Dealing—Part 10

A new morning, a new sunrise. Only one person was appreciating the start of this new day, watching the bright red sun framed by golden mist slowly rise in the sky, lighting the street and chasing away the darkness of the night. Only one person was remembering another sunrise, with a sad smile on his face. If you looked into the house where he lived, you would see him at his bedroom window, staring out, early as it was. Beyond him, in the bed, was an older boy, looking peaceful and younger than he really was, still pretending to be asleep, but carefully watching the younger boy from where he lay. The room wasn't neat, there were piles of clothes on the floor and books and papers strewn on the desk, but tacked on the wall was a single folded piece of paper, with words that simply read: "Johnny's Letter." In another bedroom, an even older boy, who was really more of a man, was sleeping still. But even while he dreamed, there was a worried look to him, the look of someone with more responsibilities than they should need to have. His room was clean and tidy. There was nothing decorating the walls, and the centerpiece on his dresser was a football. Throughout the house were signs of people from the night before, beer cans and food crumbs and a radio still playing softly. Eventually the youngest boy went back to sleep, and the middle boy beside him relaxed again and also returned to his dreams. For a few more hours, the Curtis house was asleep.

Ponyboy's POV

I watched another sunrise. I know it sounds like something small and insignificant to get excited about, but for the first time in months, almost a year, I had finally been able to watch a sunrise. It still wasn't easy. I could hear Johnny's voice echoing in my mind the entire time. I almost turned around to go back to bed, but this time I stayed at the window. And when it was over, I felt some measure of peace for the first time in a long time. Sodapop was watching me the whole time. I know he was, even though he pretended to be asleep. He was just trying to give me my space while still making sure I was okay. One of the reasons I love him so much. When the sun was up in the sky and I turned back to go to sleep under Soda's arm, I saw the theme on the desk. I wondered how far he'd gotten. With Sandy around, I doubted he'd be able to concentrate on much else besides her and the baby. But then, maybe he just doesn't like it, I argued with myself, after all, in that very theme I said that Soda never cracks a book at all. And he still doesn't. So why had I expected him to read mine? Especially when he had bigger problems in his life to deal with?

Don't give him so little credit. Soda will pull through for you, he always has before.

Because right then the most important thing in my life was that someone would read my story and tell me it was okay to still be hurting over the whole thing. If there's one thing I'd become in the past year, it was more dependant than ever on the gang. I needed someone to be there, someone to listen to me and tell me it was okay. And most of the time Soda stepped up to the plate. Maybe I was just having trouble adjusting to the thought that my brothers had their own lives and their own problems to deal with, that they don't have time for mine anymore.

You know that's not true. They both care about what happens to you.

Soda has Sandy to deal with again, and Darry…well, Darry just has what he always has, bills and work and taking care of Soda and me. Compared to both of them, I have it easy: all I do is go to school and hang around the house.

Nothing in your life has been easy since they died.

But it's far past time to move on. Johnny and Dallas, they don't have any more time. They don't have any more chances to do what they never got around to doing while they were alive. I'm here, I should be using the time I do have wisely. Why do I sit around so much feeling sorry for myself and complaining to Sodapop?

Moving on takes time. Just focus on staying gold, like Johnny said.

How can I stay gold when all I can think about is death? My parents, then Bob, then Johnny and finally Dallas? Until I was thirteen I didn't even know anyone close to us who'd died! In less than a year I knew five, and I'd seen two of them die in front of me. One in a hospital bed, one shot down by the police. One died a hero, the other a hoodlum. Gone. Finished. No more time, no more chances. Death is final. Death is forever. Now go out and live like Johnny never got a chance to.

If I was supposed to be living for my friends, then why was it so hard to keep going?

Sodapop's POV

She walked in. I couldn't believe it, I didn't think she would actually come to the DX station. But she did. Sandy, apparently, wanted to talk to me about something. But I was certainly not in the mood to talk, not to her in particular, especially after watching my brother watch the sunrise this morning at the crack of dawn. I am not at my best in the morning. Why she would even want to talk to me about goodness knows what, I had no idea. She didn't even bring the baby with her. I guessed she'd left it with her parents for the day. She is far too young to be a single parent.

I let my mind wander for a moment, as she strolled into the garage. I guess she wanted to say something to Steve, since it was Saturday and he was working on a car. I wondered what Darry would have done if Pony and I were a lot younger when Mom and Dad died. Would he have still tried to raise us? I mean, there's a big difference between taking care of teenagers and bringing up two babies. So I had a little sympathy for Sandy, being forced to take care of a child it was all-too-obvious she didn't want. But then, I had offered to help her raise the baby and she refused. I didn't like where my thoughts were going. Even to myself, I sounded bitter and not like myself. Not so happy-go-lucky after all, I thought dryly, remembering the theme. Sandy came out of the garage and over to the gas pumps.

"Morning, Soda," she said, sounding almost…cheerful?

"You here to buy something?" I asked. "Or just to waste our time?"

"Oh, come on, Soda, we both know you spend more time flirting than pumping gas for actual customers here," Sandy accused me. I didn't flinch. I did used to be a huge flirt, and maybe her claim had been true then, but now I really did work hard. Well, when I wasn't annoying the customers while working. "Anyway, I want to talk to you about some things, and I'm going back to Florida soon, so…"

"Well, isn't there a better time than when I'm in the middle of my shift?" I asked, stubbornly refusing to let myself soften.

"Well, I could wait around all day, but…" Sandy gestured to a customer that was waiting impatiently, occasionally honking his horn.

"Fine. Give me a second," I said finally, going to his car and beginning to pump the gas. She stood to the side and watched me banter with the man.

"Good morning, sir," I said, pasting on my grin and looking him in the eye.

He looked almost startled and smiled back. "Certainly is."

Well, that shot my plans of irritating him away down. He was actually being polite to me. Honestly, people like him were like a breath of fresh air. "Can I do anything else for you besides the gas? My buddy Steve is the best mechanic this side of Tulsa."

The man shook his head. "No, thank you. But yes, I've heard that about your friend. By the way, you look very familiar. Do you go to the high school?"

"No, sir, I dropped out a while back," I replied, deciding to be honest with him for the heck of it, since it wasn't like I'd ever see him again, unless he liked my friendly service so much he decided to get his gas here more, but it was unlikely.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he answered, sounding sincere.

I just flashed him another grin, this time for real. "Thanks."

Then it looked like something dawned on him. "Sodapop, isn't it?"

Now it was my turn to be startled. "Uh…yeah. Have we met?"

He shook his head. "No, no. But I feel like I know you already, from the way your brother described you in his theme. I'm Richard Syme." Ponyboy's English teacher! I'd heard he was a good guy. And the only other person to read that theme.

"Yes, sir. It was some good writing," I said, for lack of something else to say.

Sandy was looking at us curiously, probably wondering what was going on. But I really didn't feel like explaining to her what we were talking about.

"How's Ponyboy doing now?" the teacher asked me, sounding genuinely concerned.

I almost laughed. He was just about the only adult who actually cared to hear about how my little brother was doing. Except maybe Two-Bit's mother, Mrs. Matthews.

"He's…uh," I was about to say 'he's doing all right' but then I realized that I hadn't been paying much attention to him lately. How could I honestly answer when all I'd been thinking about were Sandy and her baby and my own problems. So I finally answered, "Well, sir, I'm not exactly sure. I think he's still going through a tough time, what with our friends and parents and all."

"That's too bad. Your brother was a brilliant student, and a nice kid too," Mr. Syme said sympathetically. The gas was finished, and he paid me. He even left a tip! Well, at least one customer actually appreciated my services. Then, giving me one last smile, Mr. Syme drove out of the DX station.

Sandy approached me again. "Got time to talk now?"

"Only until my next customer comes," I replied stubbornly. She sighed.

"Come on, Sodapop. This is the east side of Tulsa. How many customers do you actually expect to get in the middle of the morning on Saturday?" she asked.

She had a point. I hated when that happened. "Yeah, well. Just talk."

"Okay. I'm sorry, first of all," Sandy began.

For once, I began to feel a little more softened towards her. Finally, I was getting an apology! Not that I'd sat around for the past year waiting for one or anything, it was just nice to hear, is all. I waited for her to continue.

"I'm sorry for just showing up like this and interrupting you at work and everything, since I know how hard you were working before I showed up," Sandy went on, shooting me this look and smirking a bit.

Wait a minute. Was that actually sarcasm in her voice? I couldn't believe this. She shows up, insists on talking to me when yes, I was supposed to be working my shift (and she even knows how my manager gets when we slack off!) and then pretends to be nice to me so she could make fun of me some more? I don't think so.

"Ya know what, Sandy?" I said, getting angry. "Why did you even come here?"

"Well, to talk to Steve, obviously," Sandy said, still teasing me. I just glared at the gas pumps. It was going to be a long shift.