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The first time Ponyboy has a panic attack he is sitting alone in his room reading, curled up on the bed under the window. It has been three weeks since the events of Johnny and Dallas’ deaths. Three weeks since the church and the fire and the rumble. The court room and writing his English theme. Three weeks since he’s thought about sunsets and staying gold. Also, three weeks since he’s read. So that quiet Friday afternoon, after school but before Darry or Soda come home from work, when the house was still quiet, he decided to pick up a book, crack it open and read it. He settles on 1984, a grim book about a future that is also grim, but one of his favourites from English class and also isn’t as personal as Gone With the Wind. (He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to finish that story again). He hears Soda and Steve come home from the DX around 5, fooling around in the living room, but they don’t knock on his door, so he kept on reading. The sun sunk lower and lower until…
Sunset light streams across the page, dappling it in such a way that it sends his chest constricting before a clear thought can race into his mind.
He never considered sunsets a trigger before then, they came every 24 hours, it was too common a thing to send his mind into a whirling, absolute panic.
He understands what is happening, the fear is familiar, it feels the same as when he would awake screaming, months after Mom and Dad died, soaked through so much that his undershirt would stick to his skin, and sweat would drip from his hair like grease. The only difference was Sodapop was there in an instant, one arm slung over his shoulder, pulling him close, back to his pillow so that he could drift back to sleep. The fear dissolved into the sheets, blankets and sleep covered everything.
This time, the panic does not stop. It grows, roiling in his chest. Waves of it splash the back of his throat and he tastes blood. He is clenching his teeth so hard against his tongue he has broken the skin. His mouth is dry, and when he tries to swallow, he gags, which makes him realizes his lungs aren’t working.
I’m dying, is his first clear thought that comes running into his head. I can’t breathe, is his second. And then it’s a litany of the two combined going so fast he can’t stop it.
The book drops from his hands into his lap and he lets out a strangled sound. It comes halfway out of his mouth and dies in his lap. He wants to move, to escape the sunlight now resting in his lap, all golden and wax-making his hands look like they are made of a bronze statue. He is frozen in place with a desperate urge to escape. It tears his insides up the middle—this internal push and pull.
Just then the door to his room bangs open, the sound of the knob hitting the wall breaks his frozen stance and Ponyboy looks up, still struggling to breathe, not able to think clearly, dying dying dying
“Hey kid, wanna play poker? Soda wants a big game, so I’m rallying the troops.” It’s Steve, standing there, his shadow cast long along the floor due to the sunlight. The orangish glow falls into his eyes, making him squint.
“I—,” Pony tries to breathe out. He wants safety, he wants an anchor, he wants Soda. Steve cocks his head, giving him a look half between a sneer and sigh.
“You okay kid? You look a little green,” he says, taking a step closer. There is a thread of concern edged in between his words. Pony thinks maybe Steve can read the panic in his saucer-wide eyes.
“Soda,” Ponyboy manages to get out. It is the last clear word his mind clings onto before his chest collapses in on itself. He starts gasping for air, kicking out his legs in panic, his hands clawing his throat. Steve is at his side in a second, pounding his back and yelling his name.
“Pony, you choking or somethin’? Pony, kid, what’s wrong!?” His panicked shouts summon Soda in record time. He comes skidding into their room, takes one look at Steve pounding Pony’s back, Pony’s gasping breaths for air, face constricted in panic and runs to Ponyboy’s side. He shoves Steve out of the way.
“Quit hollering at him, you’re scarin’ him even more,” Soda says, not quite a shout, but a bit louder than normal. Ponyboy blindly reaches for the open DX shirt of Soda’s, grasping it tightly in his fist. He’s here, his anchor, his safety. Relief starts sweeping in, but it’s still struggling amidst the monster of panic in his throat.
Soda sits on the bed by Ponyboy’s knees and takes his face in his hands. “Pony,” Soda says, trying to stay calm, but panic is making his voice sound weird and high. Pony manages to look over at Soda.
“Breathe kiddo,” Soda says, modelling a deep breath. Pony watches Soda’s chest puff out and cave in and copies his movements. Slowly, calmly, softly. Over and over and over and over. He does not let go of Soda’s shirt, and Soda’s hand rests on his leg—firm, solid, squeezing.
Pony’s mind comes back to him in wisps, his thoughts start to drop from the sky of his mind and build a foundation. His breathing comes slower. His mouth doesn’t feel as dry. The panic edges back down his throat, settles as a dull pounding in his chest. He doesn’t care that Steve is standing at the foot of his bed and staring at him like he’s grown two heads. He doesn’t care that his face feels wet with tears—tears he didn’t notice till Soda gently wipes one away from his cheek.
Slowly the room comes back into focus, the outlines of Soda and Steve in the background become sharper and Pony allows himself to look around. He notices it’s darker, the sun has set, and the gold light had moved on. Soda gives his leg one last squeeze and then tugs a strand of hair near his right ear playfully. His eyes hold concern, but his expression is gentle. Ponyboy lets go of Soda’s DX’s shirt and settles one hand on his lap, the other hurriedly wiping away the remaining tears on his face. He still hates crying in front of people—even Soda. The past month it feels like he’s cried a million times over. He’s tired of it. Tears are water and water’s nothing but oxygen and hydrogen. Empty chemicals and he’s tired of crying them. He feels emptied out.
Wordlessly, Steve bends down to retrieve 1984, which had fallen open onto the floor amid the attack. He hands it back to Pony, and then sheepishly says, “I think you lost your place.”
It’s a dumb comment, and Soda cuffs the side of Steve’s head for it, but Pony’s grateful. He cracks a small smile.
“It’s okay, I’ve already read this one over a few times anyway.”
“Course you have, dork,” Steve replies. That’s a light insult for him. Seeing the grin on Pony’s face, Soda lets the comment slide without a hit. He takes a deep breath himself, so do Pony and Steve, absentmindedly. The atmosphere in the room starts to soften, loosen.
“So,” Pony says, embarrassed at everything that had just transpired. He wants to forget quickly. Do something else before his mind can remind him of sunsets, or the color gold, or how the orange light on this book looked a lot like the orange light from the flames of the fire in that church that ultimately killed Johnny. “We playin’ poker or what?”
“Hell yeah we’re gonna play poker,” Steve yells, whooping. He slams open the door to the bedroom and retreats into the living room to set up the cards. Pony slides off the bed, apt to follow when Soda pushes out a hand to stop him.
“Hey, Pone, you sure you’re okay little buddy?”
The use of the nickname makes Pony realize he freaked Soda out, hell he freaked himself out. He tries to explain but realizes it’s hard. “I was reading, and then the light from the sun fell across the page in such a way it reminded me of Johnny.”
Soda’s face screws up, thinking, trying to make the connection between a sunset and why that would remind Ponyboy of Johnny.
“Then I just couldn’t breathe. Felt like I was waking up from one of those nightmares, except I stayed awake and it just seemed to happen. No build up or nothin’.”
Soda understands, remembers those nights he would be roused in the dark from screams of his little brother from the other room. It terrified him and left a cold feeling in his stomach, as if something bad was going to happen. The heart-breaking thing is that it already had—Mom and Dad had died, and now Dally and Johnny. It makes sense to Soda in that way. He understands, a person can only hold so much sadness before it can get out between the cracks, sometimes in violent, unexpected ways. Hence Ponyboy’s episode.
Soda moves closer to Pony, can feel the mask closing over his face after his confession. It’s hard to be vulnerable, sometimes you just want to forget. So Soda honors that. “I get it, but you’re here, you’re safe. You ain’t dying if I can help it.” He slings an arm around his little brother, and just for a second pulls him in close. It’s a heartbeat of a moment, but Soda feels Pony’s shoulders relax a little.
“Thanks,” Ponyboy whispers into the silence.
Then Soda pulls Pony into a headlock and drags him into the living room to join Steve, and now Two-Bit, whose shown up in the last minute or so.
“Now Imma beat your ass at poker,” Soda says playfully. Pony pushes him off and plops down on the couch beside Two-Bit.
“Hey, the game hasn’t even started yet Soda, why you already bluffin’?”