A Place Deep Within
Sixth Chapter - People dressed in white
October 19 - morning
"I don't want to," I can hear Pony tell Darry. I walk into the living room, trying to rub the tiredness out of my eyes. Last night had been sleepless for me, and apparently for my older brother too. He sits on the couch, turning his head towards me. Pony stands in the middle of the floor, his slender arms crossed.
"Why do I have to?" Pony continues. "Last time was the last, you said so." His voice is stern, angry. Childish. He doesn't look at me when he speaks. "Soda, tell him."
"What?" I run a hand through my messy hair. Pony's lips are pressed hard together, his determined eyes meet Darry's.
"He doesn't want to see Dr. Wilkins," Darry explains tiredly. He drags his hand over his mouth.
"Why should I?" Pony asks. "He said the concussion was healed. Right, Soda?"
I know why he turns to me. He wants me to pick his side, and I don't really get why. Two against one still won't make him win over Darry. I stand uncomfortably on the carpet, hating to be in the middle. But this time, I must disagree with him. After all, it was my suggestion to call the doctor.
"Just one more check up," I say, feeling like a traitor, and Pony's eyes narrow.
"I don't need a check up. I'm fine!"
"Then you don't have to worry, do you?" Darry speaks up, and Pony grumbles. Then it hit me, Pony's talking again. He didn't say a word to me last night. "I've already called him, he'll show up at noon," Darry continues.
"What about school?" Pony tries, knowing Darry thinks it's important. "I've already missed several weeks."
"You can miss one more day. You're smart, you'll catch up," Darry assures him, and Pony frowns.
"You can't make me talk to him," he threatens.
"Then don't. But you are seeing him." Darry rises and leaves for the kitchen, indicating that the conversation is over. Pony glares, avoiding me when he passes and disappears into our room. I stand still. My thoughts about yesterday race through my head. It was dark, the only light came from the street lamps. He didn't see Johnny, he just thought he did. He wanted to see him, he used to see him sitting there, smoking under the oak tree, of course his eyes betrayed him. Dusk and darkness can trick you easily. Pony's not crazy. He's just sad. He's always been sensitive, always a dreamer, of course tragedy will strike him harder. Four deaths of loved ones in less than a year is too much for anyone. Especially him. I know him. The doctor doesn't, and suddenly I'm afraid that this is a mistake. My body chills over when I think about it, the 'What If ' strikes me.
"What if they take him away?" I exclaim to Darry, standing in the doorway. His eyes turn from the frying pan to me.
"They won't."
"But what if?" I persist. "What did you tell him?"
"The doctor?"
"Yeah, him. Wilkins."
"I told him what you told me."
I bite my lip. He told him that Pony saw Johnny. Thinks he saw.
"What if they lock him up or somethin'? Drug him? Darry, he needs us. Not a hospital. You know what he thinks of those places."
Darry turns the bacon over. "You've changed your mind?"
I stare at him. Yes, I have. If I can't handle this, how can a stranger? Of course, Dr. Wilkins had seen Pony before. He helped us out in court, making sure Pony didn't have to speak about the night when Bob died. But he's not a friend. I'm not sure we can trust him.
"Yeah."
Darry closes his eyes. I can read him, I know what he thinks. What he feels. He feels like me, like we have failed Pony. We were supposed to take care of him, but we didn't.
"Soda, I'm not sure we can handle this on our own. If he really thinks he saw Johnny at the lot..." he shakes his head. "I'm only his guardian, Soda. I'm not a doctor."
"I know," I reply.
"I won't let them take him." He takes the milk out of the fridge. "Pony'll stay home. I promise."
XXX
Nine years earlier - summer
They put up a new playground at the park. The old, wooden and decayed monkey bar's replaced by metal ones, and three new swings catch all the kids attention. The four of us, me, Steve, Johnny and Pony sit in the grass, watching the workers. At first, my kid brother's upset.
"Soda, they destroyin' it!" he complains when they trash the jungle gym. He loves to climb on it.
"No, they'll build a new one," I say. "Look."
Our mom and Steve's mom sit on a bench nearby, drinking coffee and talking.
"Don't go to close," Mom shouts when we get up on our feet to get a closer look."You can hurt yourselves."
"We won't," I holler back.
The workers wear jeans and helmets, and they're annoyed in the heat.
"Beat it," one of them snaps at us when he walks by with a shovel in his hand.
"Screw you!" Steve sneeres back. I'm glad his mom doesn't hear. I know my Mom wouldn't be happy about the language. I take his arm and drag him back a bit. "Soda!" he complains. I look around for Pony and Johnny. They have gone to the other side of the playground, climbing around in the pile of wooden pieces that was the old jungle gym. And then it happens. Pony's foot slides between two poles and then it's stuck, he falls. When his eyes meet mine I know it's bad.
"Mom!" I shout while I rush to him. One of the workers are already there, lifting away Johnny and then kneeling beside my brother. Pony's pale, but he doesn't cry. Yet. He's too shocked.
"Oh my God," Mom yells when she sees the small bit of a white bone sticking out from my brother's broken ankle. And now Pony's face crumples.
"Ma'am, you need to calm down," the worker says to Mom while he picks up Pony, and Mom really tries to. Mrs. Randle puts her arm around her shoulder and whisper something in her ear, then turns her head, looking in our direction.
"Steve," she says. "Take Soda and Johnny to Soda's house. I'll be right there."
"No way," I tell her."I'll stay with Pony." Mom's too upset to argue with me, and Steve looks around, not sure what to do. Johnny hides behind us. So we all stay until the ambulance arrives. I don't know who called for it.
The paramedics put a needle in Pony's hand, and he cries. Mom's allowed to sit in the back with him, and they tell me to sit in the front.
"Are you gonna start the sirens?" I ask, wide-eyed, and the driver smiles.
"Yeah, son," he says. And I think it's tuff to ride in an ambulance, Pony and his leg are almost out of my mind, but only almost.
Tulsa's hospital is big. They put Pony on a gurney and roll away with him. Mom grips my hand hard and drags me along. She places me in a chair in a corner of the room, and people dressed in white hover around my brother. One time, when one of them moves, I can see his face. He's terrified. He's in pain. He sees me and sticks out his hand, the hand with the needle in it.
"Soda!" he moans behind his tears, and I get up to go to him. But one doctor stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Go sit down!" he yells in my face and points to the chair. Pony's eyes widen. Mom takes my hand and we're back in the corner again.
"He needs to have a surgery," the doctor tells Mom, and suddenly they leave the room with Pony without telling us where they're going. Mom's sad and pale.
We have to wait for hours, and Mom calls Dad. He and Darry show up, and we eat in the cafeteria. Me and Darry are allowed to pick which cookie we want, and I take one with chocolate. Mom frowns when she sees me pack the cookie in my napkin, her coffee remains untouched.
"Soda?" she asks, and I look up.
"It's for Pony," I say. That makes her smile for the first time since the accident.
And finally we're allowed to see him. He's dopey, has a cast up to his knee, and is afraid of the people dressed in white.
XXX
October 19 - noon
Dr. Wilkins shows up. He's in his sixties and looks exactly like a nice doctor, white hair, white beard, a friendly face. It's only his clothes that are different. He's not wearing white, just regular clothes, and I'm thankful for it. It's Darry who opens the door, but I'm close behind when he lets him in and invites him to sit. Wilkins takes the recliner, me and Darry plop down on the couch, flanking Pony on both sides. He has a cigarette between his lips, and I know it's his third in a row. I can tell he wants to leave.
"So, Ponyboy," Dr Wilkins says. "You remember me, do you? You know why I'm here?"
"Yeah," he says and rolls his eyes. "I ain't..." he silences and looks down.
"You're not...?" Wilkins asks gently.
"I ain't stupid." He looks embarassed, takes a drag, blowing out.
"Who said you were?"
"No one."
"You want to tell me how you feel?"
Pony's gaze is fixed at the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke's whirling to the ceiling. Ash falls from the stick to the floor, but Pony doesn't seem to notice.
"I'm fine."
He's not.
Dr. Wilkins asks mildly to speak with Pony alone, and Darry allows. He stays on the couch when our youngest brother and the doctor walk to our bedroom, but I can't sit still. I take my flight to the porch, bringing Pony's pack of kool's in my hand.
What are they talking about?
What is Pony saying?
Is my brother crazy?
Is he?
He didn't see Johnny.
I smoke one, I smoke number two and three and four. I smoke myself to nausea, and I keep smoking, until I feel someone grab my arm and I jerk. It's Darry, and Dr. Wilkins stands behind him.
I say nothing, but Darry does.
"We have three options," he says, turning to Dr. Wilkins. The man clears his throat, and I'm afraid of what he'll say. His judgement.
"Well," he starts. "It's obvious Ponyboy doesn't really assimilate what happened that night your friends died."
"He's not crazy," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "He's not," I add, trying to sound calmer this time. Trying to sound normal. We're a normal family. Orphans, sure. Two dead friends, sure. But we're not crazy. Not Darry, not me, and definitely not Pony. He's the smart one, he's the one that got all the brains. It won't fail him.
"No," Dr. Wilkins agrees. "He's just a young boy who has gone through a lot the past year." He looks me straight in the eyes, and his gaze seems trustworthy.
"So what are you suggesting?" I ask, suddenly more relaxed, aware that Darry already had spoken to him. The three options.
"We have a ward on the hospital for children with mental... issues. He can get help there if you-"
"No hospital!" I interrupt, eyeing Darry, and he puts a hand on my shoulder.
"I've already said 'no' to that," he says, turning to Dr. Wilkins. "The second option, too. Medicine. I don't want my brother to take any pills. He's only fourteen."
"Understandable," Dr. Wilkins smiles, and I suddenly think he seems to be a really good doctor. "The third option is continue what you're doing. Support him, talk to him, be there for him. Let him go to school, do the normal things he used to do. When he's ready, he will remember everything, mourn, and be able to move on."
I light my last cigarette, not because I want it, I don't, it's gonna make me puke, but I need to do something with my hands.
"That'll help?" I ask. "I mean, it's been more than three weeks. Almost a month."
"I'm sure it will," Dr. Wilkins assures. "But if not, or he feels worse, call me."
Darry shakes his hand. "We will. Thanks, Doctor."
"Thanks," I echoe.