Just as we finished up with dinner, Mrs. Robertson from Social Services called and set up a time to come check in on us that Thursday after Darry got home from work. I was sure that would mean that we'd have a few days of hardcore housecleaning ahead of us. Hopefully, since we had just switched all the bedrooms, and pretty much cleaned them in the process, it wouldn't be too bad. Darry didn't sound all that concerned about the visit, so I guessed I shouldn't be, either.
Around seven, Sandy had come over to see Soda, and Two-Bit's mom had dropped him off on her way to work. I still couldn't believe his kid sister got left home alone, but I didn't say anything- heck, I was sure that at this point my family wasn't exactly the gold standard for good parenting with my brothers in charge.
Sandy and Soda were hanging out in the living room while Two-Bit was in the kitchen with Darry and me. Two-Bit was helping himself to the remnants of the macaroni salad, while Darry was writing down the address of his next job on the calendar and trying to make a grocery list, which was annoying him since Soda had just bought groceries on Sunday. I had traded dishes duty with Soda since Sandy had showed up, and was standing in front of the sink, washing dishes and looking out the window, while Two-Bit picked on Darry incessantly about a variety of things, including his recent haircut.
"You keep lowerin' your ears, your forehead's gonna get so big they'll start usin' you as a drive-in movie screen, you know. 'Stead of the Nightly Double it will be the Nightly Darrel." Two-Bit was laughing at his own joke while Darry had some sort of clever comeback, but I had stopped listening. I was staring out the window at Ponyboy. He was staring into the grill, a stick in his hand, prodding at the coals and eventually setting the stick on fire.
I kept watching as he walked over to the steps and sat down, the burning stick still in his hand. He gathered a pile of leaves and dry grass and brought the stick to it, setting the pile ablaze and watching it burn. There was just something about the way that he was looking at the burning pile that made me want to make sure he was all right.
I put down my sponge.
"I'll be right back," I said, and headed for the back door.
"You're not leaving those in the sink," Darry called after me.
"I know. I'll be right back." I slipped out the back door and stood on the top step, watching Pony. He didn't turn around, so I stepped down to where he was and sat next to him. He still just stared at the fire he'd created, the smoke rising straight up. At first I thought it must be stinging his eyes, because they looked watery, but I realized right away that he was just barely crying.
Suddenly I understood: Johnny – the church… the fire. Pony probably hadn't been around a fire since then. I couldn't imagine how scary that must have been, running into a burning building. I was sure the nightmares he had were pretty often about the fire. I realized with sadness that I had never really told him how proud I was of him for what he'd done that day, for saving those kids.
"You okay?" I asked, staring myself at the fire he had made. It was, all at once, mesmerizing, beautiful, and terrifying.
"I might've started it, Scout."
"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about, thinking he was mad that Soda got to light the grill or something.
"The fire – the church. I coulda been the one that started it, with a match, or a cigarette. It could be my fault, all of it. Johnny dying… Dallas…"
I couldn't believe that blame was rearing its ugly head again. Okay, Pony, it was you, I thought, or… we could keep playing this game and blame whoever sold you the matches and cigarettes. Or the cigarette companies, for getting you to smoke. Or Darry for hitting you, or Mom and Dad for dying and leaving Darry with us… it never ended. And, in this case, we would never even know, for sure, what started that fire.
"Pony, don't." I just didn't want him to have to go down that whole path of wondering who to blame. I especially didn't want him blaming himself.
"It coulda been me. Maybe I didn't put out a butt all the way or something." He wasn't crying, but his voice was unsteady.
"Stop it. None of it was your fault." I put my arm across his shoulder and rubbed his back.
It seemed like Pony's reactions to everything that had happened just took longer to work themselves out than mine had. But, then again, I had missed out on so many of the hardest things that he had been a part of – the fire, and watching both Johnny and Dally die. I guess Steve had been my "traumatic event," and I understood, now, how very long it might be before I could get past it, and stop having nightmares and blaming myself for it. Maybe I never would.
"C'mere," I said, pulling him toward me while stomping out the fire with my foot. Darry would go ballistic if he saw us fooling around with a fire so close to the house. Pony didn't fight me.
"I just wish I knew, for sure… how it happened."
"It doesn't matter, Pony. It wouldn't be your fault, anyway, we all know you'd never do something like that on purpose. None of you would let me blame myself for what happened with Steve."
"Because that wasn't your fault, Scout. That was totally different."
"No, it wasn't. Neither of us did anything bad, or wrong. We were just doing what kids our age do, just trying to get by and do the best we could. I mean, I was drinking. I screwed up."
"You got attacked, Scout. That isn't your fault."
"Bad things happened to both of us, Pony. And neither of us deserved it. And Soda didn't deserve to get in a car accident, and Sandy didn't deserve to get raped, or pregnant, and Darry didn't deserve to have to take care of us, and none of us deserved to lose Mom and Dad. Trying to blame someone for everything isn't going to change anything. I know, because I already tried it. You saved those kids, Pony. Something good happened because of you, no matter how that fire started. I can't find anything good that happened because of me screwing up."
Pony was quiet for a minute.
"I'm supposed to be the insightful one," he half-joked.
"Well, then, I guess it's lucky that I'm so much like you, in these cases where you're the one who needs some insight." I said, thinking how much Darry and Soda tell us all the time how alike we are.
"Either lucky, or you're doomed," he quipped, and we both laughed.
"Scout… the dishes aren't doing themselves in here," Darry called out the door.
"Coming," I answered, starting to get up, and turned back to Pony.
"You all right out here?"
"I'm okay… Want some help with the dishes?" he asked, and the surprise must have been evident on my face.
"C'mon, Scout, don't look at me like that. You get it…"
I did get it: we were family, and we stuck together and helped each other out, and maybe the tiny little golden lining of all the crap that we'd been through was that we all actually got each other a little better, and weren't so afraid to show how much we cared about each other anymore. A year ago, Pony and I would never have had a heart-to heart like this one, about anything, much less events that had messed with our emotions like these had.
Pony stood up and followed me into the house, where I washed and he dried. Surprisingly, nobody even bothered to comment on it.
Clearly, times had changed in the Curtis household. We'd lost so much, but, every once in a while, it felt like we'd gained some, too.
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A/N: Short chapter... This one was never planned, it wrote itself while I was looking into a charcoal grill of my own tonight. Thanks for reading!