That night, I had fallen deep into slumber, not long after the young greaser who lay at my feet, his wounds exposed. What were you thinking, Clark? I had scolded myself as I slowly drifted into the land of dreams. This boy needs a nurse, not you. Before long, I had grown too drowsy to argue with myself and put the debate on pause.
When I awoke, the sunrise cracked through and seeped into my vision. Where was I? I racked my brain, trying to remember. Had I fallen asleep while I was watching the greasers stroll by in their leather and denim? Or had I slipped out my window in attempt to escape the stuffiness and the confinement of my home? I looked to my left and, resting near my head, was the buckle of my brass belt. A diminutive smile slowly crept across my face as, suddenly, all the memories from the night before came rushing back, flooding my mind, causing me to snap my body up. Starring at me where a pair of green-grey eyes, they flickered in my direction with nothing but the voice of fear. Was he a creature, a spirit, perhaps a master of disguise? No, he was the young greaser with the eyes of a tiger that had mesmerised me for years. There we sat, face to face, all words seemed to be lost into the air and, for no good reason, we sat, taking in each other's features. Finally, the boy spoke, pulling himself out of his trance.
"Who are you?" he demanded, attempting to jump to his feet, but failing, on account of his injuries. I could do nothing but continue to keep my eyes locked with his. His voice was just as beautiful as his face. "Huh?" he pressed, his welcoming eyes turning abrasive. Finally, I got my jaw to work and my vocals to make a sound.
"Clark Monroe." I said, firm and dropping the words as if they meant nothing. I was nothing beside that boy. I cannot tell you what he had done to deserve such respect but, for me, I had seen what the naked eye cannot see.
He eyed me, still appearing uncertain of me. Couldn't he see I was just as vulnerable as him? I didn't even give a thought to taking advantage over him and making myself boss. To me, he had the advantage. Part of me still couldn't phantom at the fact that this young greaser was in front of me, speaking to me, acknowledging my existence. I had been a stranger in the back for so long.
"So you're the one who pulled me outta the rumble?" the boy stated, not removing his eyes from my face. I warily nodded. He must have detected my vulnerability, my submission to him, because, with a slightly trembling arm, he extended his hand towards me. Was I ready to be introduced, to be acquainted to the stranger from afar? Maybe I was, but I wouldn't need to be sure until much later, because the boy asked me; "Do you mind helping me home?". His extended hand was a plea for help, not an invitation for a companion.
Swallowing my rejection, I took the boy's hand, placing it over my shoulder and, just like the night before, I carried him down the streets of Tulsa.
I'll admit I'm socially awkward. I always had been, that's why I was friends with Helmut. He was the exact opposite of me, but also similar in certain ways. He was bold, boisterous and, yes, vulgar. That is what gave me the courage to speak to him, because he was so unlike me. Also, the adding factor that we were both so diverse from the others in our social class, you might say we were the outsiders.
"So, uh, where do you live? Y'know, so I can drop you off. Not so I can come back and trash your house with my friends. To tell the truth, I don't really have any friends. Well, besides Helmut but I'm not sure what you'd call him. Anyway, what I was meaning to ask you was, where did you want me to drop you off?" I stammered, babbling like a fool. Why had I felt the need to tell him all of that information, I don't know. When meeting new people, I often tended to over explain myself. But the young greaser thought nothing of it, he just laughed. Picture that, him laughing in his state.
"You aint like other socs, are you? It's a wonder I haven't seen you around." the boy chuckled, the abrasiveness in his lively green-grey eyes were replaced with amusement.
"I don't go out much." I replied, turning back to my reserved state. I had played over in my mind, many times, what I'd do and say if I was to meet my observed but why had I not put any of those words into a sentence? Why had they not come out?
We got further down the roads, the scenery started to change. The abandoned house was on the border of the West and East side, but as we got further East, the houses started to look more neglected, the cars more roughed up and the lawns more mistreated.
"L-look, maybe I should just drop you off here…" I hesitated and stopped at a person's lawn, seeing certain greasers eyeing me, and not the way I eyed them. Not in a respectable, desirable way. No, these greasers were pondering why a soc was on the East side. And if there was no good reason, they would pulverize me exactly like we pulverized them. Somehow, this made me a victim.
"Oh, uh…yeah." the young greaser understood my sudden hesitation. Truth be told, I didn't want to just drop the boy, I must've appeared small and cowardly. But in the heat of moment, I didn't mind being a gutless fool, fear struck, a pathetic soc. I just wanted to retreat to somewhere those cold eyes wouldn't be on me, watching my every move, debating whether to beat me over or to leave me be.
Once I helped the young greaser gain his footing, I took off. I expected no thank you, it wouldn't make the world of a difference if he expressed his gratitude or not. But, just as I was rushing down the side walk, the young greaser called back to me.
"Thanks a lot, Clark." he grinned with appreciation. I returned the gratitude with a simple wave of my hand, and I was off again, my feet taking a stride much larger than the last. Had that just happened? Had I just encountered the young greaser I had been observing for years on end? I'd watched him for so long, that I felt I'd known him. But he never came alive to me until now. And he hadn't even told me his name.