Two-bits POV
"He doesn't remember you"
that is what she had said. he doesn't remember me, or Darry, or Sodapop, or Dally, or Steve or even Johnny. He. doesn't. remember. anything.
He doesn't remember the memories that stuck with us for so long after he disappeared.He doesn't remember the song me and Darry would sing to him to get him to sleep when he was a baby.
He doesn't remember sleeping with Sodapop because of his nightmares.
He doesn't remember how much Steve would call him a tagalog kid (and he would never know how much Steve regretted it either)
He doesn't remember Dally picking him up and carrying him placesHe doesn't remember Johnnys eye never leaving him, making sure he was safe.
He doesn't remember mom and her laugh, her smile, or her cooking.
He doesn't remember who ripped our world apart that faithful day eleven years ago.
and thankfully, he doesn't remember the argument, and I'd make sure he never did.
The day he went missing, before school, Ponyboy had accidentally broken the group project me and the gang had spent weeks making for class. It was a total accident and we knew that, but for some reason, we still yelled at him. We hadn't had a real good morning that day, we had stayed up all night playing poker and talkin' lousy about the girls at our school, and we were tired.
we said things we shouldn't have, which included 'Jesus! do you ever do anything right!?' and 'I can't believe YOU'RE my brother!' the latter came from Sodapop of all people. He had broke down crying, which ended up just angering us more, and Darry just slapped him. Of course nobody could really care less that he did, we were all still really angry at him. to be honest, we all wanted to do it ourselves. We ended up leaving for school without him. he had to take the bus because he was so young, but we were aloud to walk.
we talked sh*t about him the whole way to school, and god I wish we hadn't. we were so angry at him that we didn't even do the one thing mom had been telling us for weeks to do: make sure he got on the right bus.
when we had gotten home, mom was crying. we had asked her what was wrong and she just went off.
"I told you guys to HELP him!" she was screaming at us as tears ran down her cheeks. 'Who?' was what I was wondering.
"I can't believe you guys! you couldn't stop your stupid game for 5 minutes to help him and now he's GONE!" who in the all mighty universe was she talking about? Dallas was the one to ask the question.
"Who the hell are you even talking about!?" Dallas was angry, he rarely ever got yelled at and he would normally plummet the person who even dared so hard that they wouldn't know left from right.
"PONYBOY!" She was screaming so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear her. at the mention of his name, I felt anger bubble up inside me, I knew the others felt the same, we still hadn't forgave him, we got yelled at by our teacher for not having the project, and she just yelled at us more when we said Ponyboy ruined it. She thought Ponyboy was made up because "Darry and Sodapop are to old to have a four year old kid brother!"
No. They. Weren't.
"What about the little brat?" Steve said. Mom looked as if she could slap him, and slap him she did, so hard it knocked him against the door.
"What the hell is your problem lady?" Steve shouted. I was a bit angry at him for that, it was my mother he was talking to after all.
"He's gone! Ponyboy! he got on a stolen bus with five other kids with a grown ass man who could do god knows what! because why? you wanted to play FOOTBALL?!" She was still screaming.
My heart stopped at the statement. 'With a grown ass man who could do god knows what'
for years that statement played in my head, unfortunately for mom, she had said it on the news.
Documentaries were made a out the kids, they interviewed officers and local police forces, they even used news clips. because we were all legal adults now, they didn't blur our faces, or our names. they tried to get us to go on the documentary, saying it would pay good money, but we didn't want money, we wanted our little brother back. so of course, we said fuck no.
we watched the documentary when it came out a few years ago to see where the police were at and where they had stopped.
it was bittersweet seeing his face again.
now we were on our way to my old house, to finally see the one person we all prayed would show up. at first we didn't believe it, but before we hung up mom had mentioned the birthmark that "was not makeup! he took a shower and it didn't even move an inch!" we also saw the other kids on the tv.
The kid who was interviewed had a gray sweatshirt on and a white shirt thing underneath. he looked well, color in his face, clean cloths and hair, well rested...well raised.
his family didn't believe it either, but after a quick checkup, they had found a burn mark that he got from when he was a kid, same shape same spot, and not makeup. he said they were dropped off by a white van whose driver is unknown. when asked about the others, he described four teens, one of said descriptions matched Ponyboy perfectly. when asked about the sixth kid he simply said "Who? there was only the five of us"
going off of the descriptions alone, the kid named Frits Conner was the one who hadn't been in the group to come back.
we eventually got to moms house and basically burst through the door. Mom came running in along with a kid that looked like the spitting image of Darry and Sodapop.
He had fluffy auburn hair that fell to his shoulders in a mullet. he had white glasses, green eyes, and freckles. he was wearing my old cloths from years ago that had been long forgotten about.
but the thing that caught my eye, was the birthmark next to his right eye, that weirdly enough, matched his personality perfectly, as it was shaped into a star.
he looked shy and timid, and he was vary small, he had to be about 5'4 and maybe 100lbs if he ate something. He had a blank face with his mouth open just a little bit as he stared at us.
His name, Was Ponyboy Curtis.