A Place Deep Within

Third Chapter - I'm not sick tomorrow

October 16 - noon

The customer before me clears his throat irately and I'm out of my daze. I apologize while giving him his change. He puts the money in his coat pocket, still glaring at me when he leaves. At the door he meets Steve, and he grunts again. Steve's jump suit has oil stains all over it, his cap's pushed back on his head, and he doesn't move out of the way. I know we lost a customer when he needs to step around my friend to get out, but I really don't care.

"Asshole," Steve mutters as he walks in, for no reason at all. Maybe he saw my face and thought something happened in here. It didn't. I was distracted, it was my fault. "Want a break?" he asks me.

The shop is empty. "Sure."

I place some money in the cash register before I take a new pack of cigarettes from the shelf. Steve eyes me, but doesn't say anything. He knows I only smoke when I'm worried, and he knows what, or who, I'm worried about. There's no need to say it out loud. We light our smokes outside and I shut my eyes, leaning against the brick wall. The sun's warm on my face even if the air is cold.

"He said somethin' more this morning?" Steve asks me, knocking of ash. He means Ponyboy. I open my eyes again and shake my head.

"No." I look at him. "In school?"

"Not that I know of." He takes a deep drag. "But I really didn't see him much." Of course he didn't. He's older, takes different classes.

An old, rusty car drives in, a man steps out and waves at Steve. He sighs and looks at me.

"Don't worry, Soda," he says. "The kid's fine." He throws away his unfinished cigarette and leaves me. I watch as he wipes off his hand on his jumpsuit to shake the man's hand, then opens the hood of the car. Both lean forward, looking inside to find out what's wrong with it. I finish my cigarette and take another one out. I want to go home, but according to the clock, I still have four more hours to go. Time. It's more than it used to be. Before, it was just something that told me when to go to bed, when to get up, when to go to work, or home. Now it supposed to be a medicine too. Heal my brother. Help him in a way I apparently can't, and I feel like a failure.

XXX

October 16 - evening

Steve drops me off at home and rejects my invitation. He has a date with Evie tonight, I wave at him and cover our front yard in a few steps. When I get in, I see Pony and Two-Bit on the couch, playing a game of cards. I don't recognize it. I hear Darry in the kitchen, pan's slamming as he makes dinner. Pony looks up and meets my eyes, then he quickly looks down again. He blushes, and I pretend not so see. I don't know why he's embarassed.

"How are ya?" I ask out into the room, and Two-Bit waves with his empty left hand.

"Good, good. Wanna play?"

I throw myself down in the recliner. "No thanks."

"Kid's winning," Two-Bit nods in Pony's direction.

"I'm not!" he protests. "You gave me shitty cards." He dumps some on the table.

I want to ask Two-Bit about the school day, but I can't when Pony's in earshot. Two-Bit should know more than Steve, he's closer to my brother. Pony sniffs.

"You gettin' a cold?" I ask, hopefully. For the first time in my life I wish for it badly. We all know Pony can say strange things when he's sick. That, I can take.

"No."

I raise an eyebrow. Pony never admits it when he feels bad. Darry shouts from the kitchen that dinner's ready, and we all get up.

"Soda," he says when he sees me. "Never heard you come in."

"I didn't mean to sneak," I joke half heartedly. Truth is, I entered the house like someone really was sick in it. Like I used to do on the days Pony was in bed after the rumble. After the kick in his head. I wish I had killed that Soc, his foot apparently still hurts my brother. This must be his fault, I have to blame someone.

Pony's quiet, but the rest of us try to make small talk. Darry tells us something that happened at work. Two-Bit laughs, and I smile. I didn't really listen, and Darry glances at me. I used to pay attention when he spoke.

"Sorry," I say, and he gets it. I know he's worried too.

Pony puts down his fork, his food not even half eaten.

"Can I go?"

"Eat some more," Darry says and points with his knife at Pony's plate, but Pony shakes his head.

"I ain't hungry."

"You aren't gettin' a fever, are you?" I ask and we rise at the same time. I corner him and lay my hand on his forhead before he manages to jerk away. He's cool.

"Soda, come on," he sighs. "I ain't sick."

"I know," I say, but I'm not sure if I believe it. There's many ways to be sick. But like always, he'll hide it as long as he can.

XXX

Four years earlier - christmas

I'm up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and when I hear a small sound I check the living room. My brother's awake, on the couch.

"Waitin' for Santa?" I joke, but he doesn't laugh, just looks at me.

"No." I can tell he rolls his eyes, even if it's to dark to see."I stopped believe in Santa when I was seven, Soda," he states matter-of-factly. Of course, he's ten, and he's smart. He was put up a grade in school this year.

I take a leak, and then return to him. He's covered up by the quilt Mom has made, and I sit down next to him.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"I just couldn't sleep." His eyes avoiding mine. I know he's hiding something. I can feel him shiver beside me, and instinctly I touch his face. He's burning.

"You have a fever," I tell him. "I'll get Mom."

"No," he groans. "I'm okay!"

"No, you're not, and I'll get Mom," I repeat. I get up on my feet and take a step, but his hand shoots out and he grabs my arm.

"Don't tell her! I don't want to be sick on christmas!" he pleads with me. My eyes got so used to the dark that I can see a tear on his cheek. I sit down again, and my arm finds its way around his shoulder. He stops crying.

"Pone, you're sick whether Mom knows it or not."

"Maybe I'll be better tomorrow and she'll never know," he tries. "I'm not that sick. Just a little warm, is all." The only light in the room is from the moon, and his face looks pale in the silvery gleam. I know he hates to be sick, and he always pretends he's not, until Mom or Dad, or even I, discover it. I don't know how many times the school has had to call home for Mom to come and get him, cause he never told her of the mornings that he didn't feel well. And once he threw up in the grocery store. I remind him about that and he makes a sour face.

"That was different," he says. "I was little then."

"It was last year."

"No, it wasn't." He yawns and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas. "Look, Soda, it's snowing!" I turn my head to the window, the snow is falling fast, there's tons it. Tons of big snow flakes. It's beautiful.

"Sodapop and Ponyboy!" Mom stands in the doorway of the living room, her arms folded in front of her. "Why are you two up in the middle of the night?"

"Pony's sick," I say, and he pushes me gently as a protest. Mom walks over and places her hand on his forhead.

"Poor baby," she says, and Pony grimaces. In Mom's eyes, Pony's always the little one. Her last and youngest. It's strange that he never seems to get used to being spoiled. "I'll get you an aspirin." She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with the white pill and a glass of water. Pony swallows and then sighs.

"Go back to bed now," Mom says. "Both of you."

"I won't be sick tomorrow," Pony tells her. "I promise."

XXX

October 17 - morning

"Can you convince Pony to get up?" Darry asks me as I step out from the bathroom after my shower. "He's gonna be late." He throws a glance at his wrist watch and makes a grimace.

"Yeah, sure," I say. I open our door and my eyes fall on the bed, but Pony's not there. He sits at his desk with a book in his hands. I recognize it. It's Johnny's book, the one me and Darry got from the nurse after Johnny passed away. Gone with the Wind.

"You're readin'?" I ask, even though I can see he hasn't opened the book. He just stares at the cover.

"This is wrong," he says in a surprised tone. "It's not the same picture."

"What do you mean?" I walk to stand beside him.

He looks up at me, and I wonder when his face became so sunken. "It's wrong," he says again, and puts a hand on his temple. I know the sign, he has a headache. But I leave it for the moment. Something else is wrong too. The feeling I get isn't good.

"What picture?"

He holds up the book. "The cover. It's different. It's not the same book Johnny bought in Windrixville." He almost throws it in my hands, and I take it.

"This is the one Two-Bit bought at the hospital," I explain. I know the story, Two-Bit told me about it. How he returned with it and Johnny fainted. It was the last time Two-Bit saw him alive, but he didn't know it then. He had blinked away tears when he told me that. And then, after the rumble, when we took Pony to the hospital, the nurse gave us the book. "The one Johnny bought was destroyed in the fire. Remember?"

After a while he nods, but he's still not pleased. "But why is it here?" He stares at it.

"He gave it to you. Wanted you to have it." It feels like I'm talking to a little kid. Pony already knows all this. It's like my brother has disappeared and someone else has taken his place. The young boy in front of me isn't Ponyboy. He's too... dull. Slow. God, I hate this moment. I hate it when he speaks this way.

"Yeah," he says. "So I can read it to him."

"So you could," I try, hoping he'll catch up. He gives me a foolish smile and I relax. He's okay.

"Yeah, I still have school, right?" He takes the book from me. "But maybe I can go afterwards?"

"Go where?" I'm almost to afraid to ask, and I hope he'll say the cemetary. Please, let him say the cemetary. He hasn't been there yet, hasn't seen the graves. He's been too sick, the concussion, the shock, the exhaustion. The denial. But now he must be better, and maybe it's a good thing if he went there.

"To the hospital," he says. "To visit Johnny."

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Thanks to all readers/reviews and of course GoldenScorpio11 for editing.