A/N: Really came down to the wire in writing this chapter but luckily I was able to get it up in time! Hope you enjoy!
"All I'm saying is that the past few days have been some of the strangest of my life," I said, ripping open a new box of Hershey bars to stock the shelves.
"That's saying something, especially since I've never considered you Curtis' normal," Steve replied, stocking the fridge with cokes.
I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah, but we were actually having a good go of it for a while there, it's been almost a year."
I didn't have to clarify the anniversary I was referring to.
Two-Bit piped up from where he was sitting on the filthy floor against the wall, sipping a soda he didn't pay for. "You know what they say, 'all good things must come to an end.' I think Ponyboy read that in a book once," he shrugged.
"Did you even know your mom had a brother, because I didn't," remarked Steve.
I thought hard as fragments of memories came back to me, refusing to piece together on their own. A glimpse of a photo album, a remnant of a conversation. The most concrete memory I have of my uncle was being told not to talk about him. I couldn't have been more than ten when my dad pulled me aside to warn me after I had innocently asked about him.
"Don't go asking your mother questions like that, you hear?"
"But how come we don't get to see our family, Dad?"
"They're not our family, Soda. We've all got each other and that's enough."
"Yeah, I knew," I said, hardly louder than a whisper.
I finished with the box of Hershey's and started on the box of Reese's.
"So when do we get to meet this Michael character?" asked Two-Bit.
I sighed. "That's the thing. I want to meet him, but Darry doesn't think it's a good idea. I mean, I see where he's coming from. Obviously our parents didn't want us to meet him, but I still want to give him a chance. Form my own opinion about him, ya know?"
"Geez Soda, this analytical shit has you sounding more like Ponyboy every day. Screw what Darry thinks, go get a beer with the guy," Steve suggested.
"Darry and I have always been a team, I don't want to go behind his back. What if he's right and my parents did have a good reason to hide him from us?"
Steve finishes with the Cokes and moves on to the Pepsi's. I think of Ponyboy.
"I don't want to mess things up. We've finally been doing better: Darry's got his promotion, Ponyboy's doing good in track and school. Why risk it?"
"Well what does Ponyboy want?" asked Two-Bit, cautiously.
"That's the thing, I don't have the slightest clue! He hasn't said three words about it to me, and I doubt he's talking to Darry about it," I sighed. "It's all one big mess."
"So what are you gonna do?" Steve asks, lighting himself a cigarette before offering one to me and Two-Bit.
I accept, taking a long drag before responding. "I don't know, man. What can I do?"
"You say you wanna know this Michael-what's-his-face, right? So get to know him. Darry's stubborn, always has been, doesn't mean you have to be. He can be mad about something that happened before you guys were even born and you can get to know him," said Two-Bit.
"I don't even know where to find the guy—"
"Phone book? Drive around? I don't know, ask Ponyboy, ain't he supposed to be the smart one? In any case, it's worth a shot. Better to take the risk than miss the opportunity," barked Steve.
I took a step back, surprised by the tone of Steve's voice. It was a tone usually reserved only for cars and Evie, the one for when he truly cared. When he was passionate. I thought of how Steve might react to finding out he had someone who cared about him enough to track him down.
"Hell, if Steve could bring himself to care this much, you might as well give Michael a shot," Two-Bit laughed, me joining in. Steve merely scowled.
Our laughter was interrupted, though, by someone bursting through the doors of the DX. It was my coworker, Michael.
"You wanted to see me?" he asked, out of breath.
Steve and I exchanged a glance, him rolling his eyes, me smiling sympathetically. We had both agreed that Michael Wallace, the latest DX hire, was a nice guy, but awkward as hell. At least, that's how I'd chosen to put it. Steve might use some different vocabulary. In any case, I don't mind working with the guy, but he keeps asking to get drinks after work and I'm running out of excuses.
"We didn't call for you," said Steve, sounding bored.
"Oh, well I just heard my name and figured…"
Two Michaels, this is going to get confusing, I realized.
"Sorry, different Michael. I'll let you know if we need you, though," I said, trying to at least be nicer than Steve was.
"Too many Michael's lately," my coworker muttered, trudging back outside to continue working the pumps. It was the job always given to the rookie, mostly because sitting out in the Tulsa heat, even in September, essentially sucked.
"Ok, to avoid further confusion he has officially been demoted to the name of DX Michael, or DX Mike, if you will, and Uncle Michael shall hold the title of Michael, or Uncle Michael, as he pleases," declared Two-Bit.
We all laughed at that, taking a final drag of our cigarettes before finally getting back to work.
— — — — — — — — — —
"Dinner's ready!"
I could hear the agitation in Darry's voice from the living room. Darrel Curtis Jr. may be well-liked in this neighborhood, but he could be a real grump sometimes and sure as hell could hold a grudge. Take my word for it, I've been living with him for the past seventeen years.
I ambled into the kitchen, not looking forward to whatever flames may be brought forth by our tempers tonight. Darry seemed more tired than angry, though. I felt my own irritation fading as I remembered how hard he worked for Ponyboy and I. We could at least try to make this dinner civil, right?
Ponyboy limped his way to the table, biting his nails the entire way. He insisted his ankle was fine but refused to let either of us look at it. I knew he should probably get it looked at, what with the state championships in a few weeks, but left it alone. Sports and first aid were Darry's job, anyway.
We settled into our usual seats and began eating the spaghetti Darry made. I frowned at the lack of food coloring but ate it anyway, and begrudgingly admitted to myself that it wasn't half bad. I noticed Ponyboy wasn't doing much more than pushing the food around on his plate rather than eating it, though.
"So Pony, how was track practice? Your ankle doing okay?" Darry asked.
"Alright, I guess," he shrugged.
"You gonna be ready for state?"
"Yes, Darry, now quit bugging me about it."
Normally that kind of backtalk would've sent Darry into a fit, but he seemed too tired to get into it today. Which was good, because I was too tired to play mediator.
"How was work?" I asked.
"Had to spend most of the day cleaning and organizing the warehouse. Which reminds me, the state's coming by next week, we need to clean up around here."
Ponyboy and I groaned at that, both knowing what that meant. There was clean, and then there was state-visit-clean. Darry seemed to think that if they found a single speck of dirt on the top of a doorframe we'd be sent straight to a boys' home, and expected us to clean as such. The next week would likely be spent doing the wildest chores you could think of, like wiping down baseboards and dusting behind picture frames.
"Think they'll let up once I turn eighteen?" I asked.
"Let's hope so. What are you thinking for your birthday, Sodapop?" asked Darry.
I couldn't help but grin at that. I was the only one of my brothers that really enjoyed my birthday, Darry and Pony had never really liked to be the center of attention. I would also be free from the grasp of social services, and from a legal guardian. Sorry, Darry.
"Haven't given it much thought, but maybe a party, here? Two-Bit and Steve'll probably want to plan something."
"Well you've got a couple more weeks, so be thinking about it. Last few weeks of childhood, buddy," Darry teased.
In my experience, childhood had been overrated. Or at least, the last few years had been. I was ready to grow up. Or at least to be as old as I feel.
Darry and I continued to make small talk through the rest of the meal, trying to lighten the mood. It certainly helped Darry and I; by the end of the meal we were back to laughing and joking like we usually did. It was nice to talk to my older brother without my temper getting in the way for the first time in a few days. Ponyboy even stopped biting his nails long enough to eat some of his food. I just hoped that this peace could last.
— — — — — — — — — —
"You okay?"
I decided to wait until we were in bed to talk to Ponyboy. I knew he wouldn't say a word if it risked creating any sort of tension, which seemed to be present whenever Darry and I talked about the situation.
"Mmhm," he replied, his back turned to me. I rubbed the back of his head softly, trying to get him to talk to me.
"So this whole Michael thing is pretty crazy, huh? You wanna talk about it?" I pressed.
"Not particularly," was all he said.
I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought.
"You know, whatever you think, it's okay. You don't have to think one way or the other to appease me or Darry."
"I don't know what to think, Sodapop. I just hate that Mom and Dad aren't here. They must've had a reason they never talk to him, right? I have so many questions I wish I could ask them."
"Me too, Pony. But I wanna form an opinion about him myself, not just ignore him because it might be what Mom and Dad would've wanted. I think I want to meet him. Give him a chance, ya know?"
"It's trippy, how much he looks like me. I know everyone the two of us look alike, but I've never been able to see it. With him, though, it's like I'm looking at a combination of Mom and my future self."
I laughed. "I didn't get a real good look at him, but it sure should make recognizing him easier. I just wish I had a way to talk to him, get in touch. It's hard to learn about him when I have no idea how to find him."
"It's ironic, you want to learn about him but can't because you know nothing about him," laughed Pony.
"Exactly."
Ponyboy threw off the covers and suddenly got up. Before I could ask what he was doing, he had wrestled his backpack off the floor and onto the bed, an impressive feat since the thing seemed to weigh at least fifty pounds. His hand dug into one of the outside pockets for a few moments before producing a piece of scrap paper and tossing it at me. I grabbed it from where it landed on the bed, shooting him a confused look. My eyes struggled to read the faded scribbles in the dark, but after a few moments, I managed to faintly make out the writing.
Michael Price
918-105-1323
I sat up frantically. "Where did you get this?" I asked.
"Found it in my bag the night of the meet. I think he slipped it in there sometime when we were talking. I didn't know what to do with it, so I just left it alone. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
I pulled him into a quick one-armed hug, my eyes staying glued to the paper.
"It's okay, Ponyboy. I'm not mad," I reassured.
My decision was finalized. I would get to know Michael, whether Darry wanted me to or not. Now I finally had a way to do it.
A/N: I couldn't find solid information on what a Tulsa phone number would look like in the 60s so I just formatted it like a current one. It's just a random number so please don't call it and harass some random stranger haha.