Chapter Text
Friday, July 16, 1965
Fuck. You. That's the number one thing I've got to say about this moronic journal. I lost someone and you all forced me to keep going along in my wasted, good-for- nothing life. You boys, the ones down at the station and the Greasers. You know me, don't ya? I'm not sorry about what I did and even if I knew why, I wouldn't tell you why I did it. You know that, guys. Jeez, why didn't you just let me die? Now I'm getting scolded like a little ass kid to explain myself and I don't have to do that for nobody, man. I'm just stalling trying to fill up my page limit for the day, so suck it. Just glanced back up at the date. The 16th. You've got to be kidding, right? Johnny didn't make it past that damn number. Why'd I have to mean anymore than he did? Me of all people? I know I'm mean but it's real cruel what you all are making me do. Fine, I will tell you bastards what happened. As much as I can.
I'm sure you know damn well what started it, considering you all were about to shoot me. Ain't that fun? Then there was the gang, just in time like a bunch of heroes…
"You'll never take me alive!"
The adrenaline rushed through my veins like it always did when I was in trouble. Not the boring kind of trouble where you get a little slap on the wrist, no, life or death. I craved that every goddamn day, and when I finally wanted a real result, look who showed up. The gang. My family, a bunch of greasers who somehow give two shits about good ol' Dally.
My movements stalled as I heard all of their voices at once. I couldn't tell if they were real or if I had lost it in the time it took to get from the hospital to here. My head was so loud and I felt like a cornered animal. I felt as feeble as Johnny was on the daily, but I had nobody to protect anymore. And nobody was gonna stick their neck out for me. I'd never let them. So, once I realized that the guys were truly coming to my rescue, I slowly started to pull out that heater from the inside pocket of my jean jacket.
Everything was going according to plan—plan, god, what plan?—until the boys started screaming bloody murder, pleading with the police.
"It isn't loaded!"
"Don't shoot!"
And Darry, replacing my old man, yelling through tears, "he's just a kid!" Yeah. And that's all I ever wanted to be. That's how I'd die, just like Johnny did. Ain't cut out for anything else.
It wasn't meant to be, though, because Ponyboy and Two-Bit tackled my ass right to the ground. We toppled down the small hillside of the park, and the cops felt safe enough to lower their guns now that the primary delinquent was down. Maybe a small part of me stalled, and I wanted to beat my head against a wall for it. Maybe a part of me wanted to be saved by these idiots so I could stick around. Petty crimes and rumbles. I didn't wanna leave that behind, but where was I left without him? Where was I left after leaving him behind?
Darry didn't give me the ear-full I was expecting, at least not right away. He wrapped an arm around me and stayed quiet as the others tried to explain our situation to the fuzz. I stared at the road in front of my boots, thinking about how insane it was that my blood wasn't coating it like I thought it'd be a few minutes before this. Me, riddled with bullet holes. Me, and everyone else, have always expected that's how I'd go. This young. This young and stupid.
"Listen, we're sorry for your loss. But we just can't excuse the fact he robbed a store over that, even if it is a heavy thing. Plus, boys, it's Dallas Winston. He isn't just a kid we can let off easy." I heard one of the officers talking to Ponyboy and Sodapop. They all traded nervous looks towards me at the sound of my name, as if I was just a notorious villain you weren't supposed to speak of. Darry stood and tried to reason with him then, talking real nice and persuasive-like, respected because he had his shirt tucked into his jeans and none of the rest of us did. Not to mention, I sort of forgot the little detail about the majority of us having been in the paper just hours before this whole fiasco. Heroes. What a reputation to have when you're a greaser. What a reputation to have when you're me.
"Alright, okay. The only thing I can offer is to bring him in for the night. Obviously he hasn't gone off and spent the money and he hasn't hidden it anywhere. We can confiscate it from him and return it to the store owner. That could help his case some. Other than that, we have to bring him to juvenile court for the fact he was carrying a gun and pointing it at people anyway, whether it was loaded or not. He was acting crazy tonight, even for him. A lot of threats he made, a lot of people scared." The officer peered down at me, sympathetically, for the first time ever. I only stood and cooperated for once. I didn't care who I was going with and where I was going. I was too tired.
The guys patted me on the back and flashed me their goofy ass grins, reassuring me they'd figure it out from here like always. Even as I was cuffed and told "watch your head," they all still waved and looked normal. This was just another normal night where I got picked up by the fuzz. I'd be back later. This is just like good ol' Dally. "I wonder what he's in for this time." "Aw, who knows?" Who knows? A lot of the time I black out and I don't even know. But how could I forget who I was willing to end it all for? Why can't I black out for a thing like that?
I slam the cheap journal shut then. That's just about all I can take. I went over my two page a day limit anyway. I sigh, all loud and dramatically, and then I lie in bed. I think about Johnny and wonder if he blacked out after his sweet little heart stopped beating. After he told Pony to "stay gold" when he needed to do that. Instead of dying the color of ash, what the street should've looked like, and the night itself. One right after the other. I should've tried so much harder. Should've framed that kid for a crime so that he would've toughened up. This never would've happened, god, I'm an idiot.
The judge don't want me thinking like that. See? It's real cruel.