-1Chapter 3
I sit in the car, the ride has been silent so far. Suddenly the car swerves into a parking lot, the house is dilapidated and sad looking. I wonder if this is home. The man, Mr. Lilc, digs into his pocket and brings out a wad of bills, shoving them at his wife. The woman puts them in her pocket briskly and steps out of the car without a word. The man looks at me with a sneer, "The state is stupid, you know that? They thought some whore was a sweet woman." His smile grows, "They never even bothered to run a check on either of us. Otherwise they would've seen my record, too bad for you." My stomach tightens and I look at him silently. "Welcome to hell, little boy." I don't doubt him. The way he looks at me, with such loathing and pleasure at the same time, makes me feel uncomfortable.
"What are you going to do with me?" His hand flies into my face without warning.
"Don't ask questions." He snaps, pulling out of the driveway. I curl up in my seat dejectedly and look out the window at the scenery flying by. My heart is full of fear, and I feel very childish as I imagine my older brothers flying in to save me.
I walk into the huge, sprawling ranch with a sense of awe. I look at the man, seeing what I'm supposed to do now. He waves me to him and rips my duffel out of my hand, marching down the hall quickly. I follow him silently until he wrenches a door open and throws my bag into the room. I walk in and the door snaps shut behind me. I jump at the sound and then take a moment to look at my new room. It's nothing special. There's a small bed with new blue sheets, a metal fold-out table for a desk, and the walls are white and the floors are old gray carpeting. There's a small closet that I start unpacking my clothes into. I sit down on the bed and wish in vain for my bookshelves full of books in my old room at home. I don't know where they are, Darry might've sold them for all I know. He's going to sell the house. The place we grew up, where our parents breathed, he's going to sell it as if it means nothing to him. Maybe it doesn't. The door flies open and his hands grab my shirt and throw me to the ground,
"Don't ever let me catch you just sitting around, I'll give you plenty to do, boy." He admonishes, sending a kick into my ribs, causing me to yelp in pain. He laughs and drags me upright by the hair, pushing me out the door and talking harshly, "Now, I'll tell you something, boy, I run things tight. You do your chores, stay busy, and do as you're told, you may not die here. Understand?" I nod at this blatant threat. He continues, "As for your chores, you are expected to make all the meals, do all the housework, feed the animals, mow the lawn once a week, take out the trash daily, and whatever else I can think up day to day. You're going to get strong, boy. I have rules as well. No speaking unless you are spoken to. You address me and any other man that walks into this house as sir. You obey any order from anybody that walks into this house without question. Those are the basics, do I make myself clear?"
"Yes" I answer meekly, he wheels his hand around and slams across my face, sending me flying into the wall. I look at him as his face turns red,
"What did I tell you?" I think hard for a minute and mumble,
"I'm sorry, sir, I meant, Yes sir." He drags me off the floor,
"I have only one punishment in this house, boy." I bet I can guess what it is. He drags me into the kitchen, which I look around distractedly. When his arm pulls me over his knee, I remind myself that I really must start paying attention. I cry out in surprise as something lands into the seat of my pants. I look at the clock in concentration, trying not to yell any more. I watch the minutes change and let single drops pour out of my eyes. I struggle uselessly, but it seems to make him madder. "You shouldn't have done that." He hisses, and a breeze hits me as he lowers my pants and underpants in one fell swoop. I wait anxiously for his hand, but it doesn't come, instead I feel the snap of leather and cry out. I can't help myself as I continue to moan and cry. Finally, after half an hour since being put over his knee, he brings me back into a standing position. He looks at me,
"You'll do. You need some work, but you'll do." He doesn't explain, but he points down the hall, where my room is, and I trudge there without a word. Silence is gold. Say sir, lesson learned.
I look at my face in the mirror hanging above my desk, examining it critically. I have the beginnings of a bruise covering the right side of my jaw and my left cheek. I smirk a little, Two-Bit's voice saying in my head 'It makes you look tough', that's what he says to Johnny whenever he has a bruise. I mentally slap myself for comparing myself to Johnny. This is nothing like that. He gets hit for no reason, I was being punished. It's different, I tell myself, I've just got to remember the rules and I'll be fine. I sit down and write a letter to Soda, knowing he's probably worried about me already.
Dear Soda,
Hey this is Ponyboy, but I guess you probably already knew that, huh? Well, I'm doing ok and I've settled in. It turns out the lady who was supposed to be his wife is actually more like a permanent fiancée, but I like Marie well enough. Hugh is real quiet, but he kind of scares me a little. I guess it's because he's so big. I suppose I'll get used to it. I hope you're doing alright and not causing too much trouble (not that I expect you not to). Write me back.
Love your FAVORITE brother,
Ponyboy Curtis.
I put it inside an envelope I find in my duffel bag, I brought some with me when I was told to pack. I knew I was going to have to write. I brought the paper too. And the photograph, which I am now holding in my hands. I stare at it, imprinting their faces in my mind. Dad, dark and tall and handsome, with kind eyes that make you want to pour out your soul. A body that has worked for a living and seen hardship. A mind that doesn't judge and has patience. That was how my father was. A woman stands beside him, the only female in the picture holds herself with dignity and grace. Her golden blonde hair shimmers and her eyes sparkle with happiness, putting a hand on the smallest boy, who stands in front of her, in a protective gesture and another on a boy that looks exactly like her in male form in a stern, calming way. The youngest boy was me, I smile at the camera without shame, being too young to realize that doesn't look cool. My clothes are big and scruffy, but I don't seem to have a care in the world. I'm happy with my family and content with my life. I lean trustingly on my brother, the source of my mother's bit of unease. He had wanted to stand on his head, but decided against it when I leaned against him. Darry's at the end of the line of us three, standing without actually touching anybody. Darry never liked physical contact unless he was in a fight or playing football, then he enjoyed it. He stands as a miniature of Dad, in all except his eyes. His eyes are blue-green, looking at the camera with a cool expression that clearly shows he was forced to do this. A blonde is next to me, again far away from others and staring at the camera with contempt. Dally only agreed to be in the picture because Mom asked him to, and he could never tell her no. There's a boy sitting at Soda's feet, around his age, looking intimidating and tough even as he looks up at the camera with a wry smirk. Between me and Soda is a boy about my height, dark and a bit sad looking, even as he smiles shyly. That's Johnny. Then Two-Bit stands in front of me, hiding the large gap between me and Dallas. He smiles broadly and hooks his fingers into his jean loops. That's my gang, my family. It was taken about a year ago on a whim. I smile at it and fold it up hurriedly as I hear footsteps coming toward my room. I stick it in my pocket and stand, waiting.