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Wind whistled through the cracks in the sheets of newspaper Johnny had draped over himself when Ponyboy went home and he shivered. He was surprised that for the end of summer it wasn’t warmer. It was almost September and school would be starting in a month, but it was still August and having it be this cold in at the end of August was odd. A part of him wanted to get up and go home and spend one night wrapped in his own blankets in his own bed, but it wasn’t safe there. For a multitude of reasons.
He had never been safe in his own bed. His father had seen to that when he was a child and he first started showing boyish tendencies. It had been his father’s way of trying to remind him that he wasn’t a boy, but it hadn’t worked. And, if he were to be honest with himself, especially after everything, he was still surprised about that.
His room in and of itself was equally unsafe. His mother’s favorite thing to do when he’d been a child had been to drag him out of bed to yell at him about something that wasn’t even his fault. That wasn’t how she saw it, though. To her, everything was his fault.
That was why he slept in the lot. Even though it was cold. Even though all he had for warmth were his jacket, the back of the ripped out car seat he slept on, and the newspapers.
He was curled up on his side with his eyes closed, one arm under his head for a pillow, since it wasn’t warm enough to take off his jacket and use that. He thoughts about the stars above him, all the different constellations. No one had taught them to him, he’d had to find out their names from library books, but ever since he’d started sleeping in the lot, he liked to imagine the stars were watching over him, keeping him safe. Even after he’d been jumped in the lot by the Socs and nearly beaten to death, he’d still felt that way. The stars hadn’t been out when the Socs had arrived anyway.
The leaves of the tree that grew over the car seat and other car parts and cushions in this corner of the lot rustled with the breeze. He let out a sigh, almost asleep. He was protected by the tree too.
The sudden bounce of a body falling onto the couch cushion beside him jolted Johnny back into wakefulness quickly. He immediately began to sit up, rubbing his eyes, ready to face whatever threat had appeared head on before it could get the better of him, even if it had caught him by surprise. He cleared the sleep from his eyes and saw Ponyboy beside him as though he’d never left except now his face was streaked with tears.
“What – ” he began, but Ponyboy interrupted him.
“C’mon, Johnny, we’re running away.”
He pulled himself to his feet and followed Ponyboy around the back way out of the lot to the alleyways behind the homes where people parked their motorbikes and cars. They ran down the dirt road of the alley until Ponyboy stopped, gasping for air, but still pacing.
“Easy, Ponyboy,” Johnny said, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, hoping to steady him. He’d never seen him like this before. “It’ll be okay.”
“Gotta cigarette, Johnny?” he asked, pulling out of his grip and continuing his pacing. As Johnny reached into the pocket of his denim jacket for his pack of cigarettes, Ponyboy added, “I’m scared to death.”
“Well, quit it, man, you’re scaring me,” Johnny replied, handing Ponyboy his last cigarette and throwing the empty cardboard to the ground. It disappeared into the darkness. He watched as Ponyboy lit his cigarette with his zippo lighter and asked, his voice soft and tentative, “What happened? I never seen you bawl like that before.”
“I don’t very often,” Ponyboy replied, swiping angrily at the tears that were still coming out of the corners of his eyes. “It was Darry. He hit me. I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t take him hollering at me and hitting me too. I don’t know...sometimes we get along okay, then all of a sudden he blows up on me or else is naggin’ at me all the time. He didn’t used to be like that...we used to get along...before mom and dad died. Now he just can’t stand me.”
“I think I like it better when the old man is hitting me,” Johnny said, surprising himself with the words, but realizing at the same time that they were true. “At least then I know he knows who I am. I walk in that house and nobody says anything. I walk out, and nobody says anything. I stay away all night and, and nobody notices. At least you got Soda. I ain’t got nobody.”
“Shoot,” Ponyboy said. “You got the whole gang. Dally didn’t slug you tonight cause you’re the pet. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the whole gang.” Ponyboy was looking less upset and more pitying now. Johnny knew Ponyboy meant well, but he hated that look and turned away.
“It ain’t the same as having your own folks care about you,” Johnny replied softly, looking at the toe of his shoe, blurred by the darkness around them. “It just ain’t the same.”
Ponyboy didn’t really understand and Johnny knew it without having to look at him. His silence spoke for itself. Ponyboy had lost his parents and maybe he also felt like even his brothers couldn’t replace them, but he also didn’t understand that his brothers were better than no family at all.
“Let’s go walk to the park and back,” Ponyboy finally said, breaking the silence. “Then maybe I’ll be cooled off enough to go home.”
“Okay,” Johnny replied, stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his jacket.
They both turned on their heels and headed back the way they’d come, turning in the direction of the park once they hit the main road.
The park was decently sized, about two blocks by four blocks even though all it had were a fountain, a small pool for children, one merry-go-round, and one crisscrossing jungle gym. Other than that it was just more grass. It was almost like the vacant lot, except cleaner.
Johnny felt as though the wind were ripping through him as they walked and as he turned up the collar of his jacket and turned to look at Ponyboy, he asked, “Ain’t you about to freeze to death, Pony?” He wasn’t wearing more than a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off.
“You ain’t a’woofin’,” Ponyboy replied, rolling his eyes and rubbing his arms with his hands.
They crossed the park to the jungle gym, Johnny stopping partway to grab a partially smoked cigarette from the grass, and climbed it.
“Pony, got a light?” he asked, climbing up beside his friend. “I found this butt, man.”
“Yeah, here ya go, Johnny,” Ponyboy replied, pulling his zippo out of his pocket, but he froze halfway as he turned to look out across the park towards the street. A pair of headlights swung through the park as the car they belonged to mounted the curb and began to head towards them.
“Uh oh,” Ponyboy said softly, “look what’s coming.”
Johnny had seen the headlights and when he turned to see who they belonged to, he nearly fell off of the jungle gym. It was a blue Mustang. He’d only seen one other like it. “Shit,” he gasped out. “What do they want? This is our territory.”
But he knew what they wanted. He’d known the night they found him the vacant lot too.
“Bet they’re lookin’ for us,” Ponyboy replied. Johnny noticed the knuckles of Ponyboy’s hand that were gripping the metal of the jungle gym were as white as Johnny’s own face.
“Wanna split?” Johnny asked, half hoping Ponyboy would say yes.
“Stay cool,” was all he said in reply.
The Socs stopped their car and got out. Johnny wished he’d stop shaking. He’d known who they were at the movie tonight. He knew who they were now. The threats they’d given him the last time he’d seen them ran through his head over and over and over again.
Next time we see you, we’re gonna kill you.
You’re lucky the boys are here or I’d show you what it’s like to be a real man.
He shuddered and clung to the jungle gym as tightly as Ponyboy did. He didn’t know how they were going to get out of this. Every scenario he could think of that didn’t involve them getting away in time ended badly.
“Well, well, well,” said the leader, stepping out of his car. He was holding the same flask he’d had when Johnny had first met him in the vacant lot. The same rings as well. The scar on his face stung sharply just for a moment when he looked at them.
Ponyboy must’ve noticed the flask too because he glanced at Johnny out of the corner of his eye and said in an undertone, “Drunk.”
He was right. It wasn’t just the lead Soc who was drunk. The other five that staggered out of the car looked equally intoxicated. The panic that was rising in Johnny’s chest heightened. His parents were drunks. He knew drunk people hurt you worse than sober people. Had they been drunk when they’d beaten him in the vacant lot? He didn’t think anyone but the leader had been then, but now all six of them were. This made things a lot more dangerous.
Johnny glanced at the leader’s hand again, seeing all three of the rings in more detail than he’d ever wanted to. “It’s that guy with the rings, man,” he said to Ponyboy in the same undertone. His arm reached automatically behind his back to his switchblade, the threats still running through his mind.
Next time we see you, we’re gonna kill you...we’re gonna rape and kill you.
“What d’you guys know?” the Soc was going on, not having noticed they’d spoke at all. “Aren’t these the greasers that tried to pick up on our women?”
“Hey, you’re out of your territory now,” Johnny said, surprising all of them including himself, by speaking up. Only Ponyboy noticed the quiver in voice and the panic in his eyes. “You-you guys better watch it.”
The Soc who had been in the passenger seat must’ve noticed too because he immediately said, “No, pal, you better watch it.”
Johnny swallowed hard and said nothing else.
Without a word, he and Ponyboy climbed down off the jungle gym. Ponyboy took a long, final drag on his cigarette before doing so and threw it into the dirt as he dropped to the ground below.
The lead Soc drank from his flask and for several moment that felt like an eternity, there was a silence, where they all just looked at each other. Then the lead Soc broke it.
“You know what greasers are?” he said, stepping forward, a smirk on his face. “White trash with long, greasy hair.” He flicked his flask at Ponyboy, dousing him with drops of whatever was inside. Johnny flinched automatically and the other Socs chuckled.
“You know what a Soc is?” Ponyboy replied, his eyes narrowed.
“What?” the lead Soc asked, too drunk to know any better.
“White trash with Mustangs and madras,” Ponyboy replied and spit at them.
That was the last straw. The leader yelled, “Get them!” at the same time Ponyboy yelled, “Johnny, run!” and then they were all taking off across the park.
It was no contest. Six Socs against two greasers. Johnny and Ponyboy ran for all they were worth, but the Socs caught up with them right as they’d passed the fountain.
Four of them pulled Ponyboy back towards the fountain while two more tripped Johnny. He fell to his knees and tried to get up, but failed, skidding across the wet grass before collapsing face forward on the ground. Immediately, the two Socs pulled him up. One of them held him while the other punched him in the stomach. They dropped him to the ground as he doubled over.
Vaguely, Johnny heard Ponyboy yelling and tried to pull himself up again.
One of the Socs kicked him in the chest, hard enough he curled in on himself. His eyes closed tight, his mouth set in a grimace as the Soc said, “Stay down, pal.”
The two Socs walked away, going back over to the fountain where, Johnny could now see, they were trying to drown Ponyboy. And what would they do once they were done with that? They’d come after him. They’d come after him and do every horrible, awful thing they’d promised. He could see it in the eyes of the lead Soc as he held Ponyboy in the water, dunking him back in every time he resurfaced.
Next time we see you, we’re gonna kill you...we’re gonna rape you and kill you…
Everything hurt. Johnny was certain his ribs were cracked or at least bruised. But all of it was dulled somehow. Fuzzy around the edges. It was as though his brain and eyes were fogged over. He saw and felt everything as if through a haze.
They’re going to drown Ponyboy. Then they’re going to rape and kill you.
No. No they weren’t. Not tonight. Not ever. He wouldn’t let them and, without really knowing what he was doing, Johnny reached into his back pocket, pulled out his switchblade and opened it. He pressed the button that snapped open the blade with a sort of determined finality, his mouth set into a thin line. Then, with more effort than he thought it would take, he pulled himself to his feet, his head reeling, the fog settling over everything, and began to stagger towards the fountain.
Ponyboy had been under the water for too long now. Johnny wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was enough and when he reached the Socs none of them even turned to look at him. And why would they? There were six of them after all. Six of them and one of him.
But he had a knife.
There’s no way out. A voice whispered in his brain and then repeated it over and over again. No way out, no way out, no way out. And as it spoke, Johnny realized it was right. There was no way out. No way out at all. These Socs were going to kill Ponyboy and even with his knife, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
He felt the panic that had been rising in him ever since the Mustang drove across the park towards them reach such a crescendo that every inch of his body felt like a live wire. He had to do something. He had to stop this somehow. And all he had was a knife. A tiny, little knife. And before he had quite realized what he was doing he was driving the knife into the side of the Soc holding Ponyboy under the water, screaming as he did so.
Everything suddenly slowed way down. It was like God had taken the clocks and fixed them to go half their normal speed and everything else had to accommodate.
Johnny saw his hands, both wrapped around the hilt of his switchblade, pull it slowly out of the Soc’s side. He watched as a bright red crimson began to spread across the Soc’s shirt, so slowly he could see every thread of fabric it ate up. He looked at his hands and saw they were covered in blood. So was his knife. He watched as the blood on the tip dripped, slowly still, and splashed to the concrete.
When he looked up again, the other Socs were watching as their leader slumped to one side, standing the lip of the fountain. More than a little bit spilled into the fountain itself, turning the water a bright, bright red. Vaguely, Johnny thought of Dally, of all the fights and gang wars he’d been in when he’d been in New York. He wondered if he’d ever seen someone’s blood this bright red, watched is spread slowly through the water of a fountain, knowing he’d been the cause of it all.
All of that blood was never beautiful, Johnny found himself thinking distantly. It was just red.
He watched the Soc – so slowly it was like he was in a movie or a dream – stagger away from the fountain and collapse on the ground. He realized the Soc’s friends had all run off. He didn’t see which directions they went in.
Ponyboy is still in the fountain, some voice of clarity reminded him and Johnny turned around to see that it was right.
Somehow – and Johnny was still not sure how – he managed to pry one of his hands off his switchblade just long enough to pull Ponyboy out of the fountain by the back of his sweatshirt. He collapsed onto the wet concrete below.
Johnny slumped against the side of the fountain, sinking to the ground. He glanced at Ponyboy once, knowing he should check his pulse, but his hand was wrapped back around the hilt of his switchblade and this time he couldn’t force himself to let go.
His gaze fell away from Ponyboy and he realized he was shaking, his teeth chattering as though he were cold, but he couldn’t feel anything. Not the wet concrete beneath him, nor the stickiness of the blood on his fingers. All he could feel was a horrible numbness that seeped through him like poison, a poison that he knew would hurt a million times worse once it was gone.
Johnny could never be sure how long he sat there shaking, clutching his switchblade. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. A part of him was certain Ponyboy was dead too, that he’d pulled him out of the fountain too late and he wondered what would happen when the cops found him tomorrow morning, clutching the knife that had killed the boy in front of him with another drowned boy next to him.
Then Ponyboy woke up and Johnny was relieved enough to choke out, “I killed him. I killed that boy.” He glanced at Ponyboy, still half lying on the concrete, groggy from nearly drowning. “I killed him,” he gasped out again in a whisper.
At first, what he said didn’t seem to register in his friend’s mind. He gave him a confused look. Then his gaze shifted to where the Soc was lying and his expression twisted. Johnny watched him turn white and then green when he saw the pool of blood spreading out from the Soc’s body.
“Johnny, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Ponyboy said in a strained voice.
“Go ahead, man,” Johnny replied, his voice shaking as much as the rest of him. “I ain’t-I ain’t gonna look at’cha.” He closed his eyes tight for a second, seeing behind them in the brief darkness the moment he’d thrust the knife into the Soc’s side. All the bright red blood. He opened them. “I ain’t gonna look at’cha.” He repeated himself in whisper.
He heard Ponyboy dry heaving and suddenly the feeling returned to his legs and arms and he realized he could let go of his switchblade and maybe stand. He pulled himself up by the lip of the fountain and walked woodenly over to the grass.
“Pony, you alright?” he called. Now he was rooted to the spot again, standing and shaking. His legs felt like jelly and he was certain his knees were going to buckle at any moment.
“You really did kill him, huh, Johnny?” Ponyboy called back, his voice a little louder than necessary. He was sitting on the edge of the merry-go-round now, his face twisted with panic and horror, his arms wrapped around himself as he began to shiver as his body finally began to realize the cold water of the fountain was chilling him.
“Yeah,” Johnny heard himself say. His voice sounded scared and wooden even in his own ears, but also as though it were coming from far away. The fog still wasn’t gone. Vaguely, he remembered the blood on his hands and knife and knelt in the grass to wipe them off. It was then he also noticed Ponyboy’s silence and added, “I had to. They-they were drowin’ you and they might’ve killed you. They were gonna beat me up.”
“Like-like they did before?” Ponyboy asked.
For a moment, Johnny was silent, staring at the ground, looking at how bright red the blood looking on the grass. Then he swallowed, and said, “Yeah...yeah like they did before.”
They were going to do far worse than that.
Ponyboy said something else, but it didn’t register through the fog. Then he heard him.
“What happened to the other guys?”
“They-they all ran,” Johnny said, glancing around, still wondering which direction they’d gone in. The car was gone. They’d left their friend behind. “They all ran off when I stabbed him.” He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep shuddering breath, blowing the air out through his mouth.
“I’m scared, Johnny, what’re we gonna do,” Ponyboy said, in that too-loud voice.
“Ponyboy, calm down, man,” Johnny replied, though his voice was still shaking. He sat down next to Ponyboy on the merry-go-round and held himself, shaking as much as his friend. “We-we gotta go see Dally, he can help us. We need a gun and some money and a plan. Dally can get it for us.”
He wasn’t sure Ponyboy was listening and he wasn’t sure if he was saying any of this for Ponyboy’s benefit or his own. The fog wasn’t gone and he wondered absently if he’d even be able to find Dally’s place in the state he was in.
For a time that felt almost as long as the time he’d spend shaking on the concrete next to the fountain, holding his switchblade, he and Ponyboy sat next to each other, each of them shaking and crying silently, hoping the other didn’t see. Then, after some time, without a word, and as though they’d already agreed upon it, they both got up and headed for Buck Merril’s, the place Dally said he’d be that night.