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We've known each other since forever.
The first time I saw him was August 5, 1957. Soda brought him to our house after finding him, alone and cold, on the street. His dark, sad puppy eyes shadowed by his drooping bangs melted into my heart, a feeling no girl could ever make me feel. Not even the prettiest and nicest girls could compare to him.
The pretty boy was around the same age as Soda. Now that I think back on it, I was head over heels for him. Wherever he went, I followed. Even if he went into the hellish mess you'd call his house, I'd stay on that rickety old porch. We were inseparable.
On his birthday, I took him to my favorite spot. It was this beautiful field of yellow marigolds overlooking Tulsa. You could see both sides of the city. Where the economic states drastically changed, where the buildings increased in height and cleanliness.
If you sat in the right place, at the right time, the Sun would dip her head to rest right between the two sides. It was truly the most beautiful place I'd ever been in.
In addition, there was this small river dividing the field from Tulsa, and the only thing connecting the two was this old, brick bridge which was cracking from old age. It was my favorite because of the peacefulness; no more sirens, no more screaming, just quiet.
We climbed up the hill, a flurry of golden flowers swishing beneath our ankles, brushing against our denim jeans. A large oak tree provided enough shade for both of us to enjoy our view.
Colors swished around the radiating sun, painting the sky in a beautiful mix of blue and orange. It was perfect, basking in his presence and watching the sunset.
Together, we sat there, weaving marigolds into little flower crowns. Afterwards, he and I put them on, leaning back into the soft grass and looking onwards. To a future I'm sure neither of us would regret.
When he and I were on the run from the cops, I couldn't hold back much longer. I told him everything; how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. Right there in that church.
The moment I looked up was the first time I saw him cry.
I was baffled, to say the least. I saw how the corners of his eyes crinkled up, and how tears were overflowing. His lips curved, showing genuine happiness and relief.
In that cold, worn church, I hugged him. It felt so good, so invigorating, to just be with him.
One day before a friend came, we were outside on the steps, hands intertwined. He turned and told me, “Pony, after we get out of all this, I promise to marry you.”
Together, we floated away from that sorry excuse of a church, and down into another. It was pristine, warm even. Looking around, everyone was there; besides our parents. Even then, his presence made up for all the absences; and before I knew it, the rings were on.
That day would've been the best day of my life; everything would be fine, and everyone would be happy.
Until that dream crashed down on me with the same weight as a million tonnes of steel.
Hazily, I skimmed over his expression. How he looked blank, a husk of the prettiest boy I used to know. It was jarring; seeing the boy you loved lying there. Before I knew it, he was dead.
No; he is still alive.
He is still alive.
It's been a year now. I can't bear the pressure. My lover is dead, so is the other guy who visited. Every day, I've gone to that same spot. Every day, I'd make two flower crowns. Every day, I wish and I pray he'd come back. So he could wear the crowns again. So I could touch his face again.
But then again, that's nearly impossible. So that's why I'm coming to visit him. If anyone sees this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to my brothers, my friends, and my parents. But I can't keep pretending. I can't keep acting like he's with me, holding me, keeping me warm.
As I'm writing this, I'm starting to remember his name. The beautiful boy with skin as dark as his past, void-like eyes filled with anxiety and hurt, those bangs wilting over his eyebrows.
His name was Johnathan.
Or, as we used to call him,
Johnny.
I'm sorry we couldn't marry in this life, Johnny. Maybe in another. Maybe we're together then. I'll watch the sunset with you, forever.
Ponyboy Curtis. July 22nd, 1951 - March 2nd, 1966.