I looked up at the big man driving the truck. The name Darry Curtis seemed to scratch an itch in my brain that I didn't know I had. And while this guy looked mighty intimidating, something about him made me feel okay. He looked kinda familiar too but I couldn't quite place him, almost like I had seen his face in a dream before. Maybe it was my pounding headache, but I just couldn't think straight enough to place why I felt like I had met him before. He had mentioned something about a foster dad, maybe I had run into him at one of the group homes before.
"I'm … " I didn't know what name to tell him. Ponyboy is my name, but my foster father calls me by my middle name, Michael. Considering I was on the run now, I probably shouldn't give this Darry guy either of those names in case anyone starts asking about me.
"I'm Philip" I say, deciding on the name of the character of the book I was reading, who coincidentally is an orphan like me. Unlike me though, the character in my book has someone looking out for him. Not me, I've been on my own since my parents died.
"Well nice to meet you Philip" Darry says kindly. We make the rest of the ride in silence, with just the sounds of the rain and wind howling outside the warm cabin of the truck.
"Come on in, you're soaking wet, you must be really cold" Darry said, holding open the door for me. I shuffled in to the house, jumping when he shut the door. My heart started to pound, maybe this wasn't a good idea I thought as I looked at the man between me and the door. I had been so desperate to get away from that man and getting in Darry's truck had seemed like the safest bet. And now as I looked at Darry as he stood next to the exit all I could think was how big his arms were and how much it would hurt to be on receiving end of one of his hits. But Darry just brushed past me down the hall, flipping on the lights as he went. I stood awkwardly by the door taking in the house around me. There was a living room with an old couch and a recliner chair pointed at a small television. A kitchen was on the other side of the living room. There was a closed door on my right and straight ahead was the hallway that Darry was making his way back down.
"The bathroom is on your right. You can take a shower if you want to warm up before bed." Darry said, holding something in his hands.
My heart dropped to my stomach. My whole body tightened with nerves. Nobody would be this nice without wanting something in return. I didn't have any money to offer. Would he get mad when he realized I didn't have anything to pay him back?
"I don't got anything" I tell him, looking at the floor by his feet.
My fear must have shown on my face because the man looked at me confused but then a look of understanding washed across his face.
"That's okay kid, I'm not asking for anything. You can take a shower and crash on the couch. No one is gonna mess with you here. You can even sleep in the extra bedroom if you want, it has a lock on the door if that makes you more comfortable" Darry looked almost hurt that I had thought he would want something from me "I have a clean towel and some old clothes that might fit if you want to get out of your wet ones." He put them down on the coffee table and then shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I..I.. Thank you" I said, embarrassed that my voice came out barely above a whisper.
"You're welcome" he answered, he looked up at me from where he had been staring at the floor and gave me a small smile. "Go on and get warmed up, I'll get the extra blankets out for you."
The thought of a warm shower and dry clothes sounded so good I wanted to cry. It had been so long since someone has treated me decently, I hardly knew how to react. I reached for the clothes and towel he had set on the table and made my way into the bathroom. I shut the door and locked it behind me.
I didn't want to look at myself in the mirror but I did as the water heated up. I sighed as I lightly touched the bruise on my cheek. My lip and nose were a little swollen too but I didn't think anything was broken. My eyes wandered up to my hair. My poor hair. After I ran from that house, I had gone into a store and stole a bottle of peroxide and hid out in the bathroom to dye my hair. The blonde didn't look tuff but I guess it made me look different which is why I bleached it the first place. So maybe he wouldn't recognize me. Shuddering at the thought of him, I turned away from the mirror and stepped into the hot shower.
Dirt and blood ran down the drain. As I washed the dirt out of my hair my fingers found a tender cut I must've got in the fight with my foster father. The events of the last 24 hours crashed over me and I had to bite down on my fist to stifle my sobs. I've never really had a home, but I've always at least had a place to stay. There usually wasn't enough to eat, I didn't always have a bed to sleep in and I've had to walk on eggshells everywhere I went to avoid the tempers of those I stayed with, but at least I had a roof over my head. Now I've screwed that all up.
I saw something I shouldn't have. And then I made a smart remark to my foster father and he figured out that I knew. He beat the hell out of me, punched me and smashed my head against the wall. He had grabbed my arms and pinned me to floor, he was trying to pull his knife out when I was able to throw a knee into his back and get out from under him. I ran from that house as fast I could, just running until I thought I could risk ducking into a convenience store. I knew if he had gotten that knife out, he would have killed me. Thanks to me not using my head, I now have a huge target on it. My foster father, Jimmy Moore, the man who's made my life hell for the last year is after me and he's dangerous. And unfortunately for me, he's a very connected man. His brother is a cop, and while I have no proof, I suspect he's working with Jimmy. My social worker is also married to Jimmy's cop brother, which is why telling her about the abuse that was going on there was never an option for me.
The water was starting to cool, bringing me back from being lost in my thoughts. I jumped, turning the water off and praying I didn't use all of Darry's hot water.
I got out and dried off. I tried not to look at the bruises that are littered all over me. My clothes sat there where I had folded them, wet, dirty, and cold. The clothes Darry had given me looked mighty comfortable, a pair of sweats and a tattered football sweatshirt. I didn't want to owe him more than I already did by taking his clothes but my whole body ached and my head was pounding and I just wanted to sleep. Convincing myself that it would be more rude to get Darry's couch dirty with my old clothes, I changed into the dry ones. I felt warmer than I had in a long time. Before exiting the bathroom, I pulled a plastic baggy out of the pocket of my jeans. The bag held the only thing in my life that I've managed to save from foster home to foster home. It's a photo that I carry with me all the time, never leaving it in whatever place I'm staying in case I need to make a fast getaway. In the photo my mom is holding me, we're both laughing at my dad who is diving out of the picture. My mom is beautiful, her smile goes straight to her eyes and lights up her entire face. My dad's face is covered by his outstretched arm as he dives for something out of the frame. Since I had been an only child when they died, I liked to imagine we had an unruly dog who wasn't cooperating for the photo that my dad was diving after. I always wished my dad's face wasn't covered though, so I could know what he looked like. I didn't even know their names. My social worker told me it wasn't in my file so I never knew. I think my mom's name started with an "S" because there was one drawn with a heart on the back of the photo. That was all I had from my old life. Placing the photo in the pocket of the sweats, I fold up my wet clothes and walk out of the bathroom.
The couch has a pillow and blankets on it. I'm exhausted and want nothing more than to fall on to it and sleep for the next year. Darry comes out of the kitchen when he hears me in the living room.
"You look better, kid" Darry says. He notices me holding my wet clothes. "Do you want me to wash those for you?" He asks, indicating to them.
"No it's okay. You've done enough for me. They'll be dry by the morning" I say, clutching my clothes a little tighter to me. He nods.
"Thank you. For letting me stay" I look up at him shyly. For such an intimidating looking guy, he sure has been nice to me.
"No problem. Like I said, this couch has always been open for anyone who needs it" Darry said with a smile. He ran a hand through his hair "I, uh, I noticed some blood on your clothes earlier. You aren't hurt, are you?" he asked me, looking genuinely concerned.
I pulled my clothes closer to me like that would cover up what he already saw. The sweatshirt covered the bruises on my arms and torso but it wasn't like I couldn't hide the bruising on my face.
"No I'm okay. Really. Thanks though" I said "I'm just a bit tired."
"Okay. Just wanted to make sure" he said and gave me an another small smile "I'm going to head to bed myself, it's late. Good night Philip." I jumped a little at the name, forgetting that I had lied about it. He made his way down the hall, going to into the bedroom at the far end, shutting the door softly behind him. Watching him go, I can't remember the last time someone asked if I was okay like they actually cared. It left a strange feeling in my chest.
I curl up on the couch, pulling the blankets up to my chin. From my time in foster care I've gotten used to sleeping in strange, new places. Usually I'm so nervous I can't fall asleep the first few nights. But laying under the blankets on Darry's couch, I don't feel as anxious as I normally do. For once, I'm more scared of who's outside the house than who's inside it with me. Snuggling into the couch, my exhaustion starts to catch up to me and the sound of rain outside lulls me to a peaceful sleep.