A Place Deep Within
Fifth Chapter - I am not there
October 18 - morning
Darry sends Pony to school with Two-Bit and Steve. He has an hour before he goes in today, and I'm working evening again.
"What?" he asks when he notices me staring at him with my arms folded.
"You can't just do that," I say. "Send him to school like... like it's nothin'."
Darry puts down the newspaper. "Soda, he needs normal routines. You heard him today, he knows. He agreed with me." The paper rustles, his eyes turn down again.
"Yeah, but..." I start pacing back and forth in the living room. "I'm not sure, Dar. I don't know if I believe he really..." I stop. "I think you should call his doctor. Just for a check up."
"He hates doctors," Darry sighs, without looking up.
I know he's right. "Darry," I say anyway. "Call him. Doctor... doctor whats-his-name." I feel ashamed that I don't remember. "It can't hurt," I add, with effort.
"Wilkins. His name's Neil Wilkins." Darry thinks it over for a while, then sighs. "All right. I'll call him later."
I don't know why this doesn't calm me down.
XXX
October 18 - evening
Pony and Two-Bit are in the kitchen when I get home from work. I take one look at the mess around the stove before I escape to the bathroom, hoping we will get dinner tonight. Darry called me at the gas station to say he's gonna be late, over time duty, and I begged Pony to make dinner when he came down to the DX during lunch break. He promised to try, and a smiling Two-Bit offered to help. I was thankful then, now I regret it. But when I'm clean, half an hour later, I'm surprised. Mashed potatoes in a bowl, chicken on a plate, the dishes they used in a stack on the counter.
"Who made this?" I ask them when I sit down, and Two-Bit puts on a proud expression.
"I did."
"Did not," Pony replies and looks like he wants to stick out his tongue. He turns to me. "He didn't do nothin'."
Two-Bit rolls his eyes at the comment. "I peeled the potatoes," he protests, gesturing at the bowl, earning a laugh from Pony.
"Only one, and I had to show him how to do it," he tells me. I laugh with him, and suddenly everything feels normal. It feels like before. I briefly meet Two-Bit's eyes, and the look in them tells me he feels the same. We have a good time during dinner, but as I should have learned by now, good times don't last forever. Pony suddenly speaks about our friends, in a way like they could show up at our house at any moment. That goes for Steve, but Johnny and Dally will never use our front door again. Me and Two-Bit puts down our forks, swallowing lumps, but Pony's still talking. My quiet brother acts like himself again, but the things around him don't match with what he says. I hate what I have to do.
"... and you remember that Cherry girl? I wonder what Dally'll say when he hears that she-" Pony keeps babbling while he leans his chin in one hand, sticks his fork in a piece of chicken with the other, and the urge to speak picks at me.
"Pony, we have to talk," I stick in, and he becomes silent, looking at me with a curious gaze.
Two-Bit coughs in his hand.
"Soda," he says quietly, and I look at him. He knows what I'm up to. "Do we have to do this now?" I know why he asks. He was here when that Soc, Randy, was here. He remembers Pony's reaction.
"Cause, ya know, I don't think I'm good at this, um, talkin'," he says, glancing at Pony. My brother turns to us.
"What are you talkin' about?" he asks. "Talk about what?"
And I say it. "Johnny. We've got to talk about Johnny and Dally."
"What about them?" Pony eyes me suspiciously. He drops his fork to lean back in the chair, folding his arms. "What?" he urges.
"You know, Pony. Darry told you this morning..." I trail off. His eyes have become big. Scared.
"Soda." His voice is quiet this time. "Don't lie to me."
"I would never do that," I assure him. "Never."
He looks at me, suddenly harsh. "Darry did."
"What? No, Pone, he didn't-"
"He did! He said he's dead, he said Johnny is..." he stops himself, unable to say it out loud.
I shut my eyes for a moment, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. I should have waited for Darry.
"I don't know why he said it," Pony continues, and this time, his eyes dart around, but they never land on me or Two-Bit. "He ain't. He just ain't. So don't say it."
"Pony, listen," I say, trying to grab his hands over the table. "Darry didn't lie to you..."
"No, Soda!" he yells and jerks his hands away. "Not everyone. Mom and Dad and Johnny and Dally. It ain't fair and they all ain't gone! You promised you wouldn't lie."
"I'm not," I try, but he gets up on his feets, and when I try to stop him, he pushes me away. I'm stronger than him, but he's angry. He can't slam me into the wall, but for a second I lose my balance.
"Pony," Two-Bit rises behind us and tries to help, but Pony only yells.
"Shut up! Both of ya, shut up!" He pulls himself away from me and storms out of the kitchen. The screen door slams and I rush to it, Two-Bit follows. When we run towards the lot I remember the last time we rushed this way. The night of the rumble, after Pony had told us Johnny died. We ran to save Dally, but we were too late, were forced to see him go down.
And Pony went down too. He hasn't been himself since.
My brother is the fastest runner out of all of us, but we reach him when he suddenly stops on the outskirt of the lot. He points with his whole arm at the tree far on the other side, turning to me, smiling as the tears flow down his cheeks.
"I told you he ain't dead! I told you!" he says, suddenly happy, and my heart nearly stops at the same time my feet do. Two-Bit crashes into me, and we both stare at Pony. "I told you!" he repeats and turns away again, facing the tree, but his expression changes fast. His arm drops down and for a moment everything's still, so quiet, and he turns around again, sees the look in our eyes. "Where did he go?" he asks, taking a step backwards. "He was there!"
"He was, Soda!" he repeats when no sound comes out of my open mouth. I have lost all my air.
"Soda..." he says, his eyes still darting. "Where did he go?"
"Pone..." I whisper, trailing off, meeting his eyes. By my side Two-Bit stands frozen in place.
"I saw him Soda. I did. I know I did." Pony's voice pleads, his look is devastating. "He was there! I saw him..." He looks so lost when he glances at the tree and the empty space beneath it.
I grab his arm, jerking him against me and I hold him tight. He's trembling.
I think I am too.
XXX
Eight months earlier - winter
This is wrong. We're three people around a table, three kids around a table, discussing our parent's funeral. But when Darry speaks of flowers and Pony of music, all I can think of is how wrong it is. Someday every child, a grown up child, an old child, will bury their parents, but to us, it's too early. We're too young. Darry's only going on twenty, but the scowl he got the night the cops knocked on our door is still there. Today he's shaved, but I know he only did it for us, for me and Pony. He tries to stay strong for us.
Pony's only thirteen, a baby, he needs his Mom and Dad. The way he has been acting, talking, since the accident makes me almost even sadder than the loss. I don't want him to lose what's him. I can only hope me and Darry will be able to raise him like he deserves. I know what people used to say about me. Happy-go-lucky-Soda. The smiling boy, the bouncy one that never sits still. I used to be reckless. I wonder if I ever will be the old Sodapop again, the one I know Pony needs me to be.
"Huh?" I say when I realize that both of my brothers are staring at me, and I give them the smile I know they want. Even when it's hard, I'll give it to them. If that's what it takes to make them go forward, I always will.
"So what do you think?" Darry asks, and I have no clue what he's talking about. But I nod in agreement. I don't want to do this anyway.
"Darry," Pony says quietly, fidgeting. "It's somethin' I wanna do. I mean, read... a poem. If that's okay," he adds quickly, like he's afraid we'll say No.
"If you're sure," Darry says at the same time I say "What poem?", trying to pay attention this time.
Pony blushes some.
"Yeah, I'm sure." He answers Darry, then glances at me. "Just a poem, Soda."
Pony hates to speak in front of people. And our parent's funeral will be crowded. Mom and Dad's friends. Our friends. Dad's collegues from work.
"It's nice that you want to do this for Mom and Dad," Darry says, but Pony shakes his head.
"I ain't doin' it for them. I'm doin' it for us."
He doesn't say anything more about it, and a week later, we take the truck to church. The sight of two coffins is enough to make me bawl, and Pony sniffs red-eyed beside me. Only Darry's eyes are dry, and I know why. I only wish he knew he didn't have to hold them back for us. We can handle his tears.
The ceremony is beautiful, but I can't stand it. I wish I was home, trying to be like before, to live. I'm not sure how, though, how to live again, but this, the funeral, is killing me. Pony grabs my hand and we cry together when the priest talks and Mom's friend sings a song. Then Pony stands up. He looks so small in front of the coffins, and his hands shake when he picks up a piece of paper. He's brave, this little kid. He doesn't look up, but when he starts reading, his voice is steady.
And the poem grips at my heart, makes me understand we can do this. We're always gonna miss them, but we can live again. We can go on.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sun on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die
My brother's voice silences, and he returns to my side.
"That was good, Pone," I whisper to him. He gives me a small, sad, smile.
"You think they are?" he asks. "Like... around?"
"Yeah," I say. "Like what you read."
XXX
October 18 - late evening
Darry steps drowsily through the door, glancing at Pony on the couch. I can tell he knows something's wrong. The way me and Pony sit, our expressions, tell him. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up on the hook, the only one who actually uses it. He looks at me.
"Pone," I say quietly. "Why don't ya go to our room?" He doesn't say anything. He hasn't talked to me since we got him into the house again after he rushed out. But he gets up on his feet and leaves, the door down the hallway slams shut.
"Something happened," I start, and Darry sits down next to me. I tell him everything and he sighs.
"I don't know," I say, bewildered. "I don't know what to do."
"It's the same as before," Darry tries to comfort himself and me. "He protects himself from gettin' hurt. He just pretends."
But I shake my head. It's not anything like before. "No, it ain't it," I reply. "It's somethin' else this time." I take a deep breath, and then I say it. Blurt it out. "I think he's losing it, Darry."
I don't own The Outsiders and I don't own the poem. It's written by Mary Elizabeth Frye and are one of my favorite poems.
Please review, and thank you to all who reads/reviews!
I guess you already know, but this story is NOT supernatural, so Johnny is NOT a ghost. Just wanted to tell you.