A Place Deep Within

Twelvth Chapter -The lost ones

October 28 - morning

I don't end up at Steve's. I have known where he lives since forever, yet his house is strange unfamiliar. There's a reason for it, Mr. Randle doesn't like visitors. So I avoid the front door and walks around the house to knock on Steve's bedroom window. When I don't get his attention, I remember the party. I guess he's asleep, or not home at all.

In a corner shop I buy new cigarettes for Pony and a sandwich for breakfast, before I take a long walk around the East area of Tulsa. Everything's still quiet, the only sound comes from the chrunching snow under my shoes and a few cars driving by. I walk for an hour, the snow keeps falling, hiding my footprints. Then I stop. To my left is Johnny's house. Like Steve's, I've only been inside those walls once or twice. I stare at it, the flaked off paint, a broken window, the junk in the front yard. I wonder if they're sad. His parents. Probably not. They never loved him. Not the way they should.

I suddenly feel guilty, have we grieved enough? It all happened at once, Johnny, Dally, Pony falling down in one night. It all has been about Pony since. Their funerals passed when Pony laid unconscious, we all focused on the breathing boy, neglected those who didn't. And then there was Sandy too. Her step out of my life when I needed her the most. But she's nothing against our friends. I miss them, now more than ever. And I wonder when life will get back to normal, but I know the answer. Never. Cause no one will come back again.

I feel empty. I don't want to go home. I don't want to deal with this anymore. I don't want to be an adult seventeen year old who has lost his parents, two friends, a girl, a brother, in mere a year. I want to be happy-go-lucky-Soda. Not feel like a middle aged man.

But I haven't lost Pony, have I?

He's still here. At home. In bed. Sleeping. I can go home, look at him, hug him, talk to him. I can do that. I can be his big brother. If only my feet wants to move. Suddenly I find myself sitting on the curb, still staring at the former home of our friend, and I wish I could turn back the time.

He's so mad at me.

Pony talked about Johnny. But Johnny was never mad at anyone.

XXX

One year ago - summer

Dally walks back and forth, makes a path in the long grass at the vacant lot, the green straws has no chance but bend under his shoes. In one hand he holds a nearly empty whiskey bottle, in the other a cigarette, and he waves the latter at Johnny's direction.

"You can't tell me you're not angry," he shouts. "Damn, Johnny."

Johnny looks down.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. I can tell he hates when Dally shouts at him. But I can see Dally thinks so too, cause he calms down, sits himself down next to us under the oak.

"You should be mad," Dally says, oddly gentle. "They deserve it."

Johnny just shruggs and Dally swears. "Johnny..."

"They're my parents," Johnny says. "I know they ain't perfect, but..."

Dally snorts. "Perfect?"

Johnny swallows. "... but I'm not either. Guess it was my fault..." His hand touches the blue spot on his cheek. We've already helped him wipe off the blood. The sound of splitting glass echoes, Dally's last whiskey soaks the ground beneath the rock a few meters away.

"Shut up and stop talk like that, Johnny!" His eyes are strange. His fists knots. And suddenly, he gets up and leaves. Johnny looks at me.

"Dally's right," I say after a silent minute. "It ain't your fault. You should be angry at him." I mean his dad. It was his fist that marked Johnny this morning. But I know my friend's just sad. And that's heartbreaking.

Johnny sighs. "I'm not like Dally," he says, but I know he wish he was.

XXX

October 28 - morning

It's ten o'clock when I throw myself down in a kitchen chair. Pony's up, eating cereals in front of me. He gives me a weak smile when I give him his pack of cigarettes, mouths a 'thank you'.

"Why is he mad?" I blurt out, and it sounds wrong. I know he's dead. I shouldn't say is. I should say was. But he wasn't mad, he isn't mad, I don't get it. "Why was he mad?" I try. Thinking maybe something happened between them in Windrixville. Or at the hospital. Only three people knows what happened there after the rumble, two of them are dead. Maybe he was mad.

Pony has stopped eating. He drops the spoon, staring at me, pale, uncomfortable.

"Who?" he says. "What do you mean?" he asks, even if he knows.

"Just answer the fuckin' question," I swear, regret it at once when Pony flinch. He stares down at his bowl.

"Sorry," I say as Darry walks into the kitchen. Luckily, he didn't heard me snap.

"Soda, eat," he tells me gentle.

"I ate."

"When?"

I look at him. "I bought a sandwich when I was out." He keeps his eyes on me for a moment, then seems satisfied with my answer, cause now he turns to Pony.

"Finish that, Pone," pointing at the milk drenched cereals. Pony picks up the spoon again.

"Why do you care so much about us eating?" he mutters, but I know why. Darry just wants to keep us alive, in the ways he can. Pony refuses to look at me. I stare at him, and he notices, but instead, he glances at our older brother. Darry pours himself a cup of coffee, then exit the kitchen. The tense between us comes back with his absence.

"Pony?" I say, and he drops the spoon again, milk splatters on the table. "Why was Johnny mad at you?"

He swallows, looks down. "He wasn't."

"But you said-"

"No," he interrupts. "I didn't." He can't be paler than this. "I didn't say that." He push the bowl away, standing up. I fly up to my feet too.

"Don't walk away from this," I urge. "Why was he mad?"

I don't know why this seems important. But I know it is. Something in the sentence means something, but I can't get what. I need to get it. I miss something, I can't let it slip from my hands. Not now.

Pony shakes his head, I can tell he wants to leave, to keep quiet, but I push him.

"Why, Pone?"

He clench his fists, closes his eyes.

"Pony," I plead. "Please."

And miraculously, he gives in, almost shouting, looking shocked that he actually talks.

"He's mad cause he's dead and I'm not!"

And then the time stands still. The only thing that flies through my head this moment is He knows!, and all I can do is stare at him, in front of me, on the other side of the table. He stares back, looking terrified, then I blink once and he's gone.

XXX

October 28- midday

"He knows!"

Darry stops putting clothes in the laudry machine. "What?"

"Pony knows Johnny's dead."

"He... how d'you know?"

"He told me." I feel strange. Nervous and happy. Pony's fine again. But Darry looks suspicious.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Darry starts picking with the clothes again, throws in a pair of jeans and washing powder, deep lines crosses his forehead. He's not convinced.

"Darry, everything's gonna be fine," I tell him, ignoring the thoughts that gnaws in my head. This was what I wanted. Everything else fades away, is gone, has never happened. What Pony said before, what Steve said, what the gossip said, what the librarian said, doesn't matter anymore.

"What did he say?" Darry push the button and I put a hand to my mouth. That I can't tell him. That will take us to a place where Pony's not fine, but confused. He knows the dead part, but a dead buddy can't be mad. I know this. I hate it. I deny it.

"He just said it," I avoids. "That's what we wanted, right?"

Darry doesn't say anything. He scratch his neck, sighing.

"I'll talk to him." When he walks past me, I grab his arm.

"He's not at home. Two-Bit took him to the movies." That's why I hasn't mention this to Darry until now. "Darry," I say. "Don't worry."

He gives a short laugh.

"How, Soda?" He looks defeated.

I know what he mean. I bite my lip, chewing on it. Damn it.

XXX

October 29 - late afternoon

Pony should be home from school by now, but he's not. I have checked all our rooms, the clock, the front door more times that I can count. Where is he?

I burn the chicken in the oven, trying to hide it with spices, and am out in the living room in no time when the door slams. But it's not Pony.

"Smells... different." Two-Bit sniffs in the air. "One of your specials?"

"It's called black chicken," I say, returning to the kitchen. Two-Bit follows.

"Black? Why black? That's not the color you normally use," he points. I open the cabin, lifting down plates and glasses to set the table. When I turn around, Two-Bit's poking on the bird with a fork. "Oh," he says. "Now I get it."

"Get what?"

"Why it's black." He folds his arms, looking sternly. "Did you destroy the chicken, Soda?"

"You don't have to eat it," I reply, but he shakes his head, sadly.

"Unfortunately, I do. I'm hungry."

I lean against the fridge. "Where's Pone?"

"Right!" Two-Bit exclaims, sticking his index finger in the air. "I should tell you he's gonna be late."

"Why?"

"That, I can't remember. Maybe he should go to the movies? Or the track field? No, definitely the library." He shuffles food on a plate, eyeing me. "He'll come home soon," he assures me.

I sit down in front of him, trying to eat. It tastes awful. I stand up and throw it away in the trash, but to my surprise, Two-Bit eats his plate empty. When finished, Pony's still not home, and we sit down in the couch, staring at a cartoon on TV. My friend seems dragged in it, but I'm lost in my thought about my brother.

"Actually," Two-Bit suddenly speaks up, making me jump. "I'm a bit worried 'bout the kid."

I try not to inhale hard. My friend has a serious look in his face. I want to ask why, but I don't need to. I already know.

"Yeah," I say. "But he knows now. I mean, he used to deny it, but yesterday he said Johnny's dead."

"He did?" Two-Bit looks taken aback. "Cause I could've swear that I..." he suddenly silence, staring at the TV.

"What?"

"Steve told me 'bout the talkin' you and he had at the Dingo last Wednesday." He turns around in the couch, facing me. When he finally speaks, it's solemn. "All right, it ain't no easy way to say this. I happened to walk in the hallway where his locker are, ya know, just to check on him, I do that now and then since the Soc's did that stuff on him. And I heard him... talkin'."

"So it was you, then?" I think of the rumors running in the school.

He looks disappointed. "No way, Soda. Ya know me, I talk a lot and sure, maybe I spread a few words 'bout people's doin's sometimes, but I would never do that to Ponyboy."

I feel lousy. I know he wouldn't, but he smiles before I have time to apologize.

"It's all right," he continues, but the smile disappeares at once."Besides, it was today. And he was like... arguing. To... him."

Him. Johnny.

"Damn, nothin's never easy anymore." Two-Bit leans back, drags a hand over his face. "It's not like he's a... a ghost or somethin', right?" The last part comes out uncertain. If I hadn't known him, I would've thought he's scared.

"No," I say, forcing the words out. "He's just in Pony's head." Right then the front door opens, and Pony sneaks in. He drops his backpack and jacket on the floor, then walks to us and plops down in the recliner.

"Were where you?" I ask, trying not to sound worried.

"Library. I told Two-Bit to tell you." He turns to him. "You forgot?"

Two-Bit offers a sheepish smile, a grin that is him. "Nah, I told 'em. Sorta."

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