January 1965

As the harsh wind picked up, it sent a chill down his spine, causing the baby hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. His hair was far longer than usual, even for most greasers; that was the style now out at school. Despite this fact, it wasn't enough to shield him from the bitterness of the winter cold. Darry quickly flipped up the collar of his jacket before shoving his hands back into his pockets. Time felt as though it were going in slow motion. The five stairs leading up to the church felt like he'd climbed five flights. For a moment at the door, hand gripping the handle Darry stopped. He was already late a moment's hesitation didn't make much difference. Opening this door made everything real. That reality wasn't something he was ready to face. Darry would spend a lifetime in the cold if it meant everything wasn't about to be completely turned upside down.

Another stiff gust of wind felt as if it was all but pushing the eldest Curtis inside. Reluctantly he pulled the door open, the warmth inside not welcoming one bit. Darry's eyes were laser-focused on the ground ahead, afraid of what he'd see in front of him. He was ready to crawl out of his skin. Partly because he was welling with emotions he wasn't equipped to deal with. In fact, he was trying his damnedest to shove it all down and ignore it. Repression was his go-to, though it was proving to be difficult currently. Partly due to this stuffy outfit, it didn't fit quite right. The slacks were just a hair too short. Not noticeable to anyone looking, but enough for Darry to feel. The shirt was snug at the shoulders. It was itchy to boot. Whether that was because it wasn't worn often, or his own general discomfort he wasn't sure. Darry was more muscular than Harold, his girlfriend's brother, whom he'd borrowed the clothes from. Any nice clothes Darry owned were quite old, hand-me-downs from his father. Nothing in his wardrobe seemed appropriate for the occasion, so he'd sought outside help.

Moments passed before someone offered to take his coat. Gruffly he agreed, shrugging off his outermost layer as if that would make him more comfortable. There wasn't anything comfortable about a funeral. He finally raised his gaze, eyes scanning the room of tear-streaked faces. The vice grip on his heart tightened any more pressure and he might keel over right here. A multitude of people showed up, far more than he'd anticipated. Dying tragically young draws people to a funeral. Twice as many when it's a double funeral, leaving three boys orphaned. It's ironic how everyone showed their support in death but never a helping hand to be found in life.

A whirlwind of condolences and sympathies showered him soon. Many were from people he didn't know or recognize, nor did he care to. This would be the last time he'd ever hear from them again. His responses were mechanical and robotic, autopilot activated. Thank you. Handshake. Nice of you to come. Sympathetic smile. We appreciate that. A forced hug. Good to see you. Repeated over and over as he was passed around the room. In every direction, he was met with another sullen face, commiserative words, and an occasional firm clap to the shoulder. A 30-60 second interaction, the same as the last. He wasn't sure if they were all cut short because it was clear he wasn't up to much conversation or if it was too eerie speaking to the spitting image of the man in the casket at the front of the church.

While the chapel was small, it felt like a never-ending labyrinth trying to reach the front. The very last place he wanted to be. Darry realized now the only thing he felt was numb. This all still felt like a bad dream. Maybe, if he rolled up his sleeve and pinched his forearm nice and hard he'd finally wake up. Back in the bed of his dorm in a cold sweat, heart pounding so hard in his chest it threatened to break through. He'd fly to the phone and dial home as fast as his big clumsy fingers allowed. Of course, Ma would answer. Her warm, soft voice would be enough to ground him back into reality. "Honey, you're just homesick." She'd say with a longing sigh, "Sure do wish you coulda made it home for Christmas. We miss you something fierce." He could stand there twisting his skin until it was black and blue, but this nightmare wasn't one he'd escape.

It was becoming increasingly harder to avert his eyes, keep them anywhere but the two caskets before him. The sight of distraught family members wasn't much better. Nan and Pop were the first he spotted, though they were faces he almost didn't recognize. They weren't around much, having moved down to Texas before Pony was born. It's not like they could ever afford to go visit. Ma and Dad struggled to make ends meet most of the time as it was. On rare occasions, they might come to visit for Christmas or Thanksgiving. It always seemed to stress Ma out more than anything. The Curtis side of the family wasn't what anyone could describe as tight-knit. Either way, seeing his grandmother a blubbering mess was gut-wrenching. The pain of losing a child isn't one anyone should endure, no matter the age.

Next was Great Aunt Birdie, stone-faced as always. Pop's sister and they didn't get along. Never having outgrown that sibling rivalry stage or something. That bit of family history wasn't disclosed to the kids, and they knew better than to prod in business that didn't concern them. There was never a time Darry could recall ever seeing that woman smile. She was all business all the time, but she'd always been Dad's favorite. No matter what front she put on, you could see the pain in her eyes. Nan and Pop were sad, sure, but you could see the hurt and sorrow in Aunt Birdie's eyes clear as day. She was a woman who'd always had to stay strong, for everyone else's benefit, her entire life. You'd never catch a tear fall from her eye in public. No, she wouldn't be caught dead crying in front of anyone. Ever. A few small tears at home that night in bed for her nephew and his wife, taken far too soon. She loved them far more than she was ever able to express. A few more for their three boys who'd be parentless for every milestone in their lives.

Though she wasn't doing much more than standing, you could feel Aunt Birdie's protectiveness of the youngest Curtis boys. If she could take that pain away from them, she would in an instant. They looked so young and frail standing there, huddled together, heads down, facing the back of the chapel. Maybe it was the too-big hand-me-downs they had on. Or maybe, it was their hair neatly combed out, not a touch of grease slicking it back. Pony's cheeks were bright red, as they always were when he got upset. He was never one that could hide his emotions well. They were painted all over his face, no words were needed. He'd always had a lot of emotions, and he'd always felt them deeply. Soda had an arm wrapped around Pony's shoulders. Occasionally whispering something comforting to try and make his baby brother feel better. The words were empty even Soda didn't believe them. He was flushed. As strong as he was trying to be for Pony, tears trailed down his face. He hadn't even realized it until they rolled right off his chin onto his shirt. Crying wasn't very tuff, but there wasn't exactly a section of the greaser handbook on what to do when both your parents die unexpectedly in a car wreck. He figured he might be given some grace in the moment.

Darry should want to run to them. Scoop them up, one under each arm, and never let go. Let them cry into his chest for as long as they wanted. Assure them that it was all going to be all right, and they were going to get through this. A safe haven they so desperately needed, but he didn't. In fact, seeing them made him want to turn on his heel and march right out the door. When Darry finally met Soda's eyes, they glimmered with the tiniest bit of hope. A twinge of guilt twisted Darry's stomach. He shouldn't feel like this. He should want to be surrounded by loved ones, but he'd rather be anywhere else. It was too late now; he was too far in to make a break for it. Before he knew it, his little brothers clung to him as if their lives depended on it. Darry opened his mouth to say something. Not really sure what could even be said right now, but no words would come out. With his mouth agape, he could hear Dad clear as day. "Whatta you doin', catchin' flies?" Darry quickly clamped his mouth shut, letting out a soft sigh. Aunt Birdie gave him a knowing look. A million words passed between them in a simple gaze. She gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. Oddly enough, it was the only thing that had given him any shred of comfort this whole day.

They were ushered to their seats soon enough. All the chattering quickly died down, and the room felt more somber than before. A seat in the back, close to the door, would have been alright with Darry. Present in the moment, but not front and center, sandwiched between family he hadn't seen in ages. Pony was to his left, taking up less space than a thirteen-year-old should. He was squeezed so securely between his older brothers, Soda and Darry were almost shoulder to shoulder. Gran was to his right, his mom's mother. Not only a widow but mourning the loss of her only child, all in a year. Her declining health was the cherry on top. Darry couldn't imagine how lonely she must feel. He took her hand in his. It was small and weathered, surely if he squeezed too hard it would crumble. Darry didn't have to worry about it though, because Gran squeezed his hand harder than he ever thought she could.

The service was nice, everything a good funeral service should be. Pastor Edwards did a great job. Ma had always loved his sermons, the rare time she could wrangle everyone into their church clothes and get to church on time. When it came time for the eulogy Uncle Tony stepped up to the plate. He wasn't a real uncle, but Dad's closest friend. Best buddies since kindergarten, nobody was better suited to speak on Dad's behalf. Uncle Tony could go on for days about their adventures, the trouble they'd gotten into, and most of all how much Dad loved Ma. Love at first sight, from the moment Dad saw her walk into Mrs. Hunt's second-grade classroom. However, Uncle Tony would go on to explain Dad didn't have the courage to talk to her until high school.

A weight had been lifted off Darry's shoulders. Everyone expected him to get up there and say something. He'd intended to, but for days he sat there thinking about what could even be said. Growing up was a struggle, but at least both parents were in the home. They weren't drunks and didn't slap their kids around. That was a bonus, more than most in their neighborhood could say. Dad was rarely home, working grueling hours to put food on the table. Seldom showed up to football games, track meets, or any extracurricular. Ma was constantly stressed and not as good at hiding it as she thought. There were never enough hours in the day to tend to the house and kids, plus carve out time to spend with her husband. She'd frequently try to overcompensate for being the sole parent around. They were well-loved and cared for, but could never catch a break. If it weren't for his scholarship and saving every penny he'd ever earned, college for Darry would have been out of the question. Things were finally on the up and up; Dad got a much-deserved raise. They'd gone out to celebrate, and never even made it home. Yet again, the universe crushing the Curtis family. It wasn't fair, and Darry knew he didn't have the capacity to express anything other than disdain.

Twelve people don't seem like a lot until you're picking pallbearers. Then finding twelve seemed almost impossible. Pop. Uncle Tony. Darry. Soda. A few distant family members. A few family friends. All these people were here, but it was hard-pressed to find enough people to step up. That was Darry's opinion, anyways. Soda on the other hand felt it was more about picking those deserving of the role. Why anyone would want that responsibility, Darry had no idea. Nothing in his life had been more depressing than carrying his mother's casket. The weight of it shocked him as he took his place at the head of the procession. Another place he'd rather not be. Watching his younger brother and grandfather lead the way with his father's casket still didn't prepare him. For sixteen, in this moment, Soda suddenly looked mighty grown up. His shoulders straightened, head held high, even if it was just for show. Focus on anything, everything else, and maybe momentarily the tears won't fall. Had Darry not seen his mother before they closed the top, he wouldn't have believed her petite body was inside. He still didn't want to believe it. Quite frankly, hadn't wanted to see it either. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, and there was far more makeup caked on her than she'd ever actually worn. She was in her favorite blue dress and for the first time in a long time, actually looked peaceful. The realization turned his stomach.

As the door to the hearse closed, securing the casket inside, the finality hit him like a ton of bricks. He drew in a breath so deep the crisp air felt like it was freezing the hairs in his nose. And again until his chest hurt from the frigid air instead of the ache of sorrow. The last few hours felt like his head had been held underwater. Suffocating in the sadness and pain surrounding him. Crushed by the weight of the realization that he was now alone in this big cruel world. One short car ride would deliver his parents to their final destination. He would never see them again. Was watching them lowered into the ground really the last image of Ma and Dad he wanted? He felt like his whole world had stopped; he was completely frozen. Everyone around him milling about and chattering. Some were saying their goodbyes, they'd made an appearance and needed to get on with their lives. Some were deciding who was riding with who to the cemetery. Disbursing into cars to soon join the procession. Aunt Birdie was in what seemed to be a heated discussion with Pop. No doubt about who would be first in the procession and whom the boys would be riding with. A sharp breeze snapped Darry out of his trance, bringing him to a moment of clarity. Slowly he turned, once again hiking up the collar of his jacket in a futile effort to protect himself from the bitter cold. He shoved his hands in his pockets, hanging his head, eyes glued to the pavement in front of him. It was the only way he could do this. If he looked back at his brothers, hovering close to Gran, exhaustion, and misery washed over their faces, the guilt would be too much. A clean break would be best for everyone. He couldn't take the pitiful looks and desperate pleas through choked-out sobs from two broken little boys begging him to stay.

So he took a step and then a second. No one said a word. No one tried to stop him. A third and fourth, and they were coming easier. He could feel eyes on his back, boring holes into it. Soda, probably, as the realization dawned on him that he wasn't only losing two people today. Pony too grief-stricken to fully understand. Freedom was on the horizon, and Darry didn't dare look back. There was nothing left for him here now.