Notes
Well, it's been awhile. Settle in, it's a pretty big chapter. Please see end of chapter for some important updates. Happy reading!
I don't own The Outsiders.
Ponyboy
April 13th, 1965
My favorite part of the sunrise is just before the sun appears over the horizon. The sky's a light pink but there's no sun or moon visible, everything's in limbo. That was mom's favorite part at least, so it's mine too. She didn't like it quite as much as the sunset, though. She was always too tired in the morning to appreciate it, especially when we were younger and she worked the night shift just so she could stay home with us during the day. She must've been exhausted. She never complained.
I drew in a deep breath, breath quivering with the effort to hold back tears. Get a grip. I flicked open my lighter, lit up, and inhaled deeply. I could already feel the tension easing.
"Ponyboy Curtis!"
The cigarette was snatched out of my hand and ground out on the concrete of the porch by a large, laced up work boot before I could even look up. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the throb of protest from my lower back and the dizzy feeling in my head that made me wish I was still in bed. "Hey!"
"Hey yourself." Darry looked pissed. "What are you doin'?"
"Havin' a smoke. Like I do every mornin'. What's the deal?"
"You can't smoke."
"Johnny smokes. And Steve, and Two-Bit, and Dally, and everyone else I know. Why can't I?"
"And if Johnny and Steve and Two-Bit and Dally jumped off a bridge, would you?"
"Dally can't swim. Why would he jump off a bridge?"
His nostrils flared, and I knew I should back down. After all, in the last couple months I'd kind of just sat there and let Darry holler at me instead of arguing back, like we used to do when mom and dad were still here. It was easier that way. But it was irritating. A few months ago he would have laughed at that comeback if I'd mouthed off that way to mom or dad. Now, he was slipping into using the most cliché of parental warnings.
"You're sick. Doctor's orders."
"I thought that was just for the bronchitis."
"Don't you ever listen? Dr. Mendez and Dr. Thompson both said no smoking, among other things, but I guess you didn't listen to those, either?"
I didn't answer. I thought it was distinctly unfair that he expected me to remember all the stuff I'd been told to do and not to do, particularly since the only time I met Dr. Thompson was when I was stoned out of my mind. I was feeling jittery and anxious, but figured I could just smoke when Darry dropped me off at school after my appointment. My hope was quickly dashed when he snatched up my pack of cigarettes lying next to me and held out his hand.
"Hand 'em over. I know you got at least one other pack on ya."
"Darry, that ain't fair!"
"No, what ain't fair is all of us working to get you well and you sabotaging it because you aren't able to stop smoking."
"I can stop anytime I want, I just don't wanna do it all at once. It makes me feel worse."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, there's a word for that. It's called withdrawal."
I was starting to get fired up. The craving for nicotine was making my hands twitch, along with a jumbled-up mess of emotions I didn't want to make an effort to sort out bubbling under the surface.
Darry continued on as he went to the trash can by the curb and tossed the pack. "It happens to addicts."
I was furious. The word conjured up images of Johnny's parents and Steve's mom and the people I saw on street corners with their arms shot up. I wasn't like that. I went to school and was ahead a year and got good grades and ran track and had never been jailed or done anything really bad. What more did he want from me?
"I'm not an addict!"
"Stop yelling! The whole damn neighborhood can hear you."
"Hey, hey, no it's too early for this, guys. What's goin' on?" Soda had swooped in as usual, dressed for work with his messy hair shoved under his backwards DX cap.
"Darrel's a jerk, that's what's goin' on!" Soda opened his mouth to respond, but Darry cut in.
"Yeah, Ponyboy, I'm the jerk for wantin' you to be healthy and take care of yourself. I'm the jerk for taking you to appointments and paying the bills. I'm the jerk for caring."
His voice started off angry but got quieter. He was looking at me real funny.
Soda sighed. "Let's just forget 'bout it for now, huh? Y'all gotta leave."
Darry turned back towards the house to get his keys and said in a would-be-casual voice, "You needs anything before we leave? You want a pain pill?"
"No," I snapped. "Wouldn't want you to think I'm addicted to those, too."
I stormed down the driveway, got in the truck, and slammed the door hard as I could. I could hear Soda trying to placate Darry in his usual soothing tone. "Don't take it personal, Dar. He's just havin' a hard time with everything, that's all."
I huffed and turned away from the window.
Two hours later, Darry was pulling the truck into the drop off circle at school. I'd been determined to give him the silent treatment throughout my appointment, but my resolve broke when I had to get blood drawn again, and Darry had to hold my hand to keep me from involuntarily jerking my arm away. It wasn't my finest hour. At least this lab tech was nicer than Deborah had been. After that, I didn't have the energy to cold-shoulder him. And he really was being patient, more than he should have been after I'd yelled at him like that.
Darry put the car in park and turned to me. "You sure you're up for this? It's awfully soon to be goin' back after your procedure. Dr. Thompson said you really oughta stay home while.. while we wait for results."
I shook my head. "I know. And I'm tired, but I've missed so much school. I'll just be sittin' in class, ain't like I'm runnin' a marathon or somethin'."
"Okay, kid." He turned around and grabbed my backpack out of the backseat, along with one of his old sweatshirts. "Here's another sweatshirt in case you get cold. And I put some Tylenol in there for if your back starts hurtin'. And you can always call me or Soda if you need anything, or get Two-Bit to take ya home, okay?"
I smiled a little. He was reminding me of mom when she got anxious, fluttering around and trying to fix everything. "Thanks, Darry."
He went in to mess up my hair, but I smacked his hand away. I had just greased it. He smirked, and I hopped out and started heading for the doors.
"Hey Pone?"
I turned back around.
"I-" he broke off. "Have a good day, little buddy."
"Yeah, yeah." Love you too, Dar.
I found Johnny by the payphones outside his English class- our usual meeting spot after second bell. He was leaning in the alcove, pressed up against the wall, making himself as small as possible- a tactic he always used to avoid drawing attention or danger to himself. I strode over, bumping his shoulder with mine. "Hey."
"Hey. How do you feel?"
"The same as I did when you asked me three hours ago," I said flatly, half-amused, half-exasperated.
"Whadda the doc say?"
"It was a waste of time. They didn't say nothin'. Got blood drawn and didn't barf or faint dead away like a wuss though, so there's that."
The corners of Johnny's mouth twitched. "Hey, if you did, at least you'd get to see Darry let that lab tech have it again."
It really had been pretty funny. Darry rarely showed his frustration around outsiders. He always had a reason he had to be calm and careful; colleges wouldn't want to accept someone who had a temper and was in fights all the time, he didn't want any marks on his work record for his future careers, the courts wouldn't trust a guy who flew off the handle at everything to be responsible enough to have guardianship.
"Ponyboy!"
I looked over, and my heart sank as I saw Principal McKay struggling towards me through the swarm of students making their way to third period. It was hard to miss him- he was wearing an obnoxiously bright collared shirt and clashing tie, his walrus mustache curled at the ends.
"Shit," I muttered, seizing Johnny's upper arm and pulling him behind me as I tried to blend in with the crowd. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful.
"How are you?" he asked in an unnecessarily loud voice that carried down the hallway. Heads turned in our direction. "I talked to Darrel this morning. He said you had surgery the other day?"
Christ, thanks a lot Darrel. "It wasn't surgery, it was a minor procedure." I heard Johnny snickering at my sudden willingness to use Darry's words and elbowed him in the ribs.
"Well, I was sorry to hear it. That must have been pretty scary."
"Not really," I said flatly, trying to look bored. I was doing my best to drop the hint that I wasn't interested in talking, slowly backing away, but per usual, McKay didn't get the hint. He was a decent guy, and I knew it wasn't fair to be such a dick to him when technically, we owed him a lot. He saved our asses at the custody hearing, telling the judge that Darrel was a fantastic student and upstanding young man (McKay was a football fanatic and was nuts about Darry. He wrote him a letter of recommendation for college and everything). He testified that Darry set up a meeting with the school not even 24 hours after the accident to talk with him and Soda and I's teachers about the extra support we would need and how to make the transition as smooth as possible.
"Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me!" He clapped a hand on my shoulder and I just about died on the spot. I saw Justin Levonsky smirking and groaned inwardly, knowing the whole school would be privy to the reason behind my absences by lunch.
"Thanks," I said, and made a break for it. Johnny fell back into step beside me.
"Why you think Darrel called?"
"Dunno. Probably worried 'bout how many absences I got by now, but I ain't sure why he's so fussed. Not like schools gonna kick me out for truancy." I was quiet for a minute, thinking about how before mom and dad, I would be a nervous wreck about missing so much school. Now, I couldn't bring myself to care much. "Not after everything that's happened."
"We'll meet ya here for lunch, but if you ain't feelin' good or wanna go home before then you know to just come get me and Two-Bit or Steve." His dark eyes quickly scanned me up and down, and I scowled at him, irritated that even my best buddy was starting to treat me like some fragile kid, something the rest of the gang had been doing for weeks.
"You startin' to sound like Darrel. I ain't gonna drop dead from one day of school." I turned and walked into class, muttering a greeting to Ms. Willougby and booking it to my desk in the back of the room before she could intercept. I was worried she'd overheard McKay and given that she freaking hugged me the first day I was back after mom and dad died, I didn't want to find out what she'd do if she heard I was sick.
"You gonna fill me in on what the hell's been goin' on?" Chase said in an undertone.
We were sitting in a corner of the locker room, getting ready for practice. Well, Chase was getting ready for practice. I didn't have a death wish. If I so much as set foot on that track, Darry would have me grounded before I could even open my mouth to protest. But it had been almost two weeks since I had nearly passed out at practice, and I hadn't been back since. I knew I couldn't run, but I was starting to feel like I wasn't even part of the team and that bugged me. I got along real well with most of the guys, and buddied around with a few of them even outside track. Chase was a pretty popular guy, but was friendly with everyone and sometimes would hang out with Johnny and I at the bowling alley or eat lunch with us. Kevin Damon would stay after school and study with me for biology tests and play soccer in the lot on weekends, but he only ran cross country, not spring track. And of course, I palled around with Jimmy Evans, but Darry never let me hang out with him outside school (not that he knew about at least), and didn't let me invite him over. He was the only true greaser on the team other than me, and was constantly missing due to suspensions, but he had been referred to the team by his social worker as a way to "keep out of trouble" and no one could deny his talent. He'd been off in juvie for nearly five months after holding up the Mini Mart on the corner of Picket and Sutton in November, and just got back.
I could tell Chase. I trusted him enough to not go blabbing to everyone, and besides, it would be nice to have someone who knew about it enough for me to rant about, but not so much that he started acting like I was about to fall apart.
"Yeah. Just not here, though. Wanna get lunch with Johnny and I tomorrow?"
He started to respond, but was cut off by Justin Levonsky entering the locker room, catching sight of me, and grinning nastily. "Hey there Curtis, how ya feeling? I heard 'bout your surgery." He paused for dramatic effect, looking around to make sure everyone was paying attention to him. I rolled my eyes, waiting for the punchline. "Yeah, heard you finally got circumcised! Congrats, man! Shame it don't make your balls any bigger…"
I felt my ears go hot. Levonsky really was a moron, but as much as I wished I was the type of guy who could either brush it off or tell him to shove it, I wasn't. I just sat there, trying to ignore the laughter now echoing around the locker room and cursing the fact that my face got so red the minute I was even a little bit embarrassed. My brothers wouldn't get like that. Darry probably wouldn't react at all, he's too smart to get bothered about that kinda stuff. Unless someone was really out of line or threatening him or something, then he could take them out with one punch. Soda would either burst out laughing until everyone else laughed with him instead of at him or bust his balls or something. Why couldn't I be more like them?
Chase bristled. "Screw you, Levonsky," he snapped. "C'mon, Ponyboy."
We walked out to the track together, and since the rest of the guys were hanging back, I filled him in on the last couple of days. He looked a little concerned, but I was relieved that he didn't seem to think this was a huge deal, like my brothers and the gang had. "Man, when my brother broke his elbow and had surgery, he was totally tripping after they gave him that anesthesia stuff. I've always wanted to try it."
"I ain't gonna lie, it was pretty relaxing," I admitted. "Probably what bein' drunk feels like, I guess."
"Well, if you stopped being a stick in the mud and came to parties sometimes, you'd know!" he ribbed, but I knew he was teasing. I'd gone to a couple of parties with the track guys before and always felt out of place. Whether it was because they came from good middle-class homes and I stuck out like a sore thumb, or because I was the only one who didn't drink, I didn't know. Chase, at least, understood that now I couldn't risk getting in trouble with the law with the State watching and anyways, I was at least a year and a half younger than the rest of them.
When we got to the track, we saw coach sitting on the front bleacher as usual. Johnny was sitting to his left, clearly wishing he could move further away but trying to be polite and keep up with his small talk. He was going to hang out with me and watch until Two-Bit, who had gone to pick up his kid sister from the elementary school, came back to get us. I had planned on staying the full practice, but wasn't so sure now. Watching everyone else run was kind of depressing and besides, I really was feeling pretty lousy.
I knew Johnny was half-scared of coach, mostly because he reminded him a bit of his dad. From a distance they looked alike; coach also had dark skin and short curly hair and a tall, stocky build. His voice was stern and booming and he sure could holler at us good when he wanted to. But the team knew coach was all bark and no bite. Johnny didn't know that.
I sat between him and coach and felt Johnny relax. I knew he'd be fine if I didn't, but if it made him less anxious, it was worth it. Coach turned to me. "What's the deal, Curtis? Cade here's being pretty tight-lipped, not like he ain't already."
"Just a little sick lately. Had to get some testin' done, but I ain't worried. Hopefully can find the right medicine and it'll clear up and I'll be back to normal."
"Well, you scared the shit outta me the other day when you almost keeled over. Glad you're figuring it out now. You okay out here watching? It's damn near freezing."
"I'm fine," I replied automatically, vaguely wondering why I kept telling people this when I'd never felt less fine in my life.
Half an hour later, I was downright miserable. I was freezing despite my long-sleeved tee and sweatshirt, my head was killing me, I felt shivery and weak, and I was pissed off at my body for betraying me like this. Coach kept yelling out strategies to the relay team, including me as one of the runners and talking about how we were sure to win regionals with this lineup. I nodded along at all the right times and tried to look enthusiastic, but there was a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach. I don't know why, but I had the feeling that I wasn't going to be running in regionals, or anytime soon at all for that matter. It was weird, like a premonition or something, I'd had it before about small stuff. Then again, I felt great the day mom and dad died, so what did I know?
I'd never been so glad to see Two-Bit's crappy old car in my life. I waved to coach and the team, and Johnny and I trudged to the parking lot. We opened the back door, and Lilah immediately launched herself at Johnny. "Johnny!"
Lilah loved Johnny. I don't know if it's because he's such a good listener and she loves to ramble, or she senses how much Johnny enjoys her company. Johnny hates being treated like a kid, and I knew he always wished he had younger siblings to look out for the way Darrel and Sodapop do for me. So that's what he did with Lilah. He'd listen to her elaborate stories and play dolls with her and braid her hair. I liked spending time with Lilah too. Whenever she was at our house (which was at least twice a week) she liked to sit on my bed and have me read to her, or help with homework, or paint with me. It made me a little nostalgic when I thought about how big she'd gotten. We used to carry her around and give her piggyback rides and toss her in the pool while she shrieked with laughter. Darry was probably the only one strong enough to do that now. She was pretty tall for a ten-year-old, and was Two-Bit in miniature, with long dark red hair, stormy grey eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
Lilah detangled herself from Johnny, then spotted me. "Pony!"
I braced myself, but my hip still ached when she hugged me.
"Li!" Two-Bit gently scolded her. "Remember what I said? Ponyboy had surgery, and his back hurts. You can't go climbin' all over 'im like a jungle gym."
She immediately recoiled. "I'm sorry."
I gave her a reassuring smile. "It's okay, kiddo. Just a little sore, that's all." I gingerly scooted over to make room for Johnny in the back seat.
Lilah brightened and sat back in the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt with Two-Bit's prompting, and we took off. I leaned back and closed my eyes. My body felt heavy with exhaustion, and my head throbbed with every thump of my heart. The ache seemed to reverberate with every pulse.
"… and then we went to recess and I went on the swings with Eliza. We went really high and I jumped off and it was like I flew but then Ms. Gardner yelled at me and said I'd bust my head open doin' that 'n I told her that I ain't ever fallen before but she didn't care. Then we went to lunch and I got corndogs. Sarah Jane made fun of me, cause she saw that I was on the free lunch program but I told her that her shirt was ugly and she left me 'lone. So I sat with Betsy and Eliza and…"
I'd never heard anyone talk as fast as Lilah. Sometimes I wondered if she even breathed between monologues. It was usually entertaining to listen to but today it was just making me dizzy.
"…and then Dennis said that when his big sister was in the fourth grade they had to go to a class about puberty where we learn about our bodies. And Betsy got embarrassed and said she ain't goin' to a class like that but I told her she don't need to be scared 'cause I'll tell her everything I knew before it so she'd be ready. Then Eliza said that her cousin got her period when she was ten. Which is early but I guess it happens. So I asked Louisa and she said she already got her period so now she's a woman. She sure don't look like one though. But if it happened to her it could happen to me so now I gotta ask mama to get me some pads-"
Two-Bit, who had clearly been zoning out, made a choking noise. "Lordy, we ain't gotta know the details! You can't go 'round talkin' bout stuff like that with the whole damn world!"
"Why not?" she pouted.
"Cause its private and we're guys and don't need to hear 'bout that shit."
She sighed dramatically. "Keith, like mama said, you live in a house with two girls. So, man up."
Johnny and I burst out laughing, and she looked smugly pleased. Two-Bit face palmed. "Kid, what are we gonna do with you?"
When we got home, Lilah sprawled out on the living room floor, opened her pink backpack, and pulled out her math homework. Johnny sat beside her, checking her work over her shoulder. Unlike letters, numbers didn't flip and blur on the page when he read them, and math was the only class he actually enjoyed. I started down the hallway. Two-Bit, who had already made himself comfy with a beer, called, "Where you goin'?"
"Bathroom, wanna come?"
"Not particularly." He hesitated for a minute, then said, "Don't take any aspirin."
I squinted at him. "What're you talkin' 'bout?" I had every intention of popping five or six aspirin to shake this headache and go lie down.
"Darry said the doctor said not to take any. Makes your blood thin or somethin' like that and you already been gettin' them nosebleeds."
The irritation that had been lurking under the surface over the past few days bubbled over. "I don't remember anyone sayin' that. What, Darrel's just walkin' round tellin' everyone what's wrong with me like I need a babysitter or shit? I don't need you on my ass, too."
He looked a little mad, which don't happen often. Two-Bit's the kinda guy who's too lazy to get worked up over most things. Everyone's his friend. Well, everyone but Socs. "He's worried 'bout you, Pony. We all are. Don't go takin' it out on us."
I just turned on my heel and stalked down the hallway, slamming my bedroom door behind me. The sound sent shockwaves through my nerves up to my head, and I saw stars for a minute, my eyes watering in pain. I pulled the curtains shut, sending the room into semi-darkness, kicked off my clothes, pulled on my pajama pants, and flopped down on my stomach, burying my face in my pillow. My head hurt so bad it was making me nauseous, and I closed my eyes against the sudden sting of hot tears that had nothing to do with the pain. God, I wanted my mom.
It might've been ten minutes or two hours, but the door opened a crack, breaking me out of my doze. "Pone?" Two-Bit whispered, voice soft. I didn't know he could talk quietly like that. He's usually got two volumes: loud and louder.
I didn't answer. The bed dipped as he sat down on the end. "Your head still hurtin'?"
"Hmm."
"Here." I up at him. He was holding out a glass of water and two small pills. "It's Tylenol."
I wanted to tell him that Tylenol didn't do much for me and two pills sure as heck wouldn't, but I didn't. I just swallowed them and flopped down on my back, closing my eyes against the light seeping in from the hallway. I heard the faucet running in the bathroom sink and a moment later a cold damp washcloth was placed on my forehead. I let out a sigh of relief as the sensation dulled the sharp pain. I heard him moving towards the door. "Two?"
"Yeah?"
"I didn't mean it."
His voice sounded sad. "I know, kid." I thought I felt his hand on my head briefly, and then the door closed behind him and I was back off to dreamland.
The next time I woke, the room was pitch black. The pain in my head had reduced to a dull ache, but I was thirsty and groggy and my legs ached like the time I'd run a half marathon without warming up beforehand. The house was quiet and I wondered what had woken me up, but then the front door opened and Soda's voice called out, "Ponyboy?"
I didn't answer. I wanted Soda's comfort more than anything right now, but I could feel the wave of anxiety and sadness and grief that I'd been suppressing over the last few days right below the surface. I thought I'd been pretty darn good at forcing it back, lying to myself that this was no big deal, so much so that I almost believed it and could make others believe it too. But this was Soda. He could take one look at me and know what was wrong, sometimes even before I had figured it out myself.
Besides, he was already stressed and me bawling all over him sure wouldn't help. I knew he was stressed because I'd caught him smoking on three separate occasions in the last couple days, something he never did. I knew it wasn't about missing mom and dad, cause he didn't start smoking after they died and though of course he missed them a lot, there was no reason for him to suddenly start now. I know things were going fine with Sandy, cause they went on a date last night and when I went out on the porch to look at the stars I found them making out with his hand down her shirt (gross!), so it wasn't that. And he and Darry had been getting along just fine, the drama after Soda dropped out seemingly have blown over. So that left me.
I hated the idea that he was working himself up just because I was sick. Seeing Soda sad or stressed always felt plain wrong. It wasn't him, and the fact that I was the one causing it made my stomach churn with guilt. I wasn't worth getting that stressed out over, but I knew that was hypocritical. I tried to think about how I'd feel if Soda was sick and had to stop at the spike of panic that shot through my chest at the idea.
"Pony?"
I stayed facing the window, trying to keep my breathing even and deep. I could still feel his presence behind me.
"Ponyyy," he drawled. "I know you ain't asleep, you goofball. I'm the one who taught you all the tricks to fool mom 'n dad, remember?"
I huffed, attempting a laugh but it came out as a choking noise instead.
"I'm gonna squash you till you wake up then," he teased.
"Try it and I'll launch you off the bed like dad launched that stray cat you brought home." I tried my hardest to make my voice sarcastic, but it came out wobbly and I sniffled.
"Hey." His voice had gotten soft and concerned, and the edge of the bed dipped as he sat down beside me. Soda's scent of motor oil and pine cologne filled my nose and I immediately felt safe, but I couldn't stop trembling in my attempts to calm down and suddenly hot tears were streaking down my cheeks. I felt his hands on my shoulders and let him roll me over, his face illuminated only by the hall light but the worry in his brown eyes clear. He cupped my face in his hands and thumbed away the tears, but they kept coming. "What is it, honey?"
"I- I'm just so tired, Soda. It's too much. I can't… I don't want to-," I choked on a sob, unable to find the words and becoming more frustrated and upset because of it.
"Pones. Slow down, just take a minute, okay? Ain't no rush."
I drew in a shuddering breath. "Something's really wrong. And I- I told myself it wasn't, and I was being dramatic or too sensitive or m-missing them, but it ain't just that. I ain't- I don't feel like myself at all anymore, I just feel really sick." Soda had pulled me into his side by now, and I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking his work shirt. Now that I had started, I couldn't seem to stop. "I don't wanna be sick. I- I can't not have mom and dad and be sick too. I need them."
Soda was quiet for a while. I just sat there, crying until my eyes felt swollen and puffy and face was tight and I had nothing left to give. I wiped my face on my T-shirt and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. My chest wasn't aching so much anymore. I looked up and realized Soda was crying, too. He wasn't trying to hide it though. The last few times he had, he'd tried to put on a front for me and that kind of made me feel bad, like he didn't think he deserved to be comforted, like I needed to be coddled. I reached up and wiped a tear off his cheek like he had done for me. He looked so sad that I couldn't stand it. "I'm sorry, Soda. I didn't mean to make you sad."
He gave a watery chuckle. "You ain't makin' me sad, squirt. I just miss them too. So damn much. And I just want you to feel better, and I can't fix it for you, and I hate that." He ran his fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp, just the way I liked it. "We're gonna figure this all out, okay? The doctors are real smart and they'll find out what we need to do to make you feel better and we'll do it and then it'll be back to how it was. And we'll still miss mom and dad but you still got me 'n Darry. And we'll stick together like we been doing and be there for each other and for you and so will Johnny, and Steve, and Two-Bit, and Dally. And little Lilah, and Ms. Mathews, and your track buddies and Coach, hell, even ol' Curly Shephard. You got a lotta people who care 'bout you. Okay?"
I relaxed, snuggling into his side. "Okay." I pulled the quilt up over both of us. He hummed and toed his way out of his boots, kicking them to the floor and stretching out fully onto the bed. I wondered if he was as tired as I was. I was just about ready to drop off again. Soda gave me a squeeze. "I love you, kid. So much."
"Love you more."
April 16th, 1965
"Get up."
I opened my eyes, and immediately regretted it as my retinas were assaulted by bright sunlight, thanks to somebody pulling back the curtains. My bed was jostled, and I moaned and pulled the blankets over my head. "Go away."
"You got two minutes before I drag your ass outta bed, kid. C'mon."
Dallas stood over me, kicking the bedframe impatiently. He was clad in his trademark leather jacket and had a Winston cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"It's Saturday." I mumbled, rolling over and trying to ignore him.
"I'm aware."
"I'm tired."
"Yeah, yeah. You been tired for weeks. You gonna be tired even if you spend all day in bed sleepin', so might as well be tired and do something. So move it. I told Johnny we'd pick him up by nine."
"Darrel wanted me to stay home."
"Darrel ain't gotta know. C'mon, you've had a shit week and deserve some fun. He ain't able to argue with that."
"Where're we goin'?"
He didn't answer, simply smirked. I had half a mind to tell him to screw off and go back to sleep, but even I wasn't dumb enough to mouth off to Dallas Winston. Sick or not, he'd have no qualms about slugging me. And besides, it had been a long time since Johnny and Dally and I hung out together. We used to have a sort of Saturday routine. At least we did before the accident. Dally had seemed pretty dedicated to building up his rap sheet since then.
I was more than a little woozy in the shower and for good reason. Dally was right about one thing. The last three days had been downright miserable, any progress I had made the couple days after my biopsy seemingly forgotten. I had barely made it to second period on Wednesday before I was so tired and achy that I had to find Steve and convince him to drive me home (Two-Bit had ditched). He did so with such minimal complaining that it was unsettling. I pretty much slept the rest of the day. I woke up Thursday with an 102 degree fever and was subjected to Darry hovering anxiously after calling out of work and talking on the phone to Dr. Thompson, then spent a lot of time trying to ignore him and sleep while he kept looking at me like I was going to spontaneously combust. Yesterday was the worst. I just didn't have it in me to even pretend to be okay. I just stayed in bed and slept, refusing meals. I wasn't sure if it was even all physical at that point; I was just emotionally spent. Still, I hadn't had any food or been vertical in almost 24 hours, and it was making me lightheaded.
The room spun sickeningly, and I had to lower myself to the floor of the shower and close my eyes, resting my head on my knees. The hot water continued to rain down upon me. I had a sudden vague memory of advanced biology class last semester about how standing under hot water too long could make you pass out. Something about dilution? Vasodilution? Vasodilation? It didn't matter, what mattered was staying conscious. If I passed out and Dallas Winston found me buck-ass naked on the floor, I'd rather just bite the bullet and never wake up.
I managed to turn the knob to cold and the sudden temperature change perked me up a little. I took some deep breaths and managed to get to my feet and finish rinsing off.
Dally pounded on the door. "Hey, move it! What are ya doin' in there princess, shavin' your legs?"
Twenty minutes later, we were in Buck's truck, which Dally used pretty much whenever he wanted. Buck rarely left the bar. I expected Dally to drive a few houses away to pick up Johnny at Two-Bit's, but he turned right and kept going. I sighed.
"He's at his house?"
Dally grunted.
"Why is he over there, anyways?" Johnny still went home at least two to three times a week, despite our protests. Our couch or spare bed was always open for him, as was Two-Bit's. He even had a sleeping bag in Dally's room at Buck's. Most all of the gang stayed over for the first couple weeks after mom and dad because we didn't want to be alone. Johnny started going back after about a month. However, after his dad broke his wrist and the weather got cold, we managed to convince him to stay most every night. Not anymore, apparently.
"Same reason he always is. Worried his dad was gonna do in his ma and wanted to make sure she was okay, even though he know damn well they both gonna turn 'round and do the same thing to him. Stupid kid. I'd have ditched 'em years ago, good riddance, but he can't let go for some godforsaken reason."
We pulled up in front of the Cade house, and Dally leaned on the horn, undeterred by the heads poking out front doors to see who was causing such a racket on a Saturday morning. Johnny appeared in the doorway, stumbling over his untied laces as he shoved his feet into his gold converse and pulled on his embroidered jean jacket. He poked his head back in the house and hollered "I'm leavin', ma!"
There was a clatter from inside the house and then Mrs. Cade's voice rang out, sharp and threatening. "Don't you dare step foot out of this house, boy! Them welfare folks comin' by this weekend and they won't be handin' out our pension 'less they see that we still need it to take care of your sorry ass!"
He made a beeline for us, but she was on his heels as he crossed the threshold, taking a swing at him with a broom. He ducked, jumped the last four steps down his porch, and dove for the backseat, barreling into me.
"Drive!"
She tried to go for the door handle, but Dallas stepped on it, and we peeled off, spewing exhaust in her face. "Fuck you, Atsila!" he hollered out the open window and cackled at her seething face.
Johnny looked forlorn, and I felt a mix of exasperation and pity. "Why were you there? I told you to come sleep at our place!"
"She was nice the last few days," he said in a matter-of-fact voice, pleading for us to understand. "She asked how school was. Made dinner- a real one. Told dad to lay off last night."
"That's 'cause you picked up her meds last week 'n she actually took 'em for a few days. Then she stopped. Then she heard the voices again so started drinkin' to make 'em go away. That's what happens every time, Johnny."
He looked down at his feet and stayed quiet. I was awful sorry for him. It would be easier if his mom was just an abusive jerk like his dad, but she wasn't. Not that it excused any of her behavior. But the times that Johnny or the cops or the courts got her to take her meds, we could see a glimpse of the woman she used to be shine through. And Johnny clung to it.
Dally pulled into the diner, whipping into the parking lot with the brakes screaming. He purposefully parked between the lines, flipped off the guy walking to his own car who tried to point it out, and we got a booth in the back. This was our usual spot for Saturday breakfast or lunch. Johnny glanced at the menu for a moment, but we all knew he'd get the waffles. He never changed.
"What are you gettin', kid?"
"Huh?"
He rolled his eyes. "What do you want? They're gonna come take our order."
"I ain't hungry."
"I don't care. I'm gonna order ya somethin', might as well let me know what now so it can be something you actually want."
"It's just gonna be a waste of your money. I ain't gonna eat it." My stomach didn't hurt exactly, but the idea of food was real unappealing.
I waited for him to slap me upside the head for sassing him like he usually did, but his face softened. "You gotta eat something kid. I don't want you passin' out on me and I ain't hauling your sorry ass home and explaining to your brothers if you do. I happen to like my face the way it is."
He flipped to the back of the menu. "I'll get you a milkshake," he weaseled.
I hesitated. "Cookies n' cream?"
"That shit is nasty. A disgrace to ice cream everywhere. But yeah, I'll getcha your gross cookies n' cream."
I was quiet while Dally and Johnny chatted, content to sit back and listen. The diner was packed like usual. If I really wanted to, I could almost convince myself it was a normal Saturday a few months ago. Darry didn't have any classes at the community college, and he and dad didn't have any weekend jobs at the construction site, so everyone was home. I'd try to sleep in, but dad or Darry or Soda would drag me out of bed and toss me on the couch, so I'd attempt to wrestle them to the floor. Dad let me win sometimes, or Soda, but Darry couldn't pass up a chance to show off his muscles. Mom would make chocolate chip pancakes and we'd all eat breakfast, Johnny already at the table and Steve and Dally and sometimes Two-Bit joining us. After we did the dishes, we'd all go our separate ways. Johnny and I usually listened to one of the old radio detective shows. Dally and dad would pretend not to be interested, and Dally would call us grandmas for listening to a radio show when there was a perfectly good TV right there, but he was always the first one to ask if we were gonna listen to "that stupid broadcast" and ask about last week's plot. Dally and Johnny and I would walk to the diner and get cokes and he'd fill us in on his weeks' exploits while we filled him in on the latest drama at school. Sometimes Two-Bit would join us. Then we'd go bug Soda at his job at the stables or Steve at his new job at the DX and-
Johnny jostled my shoulder. "You ain't fallin' asleep on us, are ya?"
I rubbed my eyes. "Nah, just thinkin'."
When our food came, Johnny pestered me into eating some fries. It wasn't too bad if I dipped them in my milkshake, which somehow was easier to get down because it didn't feel like eating real food.
After a couple hours, we went to the bowling alley and attempted to beat Johnny at the pinball machine, but predictably had no luck. He'd been the record score holder for months. We then piled back in the car. I expected us to head down to the DX to go bug Soda and Steve, or watch Two-Bit in his pool tournament, but Dally pulled into the empty parking lot behind the school. Johnny and I looked at him questioningly.
"What are you doin', Dally?" I asked warily. Dallas was usually on pretty good behavior when he was alone with me and Johnny, cause he knew how easily police trouble could mean foster care for me and that Johnny was too scared to even look at cops. Still, since mom and dad died, he seemed more dangerous, more erratic, and I wouldn't put it past him to pull some crazy stunt.
"Christ kids, always assuming the worst, ain't ya?" He jerked his head at Johnny, motioning him to get out of the truck, then tossed the keys over the roof of the car to him. He caught them, looking taken aback.
"Alright kid. Your turn."
"My turn?"
"Yeah. You just turned 16, ain't ya? Perfect time to start learnin'."
Johnny looked hesitant. "Yeah but… ain't I supposed to have an adult over 21 with me?"
Dallas barked out a laugh. "You waitin' for your folks to take ya? I think we both know that ain't happenin'. You wanna learn, don't ya?"
"Course I do, but-"
"I been lookin' forward to this ever since you got out! C'mon, Johnnycakes. I missed your birthday and was plannin' to take ya then. Probably shoulda thought about the date before I slashed those tires, huh?"
It was the closest to a "sorry" that I'd ever heard him say, and Johnny read between the lines, looking startled that Dallas cared about his birthday, let alone felt guilty for missing it. "Man, don't worry 'bout it, Dal. I had a real good birthday. We all went out to breakfast and Darry made his ma's lasagna and Pony told everyone 'bout these Converse I liked and they got 'em for me. It was a real good day."
Dally looked uncomfortable that Johnny was seeing through him. "Nah, I just wanna teach you how to do donuts so you can start bein' in those drag races that you're nuts 'bout. Make some money so you can start chippin' in at the diner 'stead of moochin' of me."
Johnny finally smiled. "Get outta the driver's seat, then."
Dally was a surprisingly good teacher. Sure, he scoffed when Johnny asked about safety laws and right of ways and when he would barely touch the gas pedal before slamming on the brakes, but he was more patient than I expected him to be. After about an hour, Johnny was driving up and down the parking lot, looking nervous, but pleased with himself.
Suddenly, I felt a familiar sensation and liquid trickling down my again. I didn't want to draw attention to it but couldn't find a napkin or anything and really didn't want to see what Buck Merrill would do if I got blood all over his leather seats. "Guys?"
Johnny hit the brakes and pulled the emergency brake for good measure, making Dally roll his eyes and slap him upside the head. Johnny turned and his eyes widened. "Shoot, Pony."
"Oh shit!" Dally yelped. "Get the fuck outta the car, Buck'll murder me if ya bleed all over it!"
I scrambled out and sat on the edge of the floor, leaning outside the car and letting the blood drip onto the asphalt. Johnny grabbed a wad of napkins and hurried over, sitting next to me. I pressed them to my nose, trying to breathe deeply through my mouth. I knew the drill by now. It usually took a good five minutes of pressure before it stopped really gushing.
Dally was gawking. "Jesus man, what'd ya do? This happened before?"
Johnny answered for me. "Yeah, a few times. He just gotta hold pressure on it." He patted my shoulder. "You good, bud?"
"Mmm." I was usually a little dizzy when I got nosebleeds, but it was nothing compared to this. I had to use one hand to clench the edge of the truck bed to feel like I wasn't going to be tipped right over. Blood was running down the back of my throat and I spat out a mouthful, tasting iron. It made my stomach lurch. A wave of nausea rushed over me and if I wasn't trying so hard to sit still and breath through to keep it at bay, I'd be inwardly panicking about the thought of barfing all over the parking lot in front of them. I couldn't do much more about it though, because I broke out in a cold sweat, and I barely had time to lean forward before my milkshake made an appearance in a sickening wave all over the ground. I coughed, feeling tears spring to my eyes from the strain as I retched again, doing my best to angle it away from Johnny.
"Oh geez, okay," Johnny muttered, rubbing my back and looking a little queasy himself but clearly trying not to make a big deal out of it to avoid embarrassing me. I was grateful. "Pone, you okay?"
Dallas, on the other hand, wasn't so tactful. "Oh hell no," he exclaimed, scuttling away to the other side of the car. "Don't you dare puke in the truck, I ain't cleain' that up."
Johnny sent him a rare glare, and Dally balked. "Helpful, Dallas," he snapped, before turning back to me. "Take a couple deep breaths, okay? You want some water?"
The nausea had receded, but I felt shaky and weak, my stomach aching. I leaned back, panting, sweat running down my back and wishing wildly I was at home, in my bed, with Soda or Darry there to reassure me. Blood was still dripping sluggishly from my nose, and I accidentally glanced at the mess on the ground. Flecks of blood dotted the sick. Johnny put his hands on my shoulder and turned me to face him. "Hey, no, don't look at that, it just gonna make ya feel worse, okay? C'mere." He wet the rag in his pocket with a water bottle from the front seat and handed it to me. I managed to clean my mouth off with shaky hands, feeling vaguely embarrassed but too wiped to care much.
"I'm sorry." I croaked. "I know that was gross."
"Stop, it ain't your fault," Johnny said in his calm, quiet voice, his reassurance easing the shame flickering in my chest. "We know you can't help it. No big deal. Ain't it, Dally?" He sent Dally a pointed look.
Dally was facing the opposite direction, but his stance was stiff and he looked ready to bolt. I could see him trying to play it off. We all teased him now and then about his notorious germaphobia, but he really was freaked out by any type of sickness. I once watched him vault out of a moving truck bed because the guy next to him sneezed. When Sodapop had the chicken pox, we didn't see a glimpse of him for damn near a month. Vomit was where he absolutely drew the line.
"Uh, yeah just… chill out, okay? We'll take you home and hopefully Darrel won't kick my ass for takin' you out. Just- just don't puke again, okay?"
I wanted to laugh, but didn't have it in me. I couldn't remember if I'd ever felt so sick in my life.
Darrel
April 17th, 1965
When I pulled into the driveway, Soda was next door, bent over the Johnson's flower bed. Mr. Johnson was on the porch, leaning heavily on his cane and fiddling with his radio dial, while Mrs. Johnson was in her rocking chair. She waved, and I headed over.
"Darry!" Soda greeted enthusiastically, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "You got a wrench? Their garden hose handle's rusted, and they can't get the water on."
"Yeah, lemme go grab one," I said, grateful for the task. I wasn't in the mood to get sucked into conversation. The Johnsons were an elderly couple who'd lived next door since before mom and dad moved here. Mr. Johnson was a World War I vet whose pastimes included blasting gospel music from his radio at ungodly hours and shouting at neighborhood kids to get off his lawn and prize tulips. Mrs. Johnson was what mom used to refer to as "pleasantly demented", she was a hoarder on account of the fact she was convinced we were smack in the middle of The Great Depression, and frequently sent over baked goods that tasted several years old. They both loved to talk, and sometimes I'd slide down in the truck seat out of sight and wait a good ten minutes until they headed back in their house before I got out in hopes to avoid getting sucked into conversation.
Mr. Johnson was still wrangling with the radio knob. "Can't get this damn volume fixed," he grumbled. "Can't get to church much no more with Ethel's bad knees and Lord knows we'll bring it to us if we can't go. Y'all go to church still? Your mama used to drive us back in the day sometime."
Soda shook his head. "Ponyboy does sometimes. Not really my scene."
"Well, you'd better start, boy!" He brushed off his hands. "Did I ever tell you I was in the war?"
Soda froze, a glazed smile on his face. "Oh- uh, once or twice, but it was a while ago, I guess-"
He was too late. "The year was 1914," Mr. Johnson began in a determined voice. "I was twenty-four years old, livin' in Alabama, and my granddaddy was the preacher of the biggest Baptist Church in town. Now, it was Sunday service when we got the news archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated…"
I smirked. Rookie mistake. He'd be out there all night.
I headed into the house. "Hey, Ponyboy," I called, hearing a muffled response from behind his closed bedroom door. As I dug through the tool drawer, the phone rang. I practically sprinted to answer it, something I'd been doing ever since the night Dr. Mendez called. It was hard to believe only a week had passed.
"Hello?"
"Darrel Curtis?" a vaguely familiar voice spoke.
"Yeah?"
"Darrel, it's Dr. Thompson. Ponyboy's hematologist."
It was like I had swallowed a block of ice. My whole body went cold. After a week of impatiently waiting and wishing we could get some damn answers, suddenly I wasn't so sure that I wanted to hear what he had to say after all. But I skipped the pleasantries. We both knew why he was calling. "What is it?"
He was silent for a moment, and I had that feeling I had right before the cop told me, the feeling that nothing would be the same again. "Darrel, I know you're not the type to dance around the issues and neither am I so I'll give it to you straight. Ponyboy has leukemia."
I didn't remember sitting, but somehow, I found myself on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees folded up to my chest. The phone cord barely reached but I didn't think I could get back up if I wanted to. My legs felt like rubber. I tried to respond but all that came out was a strange croaking noise.
Dr. Thompson seemed to take this as a sign to continue. "Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I know you have a lot of questions, and there is a great deal to discuss. There will be time for that. However, this is very aggressive, and we need to move quickly. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," I said, in a hollow sort of voice. "Yeah, I understand."
"Good. I need you to bring him to St. Francis Emergency Department right away. We're going to admit him from there. Pack some clothes and toiletries and whatever else he may need. I don't anticipate him being discharged anytime in the near future."
"I ordered a type and cross lab when he got bloodwork done at Tulsa Peds the other day in case he needed a transfusion. Looking at his numbers now, it's well beyond indicated. I'm frankly shocked he's walking around right now with a hemoglobin this low. We're going to give him at least two units once he gets here. We'll make him NPO and get him on the surgery schedule to have his port placed, soon as possible, ideally tomorrow morning. We need to discuss his treatment plan and possibly transferring his care to Children's but either way, we could have chemo running as early as tomorrow afternoon."
He fell silent, probably waiting for a response, but I didn't know where to begin. I had understood his instructions, but it was like my brain was still stuck at the beginning of the conversation. Leukemia. Leukemia. "Are you there, Darrel?"
"Yeah," I said again, wondering if I was capable of saying anything else at this point. I sure as hell wasn't making a dazzling impression of a responsible guardian who could handle something of this velocity if I kept it up.
"I know you have questions. I'll be ready to answer all of them. But now, we need to focus on the first step. We'll expect you in the next hour, okay?"
"The next hour," I repeated dazedly. "What- what should I tell him?"
"That's your call, son. You can be honest and tell him its leukemia and there's a lot of people who are going to be here to help him. Or you can wait until you get here. We have a psychologist who routinely give news like this. They could explain to him.
"Yeah," I said, relieved. "Yeah, the second one. That sounds- that sounds good."
I stood there, frozen, holding the phone until the dial tone sounded. I didn't even have time to process anything before Soda was bounding up the porch steps and into the house, a hurricane of energy.
"Ain't you comin' out?" he asked, as he headed over to the fridge and started rummaging around for the half-finished bottle of Coke he'd brought back from work. I didn't answer, and he turned to look at me, his smile fading as he caught my eye. "Who was that on the phone?"
My throat was bone-dry, and I swallowed with difficulty. "That was Dr. Thompson. He was calling with Pony's results."
It was heart-wrenching to see the way my brother seemed to physically shrink. The confidence, slight swagger, the calming energy that radiated off of him seemed to vanish and in that moment, he looked for all the world like the little kid who would hang onto my hand as we walked to school, crawl in bed with me in the middle of the night so I could protect him from the monsters.
"What did he say?" he asked in a small voice.
I couldn't even take the time to soften the blow, such was my need to share this terrible burden with someone else, as selfish as it was. My chest physically ached. "He has leukemia, Soda."
"Okayy," he said slowly, cocking his head to the side like he was confused. "That don't mean nothin' to me, Dar. What is that?"
He was really gonna make me say it. I opened my mouth to tell him, but all that came out was, "Shut the fridge door. No wonder we can't pay the electric bill."
His eyes flashed, and he suddenly slammed the fridge door so hard that I started. The sound of breaking glass from inside was muffled by the blaring of gospel tunes from next door and I was overcome with the bizarre desire to laugh with how ridiculous it was. My whole life was falling apart and all I would associate this memory with was hearing a particularly jazzy version of Down In The River To Pray.
"Fuck the fridge, Darrel!" he snapped. "What does that mean? What's wrong with my brother?"
I was terrified that his shouting would attract Ponyboy. "It's cancer, bud. Leukemia's a form of blood cancer."
"Oh." He stood silent, staring at me for about half a second, then raced down the hallway to the bathroom. I could hear him throwing up and hurried after him, partly out of concern and the need to comfort him, and again, to hopefully quiet him down before Ponyboy came nosing around. I slid in the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind us, kneeling next to him as he hunched over the toilet, retching.
"Hey. Hey, Pepsi, it's gonna be alright." I closed a hand over each of his shoulders and tried to hold him steady as he pitched forward again, bringing nothing up this time but body convulsing. Shock. "Sodapop. Take a deep breath. Look at me."
He sat back on his heels, trembling, voice barely audible. "Oh my my god. Oh my god."
And then he was crying, body shaking with the effort, great heaving sobs that seemed to come up from deep in his soul. I desperately tried to focus on him, be a present and dependable force, but I could feel myself slipping away. Soda was still wailing on the floor, completely inconsolable. Ponyboy hadn't moved. One of the officers made an attempt to put a hand on his shoulder, but he frantically scrambled backwards until he was pressed up against the wall, arms hugging his knees, still staring forward blankly with huge eyes.
I shook my head, trying to focus. Not now. I put my arms around him and he buried his face in my chest, tears soaking through my shirt. "You gotta calm down, little buddy. Please. Pony's gonna hear you. You don't wanna scare him, do ya?"
He shook his head frantically, gasping for air.
"Okay. I know. I- I ain't even sure what we're supposed to do right now, either. But Ponyboy needs us. We're gonna pack some clothes and shit and we're goin' to the hospital now. They're gonna admit him."
"Is-" he wiped his nose on his shirt, "is he gonna die?"
I felt sick. "No, Pepsi. He's gonna be okay. There- he needs help, though. They need to give him blood when we get there. We need to hurry, okay? You need to get it together. I need to tell him where we're goin', but you can't be upset or he'll get upset." I stroked his hair. "You can come join me when you're calm, okay? We're gonna figure this all out, bud."
I stood and left the bathroom, then made my way to the living room, leaning against the wall and taking deep breaths. I had only felt like this once before, and that was right after I learned mom and dad were dead. It was like I was outside my body, numb and disconnected. The sound of Soda's muffled crying was audible from the bathroom, and I hoped desperately he'd be able to pull himself together in the next couple of minutes. Ponyboy gave me pushback on a good day, and I'd need all the help I could get.
Before I knew it, I was standing in the doorway of he and Soda's room. Pony was lying on his stomach, staring lethargically at a book but not really reading, his clean ungreased hair falling over his forehead. He looked so little, his skin white, the ugly bruises on his arms standing out like splotches of dark ink. He was wearing one of my old football jerseys and boxers, and I noticed a new bruise on the back of his calf, almost the size of a fist. Christ, how had I not noticed earlier? Why didn't I take him in sooner? Would it have made a difference?
Ponyboy looked up from his book, sensing my presence. "What?"
"I-" my voice broke and I cleared my throat, continued in a husky tone, "we gotta go to the hospital, Ponyboy."
He just looked at me. "Huh?"
"That was Dr. Thompson. He wants us to go to the emergency room and they gonna admit you from there. You need to pack a bag."
"Why? What's wrong with me?"
"It's- um, there's people at the hospital who are gonna talk to you 'bout that when we get there, okay? They can, uh, explain better than I can." There was movement to my left, and Soda sidled in and stood beside me, eyes still red and swollen but clearly trying to appear calm for Pony's sake. He nodded encouragingly at my words, and I felt reassured, knowing Pony would likely be satisfied with this plan if Soda was.
"No."
I was taken aback. I was expecting some tears or anger with pushback maybe, but not this flat-out denial. He wasn't getting worked up or showing any signs of emotion, just looking at me as if this was a simple explanation that summed it all up.
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no." His voice was getting louder, but he still had an air of deadly calmness about him. "I am so sick of all this. Y'all actin' like everything's some big secret that I'm too much of a kid to know about. Well, I'm the one it's happening to. I'm the one who's sick all the time, not you. I'm the one who can't run track anymore. I'm the one who's too damn tired to get through a day of school. I'm the one who feels like I'm dyin'!" His lip quivered then, and I saw tears gathering in his eyes. His next question came out as a whisper. "Am I dying, Darrel?"
Jesus. Why did I think it would be easier to let a bunch of strangers break the news to him, no matter how experienced they were? I knew deep down I was just being a coward. I was scared, saying it out loud made it real, and I didn't want to be the one to put that heartbreaking expression on his face. But looking at my little brother, the expression was already there. Fear and dread and sadness, but a resignation that told me he'd been waiting for something like this. He probably knew before we did that something was really wrong with him.
Soda sat down on the bed and put an arm around him. "You ain't dyin', honey," he soothed, his voice trembling. "But you're real sick."
I knelt down in front of them and took Pony's hands in mine, trying to keep them from shaking. My eyes wandered to the framed picture of mom and dad on the wall and I had to close my eyes for a moment to suppress the wave of grief and hopelessness that washed over me. "You have leukemia, Pone." His expression didn't change, he just kept staring at me. "Do you know what that is?"
A tear ran down his cheek, but he still looked oddly calm. "Yeah."
I should have expected that. While he loved English the most, Pony excelled in all subjects and had a real interest in biology and health. I remembered last spring break, when he came home from the library on his first day off with an enormous book titled The Encyclopedia of Medicine. It was a textbook for first-year medical students, but Ponyboy simply shrugged off the teasing."I don't wanna be bored over break. I might as well read something educational." A week later, he'd made it through over 600 pages and was spouting off random medical facts at the dinner table, usually with more gory detail than anyone wanted to know.
He was too damn smart for his own good. And that was going to make it a hell of a lot harder to soothe him throughout this process.
I cupped the back of his neck and pressed my forehead against his for a minute, Soda joining the huddle. They were both crying now. "We're all gonna be okay. We'll get through this together. Like we always do, right?"
Notes
12/26/24: Happy Hanukkah! Now caught up with AO3 posting schedule. Working hard to bring y'all the next chapter before the start of the new (and last) semester of nursing school! In the process of moving into a new apartment too but will have a few solid days of writing time this upcoming week. Stay Gold!
12/9/24 Original Author's Note on AO3:And that's a wrap on chapter four! Please please please let me know your thoughts/ review- I have been working on this chapter for so long (most of it written 2 months ago) to the point that I was super familiar with it and it was starting to sound boring/ not the best so want to make sure that's not the case. I love chatting with y'all- haven't been the best at responding to comments lately but working to fix that!
Big apologies on how long it's taken to get this chapter out. Life is HECTIC- in the best way possible, but crazy nonetheless. Currently 2 in the morning and have my second-to-last exam of the semester in the morning- should be sleeping or studying but meant to drop this chapter yesterday and I feel bad that it's late! I officially have one semester left of nursing school and am SO excited for the new year- got a preceptorship at a pediatric hospital so am thrilled that I will be getting so much hands-on experience. Fingers crossed that I am able to get in some time on the hem/onc floor.
Just a side note- Dally may seem pretty out of character/ a bit softer/ taking on more of a big brother role to Pony and Johnny. My version of Dally is primarily based on his portrayal by the phenomenal Joshua Boone in The Outsiders Musical- it's a different interpretation that I simply adore. If you haven't seen it, check out this video to see what I mean- I promise you won't be disappointed! /VoJY2weSUH4?si=uCxmbVzayx3oNrzM
I have had Lilah Mathews in my head for years and am delighted to finally share her! The Johnson are a trip and I love featuring them. I definitely am Darry with the hiding-in-the-car-to-avoid-the-neighbors maneuver- spent almost a half hour in my car afraid to make the trek to my front door the other day because my personal version of Mr. Johnson was outside waiting to talk to me- it can become a very long conversation lol.
The big thing I wanted to update everyone on is the medical accuracy of my story. Part of the reason this chapter has taken so long is the incredible difficulty I've had in accurately finding information about leukemia treatment/ medicine in general in the 1960s. I've done my best, but had to accept that I will have the bend the rules a little and take some liberties to both advance the story and include the plot elements I want to. I hope everyone is okay with this and please reach out if you have any concerns.
I will have a good amount of free time coming up with winter break and am really hoping to get some writing in- both for this story and my poor neglected story Before the Fall. I hope everyone is doing well! Come chat with me on Tumblr- I post a lot of chapter sneak peeks/ drabbles/ story updates. Love y'all and Stay Gold!
