This is the last chapter. Sorry all. I just can't stick with it.

Long chapter. Cursing. SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Give Me the Revelation

OoO

"Going for the Grizzly Adams look?" I ask Darry the next morning.

He chuckles and runs a hand over the thick stubble on his face. "It's easier. Cuts down on time." Standing at the counter, Darry pours a cup of coffee and chugs a gulp of the blackness. I make a face. How he drinks it straight I don't know.

I pull a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. "Managed to find this in the receipts. Lloyd keeps shitty records. Especially if they pay in cash."

"Thomas Mercer," Darry reads. "Oil change and engine check."

"I know. Shit ton of good that does us."

Darry eyes the bill again. "He look like the guy Pony described?"

"Straight down to the cowboy hat." Sensing Darry wants more I go on. "Maybe about 40ish or so. Nice guy, said he worked somewhere outside of Tulsa. Don't know where though." Darry takes another sip of coffee. I shrug, move around the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal. "Think it's just a coincidence?"

"It could be," Darry says. "But just in case it isn't…"

I grin. "Don't worry. Already on it."

His eyes move as Ponyboy enters the kitchen. "You're gonna be late, kiddo. Hurry up and I'll take you to school."

Ponyboy shoots me a what-now? look and then laughs at our oldest brother. "Glory, Dar, ain't you got a razor?"

OoO

"Well, that was a dead end," Steve gripes. "Not to mention a waste of time."

I'll give Steve that. We've spent our day driving around town and checking out any Thomas, Tom, or T., Mercer in the phonebook. So far we've found a vet just back from Nam, a widow named Tammie and about four or five random guys, none of who match the man from the DX.

"We could go get a beer," Two-Bit suggests as the three of us climb into Steve's truck. "End this day properly."

"Might as well." Steve backs away from the curb, cranking the wheel with his good hand. He checks his blind spot and pulls out. "Though I don't know how it can get better, this goddamn day can fucking blow me."

I don't have to look at Two-Bit to know he's got the same dumbfounded expression on his face. Steve's foul mood has turned into something worse and even I don't know what to make of it.

"Say, Stevie…" Two-Bit says, treading cautiously. "When's the cast come off?"

"Four weeks," he grunts. "Biggest pain in my ass I've ever had." I brace myself against the dash as Steve takes a quick turn.

"Don't tell Ponyboy that, he'll get jealous," Two-Bit quips, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve barely cracks a laugh, whipping his truck onto the freeway. We barrel toward downtown Tulsa and one thing's for certain – Steve's made it his business to be mad at the world until whatever's he's pissed off about dies down.

OoO

Three days later and Mrs. Murphy is pressing a crisp dollar bill in my palm. "Thank you dear for taking care of my lawn. It was much appreciated."

"It was no problem, ma'am." I shrug under her inquisitive smile. "Just trying to make some extra money is all."

"Well, you come back same time in two weeks. The lawn will be waiting."

"I sure will. Thank you."

With that I head home, shouldering my backpack. I'll give the cash to Sodapop to give to Steve since he'd never accept it from me anyway. Although it would be fun to see the look fade on his smug face when I hand it over.

OoO

"How's a drink sound?" The blonde from my econ class dangles a pair of keys in front of my face as we cross the parking lot. She skips a little bit. "I'll drive. We can study for the midterm next week."

A beer sounds good right about now. There're so many things on my mind, my brain is on automatic pilot. I check my watch; Pony and Sodapop should both be at home. Pony doing his homework, Soda making dinner.

The blonde arches a brow. "Got a wife waiting on you?"

"Not exactly."

"I didn't think so." She flips her ponytail. "So come on. I promise I won't kidnap you. I'll bring you back in one piece."

It sounds like a deal to me so I agree. She introduces herself as Josie Lewis. We shake hands and as we head to a bar out on Route 5 in Josie's sporty coupe, I let myself feel my age for once.

And it feels pretty damn good.

OoO

"Pick up your feet next time, Curtis!" Jimmy Peretti shouts good-naturedly. "Can't have you letting the team down." He waves a goodbye as he rounds the corner, leaving me alone.

I finish stretching and wince at my sore calf muscle. I need to go home and ice it. Next week is our meet and I can't take the chance of an injury, especially if a scout is there. Shivering, I zip my jacket up and grab my bag. A cold front's blown into Tulsa, moving out the warmth that was apparently only temporary.

I'm crossing the track when I see the Impala.

It's been a week since I've last saw it and I've managed to put both the car and the Cowboy out of my mind. Until this afternoon. It's sitting in the staff parking lot, the lone car now that it's after-hours. A flare of annoyance goes through me and despite the warnings of my brothers, I start walking toward it. The driver's side door opens.

"What the hell do you want?" I shout.

The Cowboy exits the car. This time, I get a good look at him. He's tall and though thin, muscular and wiry. He's got on Wranglers and cowboy boots, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, which strikes me as oddly oxymoronic. John Wayne combined with James Dean.

"Listen, Ponyboy, I know I shouldn't—"

I freeze. I recognize the voice once I hear him say my name. The Cowboy's the volunteer firefighter too. The same one from the night at the drag races. I see his long, reddish sideburns, green eyes in a tan face

Suddenly, I'm not as sure as I was before. The wind blows a few errant leaves through the parking lot. "Why are you following me?" I ask.

He holds his hands up. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk to you and well…" He chuckles, his drawl thick. "Hell, I didn't know how to."

"The drag race—"

"Now that was a coincidence and a damn odd one at that." He takes off his hat, scratches the back of his head.

"How do you know my name?"

"Christ," the Cowboy swears. "I'm sorry, kid. I know what this looks like." He pats his back pocket. Pulls out a small square of what looks like white paper. "Here, maybe this will help." He stretches his hand out. "Go on. Take it."

Hesitantly, I reach out; readying myself to run should I need to. When I take the paper and flip it over, the air leaves my lungs. My voice cracks. "Where'd you get this?"

It's a photo of the Cowboy and my mom.

"Let me buy you dinner."

Unable to speak, I nod.

OoO

"My dad wants me out of the house, Evie's on my back to make something she calls a commitment, when fuck me, I thought we've been doing that all along, and Jason wants another $100 for his car. Life's shitting all over me lately." Steve points at me. "And I know. I sound like a sorry son-of-a-bitch, but hell, Sodapop, I just can't get right these days."

"I'm sorry, man." Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I give Steve a beer. Steve's finally unloading and buzzed while doing it. He plunks in Darry's recliner. Chugs the beer so fast I raise a brow. "How bad is it at home?"

"Don't, Sodapop."

"Steve, you oughta stay here." I flip the porch light on for Darry and Ponyboy. "At least until you get your fighting arm back." I grin and he laughs.

"Nah, I can't do that."

"C'mon. No one here cares. Darry's always got the door open." I cross the room to answer the phone. It's Ponyboy telling me he's going to have dinner with some guys from track practice. I tell him to have fun but I don't miss the catch in his voice.

When I hang up Steve's saying we need more beer.

OoO

The Cowboy, whose name I now know is Thomas Mercer, takes me to the same diner where I first saw him. Dottie D's. We sit in a back booth. He orders a burger and fries for himself, asks what I want. Orders for me when I don't answer.

I can't take my eyes off the photo. Every time I look at it, this kind of choking sensation threatens to overwhelm me. Something's wrong with it. What, I don't know.

My mom doesn't look young. In fact, she looks recognizable, telling me it's not a photo of her when she was a teenager. She and the Cowboy are leaning up against the Impala, his arm around her. She's laughing, but there's a slightly worried look to it. Her auburn hair is loose, her eyes mine. Her face a bit plumper than I remember.

I lick my dry lips. Try to find the obvious explanation. "So…you two used to date?"

The Cowboy shifts. I squirm under his intense gaze. "Something like that."

The waitress brings me a Coke. I try to calculate when my parents met. When she would have dated the Cowboy. All of a sudden the diner is extra bright. Extra loud. I squint at the photo. "Do you have any more of these?"

"A few."

"Does my mom?"

"I think Lara did, yes."

I tap the photo against the countertop not liking the sound of her name in his mouth. "When was this?"

The Cowboy sighs. "Ponyboy…"

A horrible thought begins to dawn. "When was it?" My hands start to shake and I release the photo. I hide them underneath the table. "When?"

"She's three months along in that photo," the Cowboy says, his voice nostalgic.

"Along?"

"Ponyboy," the Cowboy says, and his voice his pained. "She's pregnant. With you."

OoO

Shock. This must be what shock is like.

Steve's in Darry's recliner when I burst inside. My breath comes in heavy puffs, having run the five miles from the diner back to my house. I've left the Cowboy and the photo of my mother behind. I didn't stay to hear the rest. Truthfully, I'm afraid to hear anything more. I wouldn't –couldn't– believe it.

"Jesus Christ, were you born in a barn?" Steve's saying, his face a frown. A few beer bottles lay at his feet. "Shut the door, it's freezing."

"Where's Soda?"

"He ran to the—Kid?"

My stomach flips. "I'm gonna puke," I announce before barely making it to the bathroom.

OoO

When I crack the bedroom door I see a small blob in the middle of the bed, blankets piled high. I sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on the mass.

"Ponyboy?"

"I'm sick, Darry," comes the tiny, muffled voice.

"Here…" He lets me roll him over, his white face peering from the covers. I rest a hand on his forehead, checking. "You don't feel hot. Is it your stomach?"

The door cracks again, a sliver of light shining through. Soda has a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin. Behind him, Steve's pacing in the hallway.

"I don't know what it is. I—I just don't feel good," Ponyboy says. "I don't need a doctor or anything. I just want to sleep."

"Okay, kiddo. Okay."

OoO

"I already brewed a pot. Hope you like it strong."

"Strong's great," I tell Steve the next morning as he hands me a mug of coffee. He looks sheepish. He also looks hung over. "You got work today?"

Steve winces as I open the blinds. "Unfortunately. Listen, Darrel, if it ain't cool me being—"

"Steve, you're more than welcome here," I tell him. "As long as you need."

"Thanks," he mutters. He joins me at the table, rubs his eyes. "Ponyboy still sick?"

I nod. "Yeah. I called him out today."

Again, he looks embarrassed. "Sorry I wasn't much help last night. Once he ralphed all over the toilet I kind of…uh…well, shit." Steve takes a sip of coffee and clears his throat. "I just ain't Sodapop."

I have to laugh. "Don't feel bad. No one is."

OoO

I wait until everyone leaves for work. Then I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for nearly half an hour. There's a long crack down the center that branches like a tree when it reaches above my bedroom door.

I'll look into it. Then I'll say something. I repeat this like it's my mantra for the day.

My palms sweat beneath the blankets. A little voice inside urges this is the kind of news that's life changing, Ponyboy. You just can't un-know it.

He can't be right. He just can't be. Because if he is then I don't know anything – anyone – at all.

OoO

The house is a wreck. So wrecked that in fact, for a moment, I think it's my fault. Two-Bit whistles. "Holy hell, what's going on in here?" I dump my stuff on the couch. Drawers are open, the coat closet a mess, picture frames turned over.

"Ponyboy?" I shout.

Two-Bit steps into the bedroom. He comes out shaking his head. A scratching comes from somewhere in the house. Listening fast I instantly know where he is.

"Downstairs," I tell Two-Bit.

In the basement we find Ponyboy surrounded by boxes. The tops have been ripped apart, contents spread everywhere. He's sitting in the middle of the mess, cheeks flushed. I sit on the bottom stair. "I thought you were sick."

"Not anymore."

"What're you doin', Pony?"

"Head start on spring cleaning?" Two-Bit says. "Or just felt like making a general mess of things?"

"Where're mom and dad's things?" he asks. "You know the boxes and stuff Darry packed up?"

I feel Two-Bit stiffen. He murmurs something soft and retreats upstairs. If I didn't know any better, Two-Bit takes the loss of our parents just as personally as we do. Ponyboy's eyes follow him up and then meet mine.

"Why? What do you want with those, kiddo?"

Pony leans back, propping himself up on his wrists. "I wanted to see some photos. I didn't know I needed permission."

"You know you don't," I carefully begin. Again, it's the same old thing with him; Ponyboy dodging the real issue. Confused, I stand. "You can see their stuff whenever you want. I think Darry just moved it up to the attic, is all."

He hangs his head. "Sorry, Sodapop. I was just worried when I couldn't find it. Thought maybe it had gotten thrown away by accident or something."

"We'd never do that." I take his hand and pull him up. "C'mon, let's go start dinner."

OoO

"No more studying?"

"No." I pull away from her grip. "No more studying." Jesus, I think, looking at her face. At the rate this is going, I'll be lucky to pass my midterm.

"You're no fun," she pouts. She reaches over to wipe lipstick from my mouth.

"Josie…" I finish my beer. "Look, if we keep meeting here we have got to study."

The smile falls away from her face. "Okay. Fine." She whips her bag out and withdraws flashcards. She's all business and I know I've just lost. "We'll study then, smarty."

"Josie…"

"Nope. You want to study, now answer the question." Josie raises the card, reads it then smirks. "Okay, Darry Curtis…tell me…Positive externalities exist when…?"

I blank. While I'm no slouch in the studying department, I'm beginning to realize I may need some pointers from my little brother. Either that or I need to stay away from Josie.

"I don't suppose I can take a rain check on that question can I?" I look around for the waitress, ready to order another beer.

"Wrong answer," Josie says. She whips out another flashcard as I sink into the booth.

OoO

Brushing cobwebs from my face, I tiptoe across the squeaky floor.

I've never liked the attic. Two-Bit once told me it was haunted by a family of pirates and even though I was five at the time and didn't question the fact that pirates would be living in Tulsa, Oklahoma, sometimes I still think I believe it. The small room creaks in the hot summer and moans in the winter when the snow settles.

It's been two days since I've seen the Cowboy. Two days since I've been down in the basement and the ache won't stop. I have to know.

On my knees, I drag the large, familiar trunk from a back corner. It's been nestled below the small window looking over the front yard and between old blankets and a box labeled DARRY's BBALL CARDS. Sneezing, I wipe dust from the window, getting a clear view of our driveway. It's Saturday and Darry's out studying for his tests, Soda and Steve working.

I pop the latches on the trunk. Inside are all my mother's important possessions. I chase away a lump in my throat; saddened that her life has been relegated to this one small box. I gingerly start pulling out the items, carefully, hoping I'm not intruding.

She's kept every letter and drawing we've ever done for her. Her favorite Loretta Lynn and Roger Miller albums. I find a ticket to a concert from 1956. There's a pearl enameled lighter, which is news to me because I didn't know she smoked. There's some unfinished knitting. Darry and Soda's birth certificate.

Finally, I come to a shoebox. It's round and white, with lace trim. Opening it, hundreds of photos greet me. All black and white. All frayed edges. I set the lid aside.

Sifting through them I see scenes I never knew. Their life in fast motion. My mom and dad out fishing. Dad in uniform, Mom in her wedding dress throwing cake. Them at the beach. Dad with his football trophies. A newborn Darry in his christening gown. Darry holding Sodapop in the hospital. My mom trying to get a 10-year-old Two-Bit to smile for the camera. There's a photo of my mom, Lara, sitting on the front porch. She pregnant, Darry and Soda at her side. I squint; it must be me in there. Some of the final photos are of our last Christmas together. Darry got a football, Soda some car magazines and me a book; we're crowded around the tree, each holding up our presents.

And then the trail of photographs ends, like a person cut off midsentence.

I look through all of them and wonder why Darry never showed us. Because he had to have seen them when he packed everything up. Unless it hurt too much and he just boxed them up and put them away.

I spend an hour up there, drinking in all the details of the photos for the second time, realizing how much I never knew. It's both sad and humbling to see your parents as actual people; people with lives, not just parents.

Low, watery sunlight wafts through the window, signaling dusk approaching. My brothers should be on their way soon. Gently, I replace all the pictures. I'm breathing easier, relieved at what I've found; that there's nothing in there except us. Reaching over, I grab the lid of the hatbox, which seems extra thick. My fingers brush the soft velvet lining the inside and then they all come tumbling out.

OoO

PSYCH! April Fool's. Sorry about that, I just had to do it. More to come.

Please pardon typos.

Ah, I think you see where this may be going. Stay tuned, folks.

Thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing. You all rock.

XO,

Feisty