Note: I don't own The Outsiders

Chapter 29

Faded Photographs

by Ponyboy Curtis

Every summer, I would fill a jar with twigs and grass, a makeshift home for the fireflies I caught every night with my friends. My older brother, Darry would help me poke holes in the lid with a nail so that they wouldn't suffocate. My mom would always make me promise to set them free, telling me that anything captured for too long would soon die. But I'd hide them in my closet and bring them out in the dead of night when the rest of the house was asleep. The soft green glow would light up my bedroom as I watched the fireflies crawl and fly through the jungle I'd given them. Inevitably, though, the glow would fade to darkness and I would realize I should have listened to my mother.

The older I get, it seems like everything is getting darker, the light is becoming harder to hold on to. Summer used to mean something more than no school, longer days, and rising heat. When I was a kid, summer meant a time of innocence and freedom. Of course, you might argue that at fourteen - about to turn fifteen in a few weeks - I am still a kid. One thing this last year has taught me, childhood is as fleeting as a sunset.

When that bell would ring at the end of the last day of school in June - that was a golden moment in every kid's life. We were free. Free to do whatever we wanted; no stuffy rules and regulations to bog us down.

Free to catch minnows in the creek as we waded in the cool water; getting our hand-me-down cutoffs soaking wet and ruining our favorite pair of sneakers in the mud.

Free to walk along the train tracks as we dared one another to dodge a train that was miles away and never any danger to begin with.

Free to lay out on our backs in the tall grass as the warmth of the day faded to a muggy coolness as we counted the stars and talked about our dreams. The sky was huge and it always seemed like there were at least a billion stars - one for every dream I had. Of course, at the time those dreams usually revolved around playing ball for the White Sox or battling the bad guys with Spiderman - but they were dreams, nonetheless.

During the summer, falling asleep was the hardest, like your mind didn't want to let go of the day - sleep was a surrender that brought that last day of summer one step closer. And let me tell you, there's nothing worse than trying to fall asleep in a hot room where the air isn't moving and your mind won't shut off and leave you in peace.

My brother, Sodapop, and I devised a solution to this problem. We'd wait for my father's snoring to rumble through the house; our signal that the coast was clear. Like thieves in the night, we'd sneak outside with blankets and pillows in tow, and we'd sleep on the porch in our improvised beds. We liked to believe we had one-up on our parents, that they never knew - but I bet Mom did. Nothing got past her. Regardless, it was like a grand adventure - maybe we were on a treasure hunt on a deserted island, or a rocket flight to the moon, or maybe we were rafting down the Mississippi, on the run from the law. Anything is possible when you're eight and your ten-year-old brother is by your side.

I always thought there was a weird stillness about summer that is hard to explain. When I was younger, there were those moments were everything seemed to slow down and stop, like a series of photographs chronicling my childhood. I still carry those snapshots in my memory:

My mother - beautifully bathed in sunlight, handing out lunch from a wicker basket as we all sat outside on a threadbare blanket, enjoying an impromptu picnic.

My father and Darry - sitting on a rickety wooden bridge as their fishing lines dangled in the water, practically forgotten as they talked about anything and everything but fishing.

My best friend, Johnny - running to making an impossible catch in the end zone during a game of neighborhood football, cinching the win for our team.

My other friends - Dallas, Steve, and Two-Bit - goofing off in the crowded community pool, pretending to accidentally splash the ladies lining the poolside who were stretched out on the old lounge chairs while their own kids were off bugging someone else.

My brother, Sodapop - riding this ornery horse named Mickey Mouse so far into the field that they became one with the horizon. Man, did Soda love that horse.

I have to hold on tight to these snapshots of memory, because, like I said, we all grow up too fast anymore. I have to be diligent - keep them from fading and cracking. I'm finding it harder and harder to make new ones. One minute, you're thirteen with the world at your feet and not a care in the world. Blink, and seconds later the photographs alter and your world begins to shift.

Soda will never ride Mickey again. The guy who owned the stables had to sell him to help make ends meet.

My parents are gone. Picnics and fishing trips are a thing of the past.

Darry doesn't have time anymore to sit and daydream, not with two brothers to raise.

My buddy, Johnny - well, he never will be able run and catch another touchdown like he did that day.

Steve and Two-Bit are still around - still causing trouble, still like family. A little older, I'm not sure how much wiser.

And Dallas - sometimes the bonds of friendship can break and someone can drift away, swept up by change and time. I keep hoping that one day he'll come striding back into my house, slam the door as usual, and propose a bit of mischief for that night. All in good fun, of course.

As for me - well, the stars seem a little dimmer, my dreams a little smaller. We all grow up too fast. Summer after summer seem shorter and shorter - the green of the season is quickly replaced with the brown of autumn and then the gray of winter. I'm afraid I'm forgetting, that it never really used to be the way I remember.

Time never stops, but I have to at least try to slow it down a bit and savor every moment, take as many pictures as possible.

After all … I am still just a kid.

Ponyboy was watching Johnny as he read his article. His stomach was in knots and he couldn't stop his leg from shaking. Johnny was reading carefully, like he was weighing each and every word. Finally, he looked up.

"Well, what did you think, man?" Pony asked so quickly that it sounded more like, "Wellwhatdidyouthinkman?"

The corner of Johnny's mouth lifted slightly into a smile that seemed kind of sad, a little wistful - a mirror of the one Pony had while he was writing it. "This is great Pony. You never told me you could write like that."

Pony broke out into a huge grin. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, I mean that."

"Are you okay with … do you mind …"

Johnny shrugged and looked down at his chair. "It's true isn't it?"

"I know, it's just …"

Johnny interrupted. "Hey, it was a great catch."

"The best," Pony agreed, his eyes started to water a bit and he figured his allergies were acting up. Never mind the fact that he didn't actually have any allergies. Slightly embarrassed, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

Johnny handed him the article and Pony looked down at it, the words a blur. "It doesn't really sound like a newspaper article, though." Pony said as he nervously chewed his bottom lip. "It's not like it has any actual news in it."

"Well, what did this editor guy tell you to write?"

"He just said to write about summertime in Tulsa. He said it should be like an editorial," Ponyboy explained.

"So what's the problem?" Johnny said with a grin. " This is exactly what summertime in Tulsa is like. At least in our neighborhood."

"Maybe I should write something else. I could take a different approach. Interview some people. That's what reporters do, right?" Pony stood up and started to pace.

"Pony, just send in the article. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

Ponyboy collapsed on the couch with a sigh. "I don't get the internship."

"Ya gotta quit worrying, man. You're gonna get it."

The bus dropped him off a block away from the building that housed the newspaper offices. Just walking that short block had Pony cursing his decision to wear one of Darry's ties. He felt like he was being strangled by the heat and he was sorely tempted to tear the thing off and shove it in his pocket. Once he stepped inside the building, he realized he shouldn't have worn the thing in the first place - he was completely overdressed.

Over the course of the last week, Pony had been imagining what the newsroom must look like. He'd envisioned the fast paced hustle and bustle, reporters furiously typing away, phones ringing off the hook, and papers flying everywhere. Everyone would engage in witty banter and arguments would break out as reporters jockeyed for the front-page story.

What he found when he stepped through the smudged glass door did not match the vision he'd been carrying around in his head. A wall of heat slammed into him, the whir of a tiny desk fan trying to prove to him that it was doing everything it could to move the air around. Everything seemed old and gray. The lighting seemed off somehow - like it leached everything of color. A tired looking lady with frizzy black hair was sitting at the reception desk, the phone to her ear as she lazily filed her dark red nails.

"Yeah, what d'ya want, kid?" she said in greeting as she cracked her gum, not even looking at him. "Paperboys get paid next week."

"Um, I have an appointment with," he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, "Mr. Roberts."

She rolled her eyes and said to the person on the other line, "I gotta go, Dottie, I'll call ya later."

Pony stepped forward to say something, but she held up a finger, silencing him as she dialed the phone. "Chris, yeah I gotta kid here for you. Name's …hold on," she put her hand over the receiver. "What's your name, kid?"

"Ponyboy Curtis," he said and she stared at him for a beat, her mouth hanging open.

"Right," she muttered before removing her hand from the phone. "Says his name is Ponyboy Curtis," she listened for a moment, said a few "Uh-huhs", then nodded and hung up.

"You can head on back. Chris's desk is the last one on the right."

The newsroom looked a little better than the reception area. Two rows of desks stretched the length of the room. Most of the desks were empty, but there were a few occupants scattered here and there.

A few fans were trying to do battle with the heat, but they were losing. Everyone looked wilted. The guys had their shirtsleeves rolled to their elbows, the top button undone. There wasn't a tie in sight and Pony awkwardly tugged on his. There was a woman reporter at one desk, typing out a story - her hair was swept up into a haphazard bun and Ponyboy counted at least three pencils holding it up. She gave him a weary smile as he walked by.

One guy was on the phone and Pony could hear a snippet of conversation as he walked past. He was asking about surviving relatives and Pony saw that the nameplate on his desk read Obituaries. He shuddered at that - he couldn't imagine spending all day asking people about loved ones who died. That had to be one hell of a depressing job.

Pony finally made it to the last desk. The guy sitting at it looked out of place amongst the rest of the room. He was younger for one thing, a lot younger. His hair was curly, but he wore it long - it almost brushed the top of his shoulders. He had sideburns that reminded Pony of Two-Bit, and he was wearing those wire rimmed glasses that had become popular because of The Beatles. His clothes were rumpled, more like what college students were wearing than what you'd expect to see in a professional newsroom.

He stood as Pony approached his desk. "Ponyboy Curtis?" he asked as he held out his hand.

"Yes, sir," Pony said as he shook the offered hand.

The guy chuckled. "Please, call me Chris. Have a seat."

After they sat, Chris started riffling through the papers on his desk. It was a disorganized mess which matched his disheveled appearance. After a minute of looking, he triumphantly pulled out a piece of paper.

"Here we go. Faded Photographs," he said to himself as he leaned back in his chair and read over the copy. Pony felt his hands grow clammy, it was his article and now he was going to have to watch this stranger read it in front of him. After a couple of minutes, Chris dropped the paper back on his desk and scooted forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the desk.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all," he said with a thoughtful nod. Pony let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Thank you," Pony said tentatively. It had sounded like a compliment, but he didn't want to assume. This guy was so laid back that it was hard to tell.

"So, here's the deal. This is a program that we started last year and it was a big success, so we decided to do it again this summer. The paper is setting aside two pages every Saturday for us and we have carte blanche to do whatever we want. I'm rounding up a half dozen local high school students to write the articles, decide on content, teach them layout, the works. It's a huge opportunity and not a bad way to beat the heat."

Pony raised an eyebrow at that - they were practically sitting in an oven right now. Chris laughed.

"Air conditioner is on the fritz. One good thing is that everyone works a little faster, to get the hell out of here. Most of tomorrow's edition is already set. These guys," Chris motioned to the few stragglers in the room, "are just too old to move fast anymore."

"Screw you, Chris," one guy yelled out from a desk that was a few stations down from where they were sitting.

"As I was saying, last year was a hit with our readers, but I'd like to take it a step further. We'll still have your typical puff pieces about summer jobs, the hip hairstyles, why Paul McCartney is dreamy, the usual stuff teenagers love. But I'd like to have some content with weight - stuff like that paper you wrote for your English class." The color drained from Ponyboy's face. He hadn't realized Mr. Syme had shown this guy his paper.

"Easy, kid - you look like you're ready to pass out. Syme loved that paper and wanted to get a second opinion. I had him for class ten years ago and he helped steer me toward college and a future. I'd probably be working at some store bagging groceries if it wasn't for him."

"You read my theme?" Pony asked, feeling like he was doing nothing to hold up his end of this conversation.

"I did, and I agree with what you wrote about having to let people know about what is going on right under their noses. I grew up in the poorer side of town and I know how tough it is to get out of there. We could run this article next week, let people get to know you, have them start to care about you," he said as he held up the one Pony had just written. "And then we'll follow-up with a series of articles detailing the events you went through last year."

Pony thought about it for a moment - part of him was excited, this was exactly what he had set out to do when he wrote the theme in the first place. He wanted to show everyone that - greaser or Soc, rich or poor - everyone was the same deep down inside.

Another part of him was terrified - did he really want to stir things up again, bring up difficult subjects that seemed to have been forgotten over the last few months. And what would the guys think? He still hadn't shown any of them his theme; every time he was about to, he'd think up a new excuse. Darry looked tired, Soda was getting ready for a date, Johnny was too busy with schoolwork. He just couldn't admit the truth - that he was a coward. Agreeing to this would certainly give him the kick in the ass he needed to finally show his work to everyone.

While Ponyboy sat thinking, Chris's phone rang. He picked it up and talked quietly into the receiver. He hung up and looked expectantly at Ponyboy. "My next interview is here. So what'll be?"

"Okay," he said, realizing there was never any chance he'd say no. "When do we start?"

Chris smiled, he looked genuinely excited. "We'll all meet on Monday to decide on the content and to make story assignments for next Saturday's edition. Then you have all week to work on it. There isn't a set schedule; but your deadline will be Friday by three so that it can be edited and the pages set."

"So Monday?" Pony asked, writing it down on a piece of scrap paper.

"Monday," Chris confirmed, as he held out his hand again and Pony shook it as he stood up. "I look forward to working with you, Ponyboy."

Pony turned around and quickly made his way down the aisle. His mind was moving a million miles a minute, already sifting through ideas for a second article. He wasn't paying attention and collided with a woman who was walking toward the back of the room, in the direction he just came from.

"S-sorry," he stuttered as he looked up, embarrassed, and met the eyes of the stranger he'd almost knocked over. She looked a little flustered and it took a moment for recognition to flicker in her eyes. For Pony it was more instantaneous, her name screamed in his mind like it always did when he saw her.

"What are you doing here?" Pony asked, he sounded out of breath.

"I -" she started to answer, but was interrupted by Chris, who had stepped up behind them.

"Miss Valance, it's great to see you. My desk is back this way," he motioned for her to follow him.

Pony and Cherry's gazes stayed locked for a second longer and she smiled.

"It's good to see you, Ponyboy."

"Miss Valance, this is a newspaper, we have deadlines," Chris interrupted and Cherry mouthed the word "Oops," before making her way down the row of desks.

Pony stared after her, his mind reeling.

This was certainly going to be one long summer.

O

O

O

A/N - Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.