair. It used to make him smile, but Pony smacked his wrist away. It wasn't playful. He meant to actually hit Soda.
"Ponyboy! You do not hit your brother like that." I hollered.
Ponyboy took off like there was fire under him.
"That's great, scare the kid a little more, Darry," Dally jumped from his spot on the couch. "You know Soda; you're sixteen you should be able to deal with a kid. Just leave him alone."
"Shut up, Dally." I barked. I pulled Soda up. If I thought this was rough, it was a billion times worse on Soda. They were so close before they got separated. "Let's go. We have to be patient with him. It's hard too at times. But he's been through a lot."
I was telling himself that, more than he was telling me. Between school, football, and my brothers, I couldn't even remember the last time I slept.
We found Pony sitting in the corner of his room. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he was rocking back and forth. "Pony, stop it. You're fine," I said reaching him. I forced him to stop rocking back and forth the way he was. He still wouldn't stop crying, or take his hands from his ears.
"Pony, what's wrong?" I asked prying his hands off his ears. Pony started crying harder. Soda looked flustered. "Ponyboy, use your words," he demanded in his less than usual chipper manner.
I sat there and starred at him. I felt so helpless. Pony was hurting, and I couldn't do a thing about it. I felt like we were on two different platforms, and I couldn't reach him. It was scary. I rubbed the top of his head. His eyes met with mine, and then trailed back to Darry. "Dry your, eyes cry baby," Soda grinned a little.
He used the back of his hands to wipe his face. He rolled his eyes at Soda, and tried to take a couple of breaths to calm down.
"See things, are better when you aren't attacking me."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's alright."
"I want to go to bed," Pony was mumbling, I could hardly hear him.
"You won't talk to us?" I asked.
Pony shook his head.
"Alright,"I said trying hard not to sound angry. He jumped in bed. Soda looked disappointed; he threw the covers over him.
We turned around to leave. Pony reached out. "No, Darry."
Soda bit his lip eyes were wide."I'm going to see if Steve will take me home," he said.
"See ya' later, little buddy," I called after him. Having to choose between the two of them right now wasn't easy. I eyed the sketchbook that was sticking out from under his bed. He must have thrown in there. What was the big deal?