A/N: S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. The opinions espoused by Soda do not reflect my own concerning soldiers. He's just jaded. Here's a Dallas type character for you, since I just can't have Johnny without him. It's like eating SPAM without frying it first. (Yes, I did just make that comparison. It's good, trust me.)
Uncle Soda's head snapped to attention when I wandered out after a nightmare. "Two o'clock, and all is well." I whispered.
"Lie down right here, soldier. Did I ever tell you how I deal with my nightmares?" he held an arm out, spreading the blanket over me too.
"No, I didn't know until Captain Mathews mentioned it, sir." I liked playing along with the war theme. I knew I'd never actually go to war, but the little game helped us all cope with our problems.
"Well, I have 'em too, and they get worse than yours, trust me. What really helps is watching those infomercials."
"The ones they show right about now?"
"Exactly. I used to watch the test patterns before TV became an all night broadcast. Infomercials give my eyes something to focus on besides color bars."
"I don't deal with mine. I haven't figured out how yet."
"You also haven't figured out how to quit sucking your thumb when you sleep, so I'm not surprised. You'll know when the right cure comes along."
"How'd you know about that?"
"I watch you sleep sometimes." I wasn't creeped out at all by this, he probably was just standing guard like Steve or Two-Bit still did when he napped. "Don't worry, I won't let it get around."
"How do I make Dad quit kicking me?" My shin was pretty banged up, I'd checked it in the bathroom when I'd gone for some water.
"Kick him back." He must've felt the disbelief. "I'm serious, it works. If you kick him back, he'll cut it out." I snuggled close to him, listening to his heartbeat to relax.
"Why didn't you ever get married, Uncle Soda?" I was exhausted, but he humored me anyway.
"I thought I would once. She was beautiful- golden hair, eyes like cornflowers, and a heart of ice. Just like a porcelain doll, but I guess she thought I wasn't what she wanted."
"I'm sorry." I yawned softly, stretching a little as he rubbed my shoulders.
"I never found anyone else after that. I'd given her my heart, and she smashed it beneath her tiny feet. That's what ultimately made me go over to 'Nam. If she didn't want me, then she wouldn't have me. Sometimes I wish that I'd died over there. Dead soldiers get more respect than living ones. You should go to sleep, kiddo. You've got school in the morning."
I woke up the next morning feeling like I'd slept in a sauna. Both Dad and Uncle Soda were human heaters, so I hopped in the shower to wash off the sweat. My efforts were clumsy, though, because my right arm was asleep. I stood in front of the foggy mirror drying my hair, when I caught a better glimpse of the medal. It was double-sided. The reverse held an image of St. Anthony, the patron saint of finding lost things and people. Maybe this is how I can find a friend. I carefully combed through my hair, frowning as more of it stuck in the teeth than on my head. Thick hair is the pits sometimes.
Dad and I left early for school, so I didn't have to deal with Mikey until later. "Are you okay, Johnnycake? You look tired."
"I'm fine, just a little sleepy is all. I had a late night." Not to mention the huge purple bruise on my shin. That still ached like nobody's business.
"Did Soda help?"
"Yeah, lots. Did you know this was double-sided?" I held out the medal, watching it twist on the chain.
"I thought it was, but I never got close enough to see it in person. Dally was kinda intimidating."
"You seem to be on good terms with him now."
"My memory has softened him over the years. He was one stone grease, though. Grew up on the streets of New York, went to jail real young, and got tough early on. Nothing could touch him then." Dad trailed off, lost in thought. "Don't get that way, Johnny." He said, after a long time.
"You know I won't, Dad. I just wanna look tough so nobody messes with me."
"Boy, you couldn't look tough even if we made you up like James Dean. But that's okay, because you've got people who love you to pieces and that's all that matters."
"I know, it'd just be useful sometimes."
School was an endless flurry of activity, which meant I had no time to think about much of anything. In English, we started our next unit- the teenage experience through literature, and the book we were assigned was The Outsiders. Dad also partnered us up for a project right away. "Now, we won't work on it just yet, since I want y'all to actually read the book before doing the research." That got a few snickers from the smart kids. "However, I would like to partner y'all up so you can get to know someone you may never have thought of working with before. Dallas, you'll be partnered with Johnny…" And on the list droned. Dad gave me a quick smile once I looked up, and I knew he'd done it on purpose.
Dallas rarely showed up for class, but when he did, I made a point never to openly stare at him. He was a 'stone grease,' as my dad would say, and he scared me worse than Mikey could ever dream of. I heard that he'd once belted a kid for scuffing his boot on accident. He was cleaning his fingernails with a switch during the partner roll call, but he glanced my way briefly before returning to his work. His eyes were gunmetal blue. At lunch, I skirted the edge of the cafeteria, looking for a spot to sit, when I felt a rough hand on my shoulder. It was Dallas, and I figured he meant business, so I followed him without a word to the smoker's pit.
The smoker's pit was always deserted, since no one was allowed to smoke on school property anymore, but I got the feeling that it was an area that Dallas liked to frequent. He lit up and passed the cancer stick to me, waiting to see what I'd do. Of course I took it, I needed something to calm my nerves, and I handed it back after a couple drags. "You're okay, for a teacher's kid." He remarked, sizing me up.
"Thanks." I mumbled, feeling my face get hot. He wouldn't quit staring at me.
"Y'know, I didn't think I'd show up today. There was a huge rager last night and I drank a little too much, you dig?"
"Yeah." I kicked a stray pebble with my toe. Why was he telling me this? Did he think I cared what he did on his own time?
"So imagine my surprise when I not only come to school hung-over, but I also get assigned to do a project with the teacher's kid. Some luck, huh?"
"Mine's always been pretty bad, so I dig."
"You got a name? I don't remember it."
"Johnny. It's Dallas, right?" I asked nervously, licking my bottom lip.
"Yeah. You're better than I am, kid." He smirked at me, pushing his dark hair away from his face. "Got anything else I can call you?"
"'Kid' works fine. Most of my handles are pretty long."
"Okay, kid, call me Dal."
"Okay, Dal."
"You dig okay, kid." We finished smoking in silence, but I wasn't as scared of him anymore. I think he might've been my first friend.