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Curly Shepard was good at only a few things. He was throwing a good punch, lying to cops, and messing everything up. Instead of doing something useful for once, he managed to mess everything up again . So of course, he and Tim got into another one of their nightly arguments as Curly stormed out and Tim slammed the door. Angela tried to de-escalate the situation but failed miserably, eventually joining in on the argument in an action that Curly could describe as desperate and unnecessary. What was the point of trying to make them stop when it became a habit for them to fight every damn night? She just ended up joining in too in the end.
“It’s like a fucking parasite, Curly,” Tim would always say, “And you’re at the center of it.”
It's not like I care anyway, Curly thought to himself. He’s Curly Shepard, for god’s sake. He’s not supposed to care. He’s a no-good low-life hood with no future other than getting arrested or shot dead. At least that’s what he was told growing up. He wouldn’t amount to anything other than a massive criminal record and a horrible death, being forgotten in history as those socs build legacies around his forgotten memory.
Jesus Christ, did I smoke too much grass today?
He shook his head, wandering around the streets of Tulsa as his head spun slightly. He hadn't even realized he had walked to the east side from downtown, only becoming aware of his surroundings when a speeding Mustang, clearly out of place, nearly ran him over.
“Deja de manejar como pinches locos, putos!” Curly yelled, raising his fist slightly as he yelled out more curses. He huffed, taking out a pack of Camels from his jacket’s front pocket. He rummaged through his other pockets to find a lighter but managed to be unsuccessful, only finding a bag of Velitas candy, a leftover plastic wrapper from the cigarette pack, and five dollars. Groaning, he looked around the floor, trying to find something to light his cigarette, eventually finding a lighter. After some struggle with flicking it on, he finally lit his cigarette, of course not without getting lightly grazed with the flame. He dropped the lighter immediately, wincing but taking a drag.
Curly walked around for a while, trying to keep his mind off of Tim and Angela. Usually, during an argument, he would just sleep out in the streets in nothing but his jeans and leather jacket, but it was particularly rainy that night. Of course, he had the nerve to run away during a rainy night, but he would rather die than go back home the same night. It would just make him look pathetic, and Tim would win again.
Curly’s stream of thoughts was eventually interrupted by the sound of groaning. Immediately, his guard was up, and he took out his switchblade from the pocket of his jacket. He approached the place from where the sound was coming from, which was by a huge tree and a thicket of bushes. He slowly and quietly moved toward a silhouette of what seemed to be a boy crouching down. He figured it was some soc kid, so he was silently waiting to attack as he moved. The kid was too busy groaning in pain from something to even notice Curly’s presence.
Curly moved quietly but cringed when he stepped on a nearby leaf. The kid stopped and looked back, raising his arms in surrender, “Stop! Stop!” Curly recognized the voice instantly, tensing up as he realized who it was.
It was Ponyboy. A hurt Ponyboy, but Ponyboy nonetheless.
He quietly pocketed his blade, trying to keep the thought of him nearly stabbing Pony out of his mind. "Sorry, Baby Curtis,” he started. “I thought you was a soc.”
Pony seemed a little dazed but managed to say one thing. “How the hell would you mistake me for a soc? Why didn’t you whistle?”
Curly paused for a second, trying to think. Why didn’t he? It was practically the only thing that could help greasers identify one another if they weren’t in view. He could’ve just done that rather than nearly murder Ponyboy. “You know the only thing I can’t do is think, Ponyboy. That’s my specialty. You’re the brainy one.”
Ponyboy rolled his eyes at the comment, an upside-down smile appearing slightly on his face. “Should’ve expected that, Shepard. What are you doing here this late?”
“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing out here on your lonesome? Darry?” Curly asked, sitting down by him on the grass but immediately cringing as he felt the damp coolness of the grass on his jeans.
Pony shook his head. “No, it’s not him.”
A miracle, Curly thought to himself, “Then what is it?”
“Just stressed, that's all. I had a bunch of tests today, so I came here to cool off. Unfortunately, some socs had the same idea, and... I don’t think it ended well. For either of us,” Pony mumbled slightly, holding his arm. Curly took one good look at it and realized it was an ugly shade of black, blue, and purple. His hand had small cuts on his knuckles, and they too were bruised. He looked at Pony’s face. His nose was bleeding like crazy.
“You look like shit,” he stated rather bluntly.
Ponyboy averted his gaze slightly, looking at his shoes. “Thanks, Curls; you make me feel much better.”
“Sorry for stating the obvious, Baby Curtis. It’s the truth. You look like shit. You oughta be home; patch yourself up.” He got up and kicked a nearby rock and stepped on a few stray leaves. He could hear Ponyboy audibly groan nearby, but he couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance, pain, or both.
“Fine. I’ll get home.” Ponyboy stood up, starting to walk away, before he suddenly stopped in his tracks, seemingly remembering something. “You never told me why you were out here,” he said, turning around and marching right back to Curly. “What’s going on?”
“Nothin’. Just got in a fight with Tim,‘s all,” Curly mumbled, his face suddenly heating up for no reason. This was normal. Sure, it escalated a little, and that’s why Curly ran to the park, but it was still normal. He wasn’t sure why he got so—what’s the word... tímido ? About it. He usually talked about this without hesitation or a filter. Which is why he confused himself right now. Why was he so reluctant to talk about this?
Ponyboy’s eyes softened slightly. “Well, you should come home with me. It’s pouring, and you’ll catch a cold out here if you stay outside all night.”
Curly shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’ve slept outside before; it ain’t anything new.” He started to walk away, but Pony followed.
“Are you sure? You know my house is always open.” Curse Ponyboy Curtis and curse his worrying. Curly didn’t need help; he wasn’t a charity case. He certainly didn’t need help. But he was tempted to accept the offer. Of course, he would never admit it.
“I’m fine. Go home, kid.”
Pony scoffed at the name, “You’re just a year older than me. I’m just as much a kid as you are.”
“I’m still older,” Curly took another drag. “Get home.”
Ponyboy grumbled a few things under his breath but relented, walking back home. Curly sat under the tree again, not caring about the wet grass anymore. His head was pounding and his heart was racing, although he had no clue why. He figured it was the stick, so he dropped it to the ground and stomped on it.
A breeze of cold air blew past him, causing him to subconsciously wrap his arms around himself and he let out a few shaky breaths. Fuck Curly Shepard and his stubbornness. He’d rather be back home on the couch with a blanket or a bedsheet over him than be out here in the cold. Of course, his stubbornness kept thinking for him. He wouldn’t touch the outer walls of that house with a 20-foot pole if it meant defeat from that argument. So he did the next best thing.
Curly grabbed a few rocks, stuffing them into his pockets as he ran in the direction of the Curtis house. If he remembered correctly, there was a telephone pole right by it, and he could climb it. Was it dangerous? Yes, especially with the heavy rain, there was a chance of slipping. Did he care? No. Absolutely not.
He could already hear Ponyboy’s voice in his head. That was some stupid stuff you pulled there, Curls. He didn’t care; he was already climbing the telephone pole, and it was too late to back out now. God, he felt stupid. Even if Pony didn’t severely judge his sorry ass, would Soda and Darry even let him step foot in their house, let alone their porch? That, he wasn’t even sure about. They let Tim crash several times, but he knew the brothers hadn’t really approved of Curly. They weren’t huge fans of him, especially when Pony was involved.
Nonetheless, he climbed. And climbed. And climbed. By the time he wanted to back out, he looked down and realized he was about 40 feet in the air; he knew it was too late. Quickly, his grip tightened, his free hand grabbing the few rocks in his pocket. He searched for Ponyboy’s window, only finding it among the leaves of the tree covering it. Curly groaned, Why didn’t I think this through?
He threw a rock toward the direction of the window, the rock falling midair and nowhere near the tree. He grabbed another rock, misfiring and hitting the tree trunk rather than the window. After multiple failed attempts, he felt like giving up. He had two more rocks in his pocket, and he didn’t feel like getting down and knocking on the door like some loser.
Great way to make your life harder, Curly.
Shut it, Curly.
After quietly weighing his options, he took his rock. This was his second to last rock. He took a deep breath and threw it, and he managed to hit the window where Ponyboy was reading a book. Ponyboy looked around, bewildered about where that noise came from. He eventually went back to his book, Curly groaning internally. He took his final rock, and threw it to grab Pony’s attention. That time, it hit the wall beside the window. Even if it wasn’t the place he intended to hit, it caught Ponyboy’s attention quickly. Rising from his bed, he opened the window and looked out. Looking around for a moment, he searched for the source of the sound. Eventually, he finally spotted Curly on the telephone pole.
Curly felt his face heat up slightly—a mix of embarrassment and another emotion Curly really couldn’t quite put his finger on. In a desperate attempt to mask his one-sided awkwardness, he gave him a grin. “Baby Curtis!” He yelled out, “Nice to see you here!”
“Curly! Get down! What are you doing up there?” As expected, Ponyboy bombarded him with questions. Of course, Curly kept his cool.
“Just enjoying the view! You should try this sometime!” Curly climbed down the pole, carefully trying not to slip. Of course, there were a few close calls that made his heart beat out of his chest rapidly. Once he got on the ground, he ran toward Ponyboy’s window, leaning his head on it. “Help me out here; it’s freezing.”
“What happened to you being used to this?” Pony mumbled, leaning his head against the windowsill, a small grin on his face.
“Stop it with the comments and help me out.” Pony grabbed his hand, trying to pull Curly up. Curly groaned, trying to get through the window as he struggled. Eventually, he managed to come in, giving a cocky smile toward Pony before he stumbled onto the floor.
“Can you fall any quieter? Darry and Soda are home.” Pony walked toward his closet, opened it, and looked inside it.
“Oh yeah, let me just make myself as light as a feather, yeah? Cabron.” Curly muttered to himself.
“I heard that.” Before Curly could respond, he got a blanket to the face.
Letting out a small “hmph” sound, he took the blanket off his face. “What’s this for?”
“To eat,” Pony said, throwing a spare pillow at him. “Take a guess, Curly.”
Curly laughed, “Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot, very funny.” Ponyboy rolled his eyes, but Curly swore he could see a small smile. “Speaking of eating, what’s for dinner?” Curly hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was until Pony brought up eating. Usually, he’d go out and eat something fast, like a burger from Dairy Queen or some chili cheese fries for only three dollars, but he was currently broke, cold, and soaking wet. So fast food was out of the picture. He didn’t want a snack either; he knew it wouldn’t do anything for him.
“Chicken, rice, and some roasted potatoes. I’ll go tell Darry you’re here.” Before Curly could protest, Ponyboy walked out. That was the one thing Curly didn’t want Pony to do. Tell Darry he was here. It wasn’t like he was scared of Darry—absolutely not; he was just... intimidated by him.
Of course, after a few minutes, Pony came back into the room. “Dinner’s ready.” He walked right back out.
Curly picked himself off the floor, dusting himself off. Taking off his dirty shoes and putting them on a random corner of the wall, he walked out the door and into the kitchen. Immediately, the smell of chicken and roasted potatoes hit him, his mouth watering almost instantaneously and his stomach growling at an embarrassing volume. He reddened, muttering small hellos to Darry and Soda, who were staring at him as he washed his hands. Curly had thought it was because they hadn’t expected him to wash his hands (of course he did; he was a dirty hood, but he wasn’t THAT dirty), but soon realized that if he saw a random kid who was soaking wet inside of his house, he would also be concerned.
He tried to flash them a rare smile to let them know he wasn't there to cause any trouble. But judging from Soda's hardened look, he probably ended up scowling at them. It's funny how everyone always talks about Darry, but hardly ever about Sodapop Curtis and how scary he could be when he was mad or simply staring you down. Of course, Curly would never admit how terrified he was walking past him to sit down. He half-expected Soda to give him a hard smack on the back, but it never happened.
Huh, maybe it was just a dad thing.
He walked toward the table, stopping as he realized there were only three chairs. He looked around awkwardly, scanning the dining room, until he found two extra chairs in the corner, seemingly forgotten. Curly figured they were some extras for other greasers who would crash in their house... until he remembered an event that happened almost a year earlier that they would rather not speak of. Even he wouldn’t dare touch that subject.
Curly pulled up the chair beside Ponyboy, who brought some food to the table. Resisting the urge to stuff as much food as he could in his mouth, he sat back as everybody served themselves first. This seemed to surprise the brothers, and he really couldn’t blame them. It was really out of character for him, and even Curly could see that. He just didn't know why he did that in the first place. Maybe it was an impulse, or maybe a moment of weakness. Either way, he wasn’t going to let that happen again.
Finally, Curly served himself some food, trying to ignore the glances Soda and Darry were making toward him. It was pretty hard though, considering the Curtis brothers weren’t the most subtle out of the gang. You couldn’t trust them to take small glances, because what they consider a “small” glance would be a full-staring contest with the person they’re looking at. It was painful.
Finally, Curly took a bite, his eyes widening as he tasted the flavors of the roasted potatoes. Holy shit, they were delicious. He hadn’t expected it to be so good, and he really couldn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. It felt like it had been an eternity, his mama cooking for him, Tim, and Angela all those years ago. He looked down at his plate again, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he realized it was empty. He hadn’t even noticed how fast he had scarfed down the food. Pony gave him a sheepish smile, pushing the pot of food toward him. Curly looked away quickly, his face heating up again as he stood up and served himself more.
Dinner went as fast as it came, and Curly was in a fresh change of clothes, sitting on the sofa as he talked to Ponyboy, who was washing the dishes. Their conversation flowed freely from one topic to another, with seemingly no transition, only nonsense to those outside of it. They laughed and laughed, they poked fun at each other, and all you could hear was the sound of wheezing and dishes being put away. Curly couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard with anybody, he sort of missed it.
“So, tell me, Curly,” Pony said, sitting on the sofa next to him and shifting slightly, “What urged you to go up on that telephone pole? I know damn well you didn’t think it through, that’s for sure.”
Curly shrugged, trying to play it cool. He knew Pony would bring it up eventually, but he hadn’t thought about how to answer the question. He shrugged, “It was the heat of the moment. Didn’t wanna look like some loser just knocking on the door. Needed some flare, you know?” Curly could practically hear Pony’s eyes rolling, even when he was facing away from him.
“You’re something else, Curls.”
“Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”
“Can’t decide, ask me later, alright?” Curly snorted as he shoved Ponyboy, who punched his arm.
They calmed down after a few more shoves, the both of them settling down into a comfortable silence. He could hear Soda phoning who he assumed was Steve, laughing hard about something that the both of them were talking about. Curly was trying to imagine what they were talking about; cars, some pretty girl that they had seen at the DX that day, their next plans for another hangout with just the two of them, some new movie Ponyboy was raving about, how rainy it had been that night… anything. Darry was in his room, finally picking up a dark-red book that he knew Pony had given him earlier; trying to make room in his busy schedule just so he could talk about something with his brother. He could vaguely make out the figure of a tree on it; something about a mockingbird. Curly made a mental note to ask Pony about it later. Wait… Why was he reminding himself that? He shrugged it off, grabbing another Velita, and chewing it. Pony looked confused. He kept sneaking glances at the unfamiliar candy, thinking that Curly hadn’t taken notice.
He did.
“You want one?” Curly asked, pushing up one of the candies toward Pony. Ponyboy shook his head, surprised Curly Shepard of all people was offering him candy. He knew how protective he was of his sweets, so he couldn’t help but be somewhat suspicious of him.
“This ain’t laced with anything, is it? Can’t be like that in here. I’ll get grounded forever if Darrel sees me like that inside the house.”
Curly scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Really? If you didn’t want one just say so. I ain’t laced shit, Ponyboy.”
“I know, but it’s just…” Ponyboy started to talk but trailed off quickly when he caught a glimpse of Curly’s glare.
“Just what?”
“...Just wanted to be safe, you know? Can’t trust people.”
Curly relented, sinking back into the couch as he huffed. He took a bite out of the candy again, chewing a little harder now, his eyebrows furrowed. He should’ve known. Pony wasn’t going to trust him no matter what front he put up. He didn’t know why he was so hurt over that. Everybody assumed the same thing, and it never hurt Curly. So why was he so damn pressed over Ponyboy Curtis thinking the same? “You don’t see me acting like a junkie right now, do you?”
“Well, no.”
“Then isn’t that enough proof I didn’t lace shit? I’ve been eating these for the past three hours, they would’ve kicked in a long time ago.”
Pony tensed, scooting away from Curly slightly. “I guess so,” He mumbed, staring at the wall beside him.
“Just try one. Pink, white, or yellow?”
“...White, please.”
Curly handed him a velita, Ponyboy looking even more confused as he saw the plastic around the candy. “How do I unwrap it?” He asked, picking at the plastic desperately.
“You don’t,” He grabbed another Velita, “You bite down on it and scrape it off with your teeth to get the candy inside.”
“That’s… pretty much sounds a struggle, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it.”
Pony did as instructed, managing to get some of the candy out. Keyword; some, considering a good amount of the candy was left behind in the plastic. Curly chuckled, eating another velita and managing to get all the candy out.
“Now you’re just showing off, Curly.” Ponyboy got another one, this time getting more candy out.
Before they knew it, they had already finished the pack that Curly had brought, tired out of their minds as the sugar high seemed to wear off for them. Curly was lying down on the couch, struggling to keep his eyes open as he dozed in and out of consciousness. Ponyboy was reading a book on the loveseat. A Wrinkle in Time, he could barely make out. Even though he was exhausted, Curly couldn’t seem to sleep. He tossed and turned on the couch, trying to get comfortable. Groaning in frustration he sat up and startled Pony, who thought he was asleep by then.
“Are you okay, Curly?”
“No, I can’t get my stupid brain to knock out. I just wanna sleep, dammit!”
Ponyboy got up from the loveseat, heading over to the chimney where a small radio resided on top of the brick. “Sometimes, when Darry can’t sleep, he listens to the radio. It’s mostly news and stuff, but I’m sure he won’t mind some music for a change,” He turned on the radio, adjusting the station to where he had heard some music a week prior.
“If The Beatles starts playing I think I would rather die,” Curly said, spinning his father’s ring on his finger. It was a size too big, but it didn’t bother him at all. It was worn down to his finger’s size after a long time of playing with it mindlessly. It was a wonder how his father had never noticed that Curly had gotten a hold of his ring, and how Angela had gotten their mother’s ring from her old jewelry box. He tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind, trying not to think of his mother.
“Well, they don’t play The Beatles on this specific station. You dig Elvis?”
“Take one look at me, Baby Curtis, I can dig Elvis.”
“Well good, you’ll be hearing a lot of it. Not that it’s a problem, Elvis is tuff,” Pony adjusted the radio again; this time the volume. He wanted it to be loud enough for Curly to listen to through the night, but not loud enough to wake up his brothers, who were half asleep by now.
Curly giggled, then immediately started coughing as he caught onto his slip-up. He was not going to giggle when Ponyboy Curtis was around. He’s not a giggler. Jesus Christ, what the hell was wrong with him today?
Ponyboy sat down, reading his book again. Curly sighed as he sank onto the couch even further, feeling himself blanking in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a good night’s sleep. Every night was an argument, Mama and Dad during childhood, Dad and Tim after Mama had gone, Curly and Dad, Angela and Dad, Tim and Angela, Curly and Tim, Angela and Curly. Every night was another fight. It was strange not to hear any noise during the night. Frankly, he was glad the music was there. At least it gave him some noise he could fall asleep to.
He looked over at Pony, who looked like he was trying to read with his eyes closed. Begrudgingly, Curly got up from his comfortable spot on the couch to take Ponyboy to his bedroom. Ponyboy groaned, protesting as he flailed around, Curly trying desperately to not get kicked or slapped in the face. His dad did that enough, he didn’t need Pony doing that too.
Is this what responsibility felt like? He asked himself. Oh, the horror.
Eventually, Pony came to his senses, muttering a few words that even Curly couldn’t decipher. It must’ve been all those French classes at school, that he wouldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. Curly already knew Spanish, that was enough.
“I don’t care if I’m whatever a cheval du fromage is, Curtis. You needa go to bed.” He stumbled, trying to hold up a very heavy Ponyboy, who was slurring a bunch of words in both English and French. Who needed to take care of a blubbering drunk when you had a very sleep-deprived Curtis brother here?
“I can… tell Darry I’ll sleep… in the living room. Soda can sleep alone anyway…” Ponyboy yawned, stumbling over to Darry’s room as he mumbled a few more things, closing the door behind him.
It had felt like an eternity before Ponyboy had come back out with a blanket for himself, going over to the loveseat and passing out, the blanket barely covering his legs. Curly groaned, realizing he had to do one more thing before having to fall asleep. He grabbed Ponyboy’s blanket, unfolded it, and put it over Pony, who had now passed out. Ponyboy instinctively reached for the blanket in his sleep, wrapping it around himself.
Curly went back to the couch, finally falling asleep.
—————————————————————-
Curly woke up when he heard something moving in the kitchen. The dim light from the fridge was a dead giveaway that somebody was raiding it, but he didn’t know who. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding him, he looked everywhere to find a clock that could tell him what time it was. His eyes landed on the wall above the television, a clock barely visible, that read 1:24 AM. Curly yawned, getting off of the couch, and rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes. Heading on over to the kitchen, he leaned against the doorframe, silently waiting for the culprit to show himself.
He didn’t notice Curly coming in apparently, considering he was looking inside the fridge for a good five minutes before closing it, and promptly screaming as he noticed Curly.
It was Ponyboy, of course.
“Jesus, my bedhead isn’t that bad, is it, Baby Curtis?” Curly grinned, chuckling at how Pony dropped his Twinkies and string cheese.
“You can’t just do that, Curly! What if I woke up Darry or Soda?” Ponyboy hissed, bending down and picking up his snacks quickly. Curly laughed again, watching him scramble for them.
“Well, let them wake up. I wasn’t the one who screamed, was I?” Curly was about to laugh again, but Ponyboy threw a Twinkie at him. He smacked it out of his way, and it bounced back to Ponyboy, hitting his face.
“Dickhead,” Pony muttered, trying to keep his smile out of his voice.
“What are you doing up so late, man?” Curly asked, looking inside the pantry and finding a box of donuts. He took one, munching on it.
Pony walked back to the living room, facing away from Curly. “What? Can’t a guy just eat in the middle of the night?”
“Not if he explains it like that, no.” Curly trailed behind him, sitting down on the sofa. “I’m no expert in human emotion, but something’s bothering you. What’s going on, Baby Curtis?”
“Will you stop calling me that? I have a name y’know. Besides, it’s nothin’, Curly. Just go back to sleep.”
“I will in fact not stop, you’re the youngest Curtis brother, so you’re the baby.” Curly stood up, then walked over to him as he sat on the loveseat, “Besides, now I really wanna know. You know im a chismoso, man.”
“Oh shut up, Baby Shepard.”
“Hey!” He shoved Ponyboy again, finally managing to get a small laugh out of him.
“Alright! Alright! I’ll tell you! Just… promise not to tell anyone, okay?” Ponyboy’s playfulness had suddenly shrunk, and Curly had suddenly felt like he had been pulled into a small, cramped room. Did anybody else know what Pony was about to drop on him right now? Or was he the first? Did Ponyboy trust him enough?
Although his mind was racing, and he felt like his heart was going to burst into a million pieces, he mentally slapped and shook himself. Calm down, Curly! He chided himself, he’s just a friend. This is what friends do! Why was he so worked up over it?
Curly fiddled with his ring after a moment of silence, then looked right back up at Ponyboy. “I promise.”
Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, and Curly made a zipping motion with his mouth as he tossed away an imaginary key. Pony relaxed, taking a deep breath.
“Do you know why I can’t sleep alone anymore?” Curly shook his head, leaning forward a little.
“I still remember. My parents. I think about them every night, Curly.” Ponyboy averted his gaze down to the floor, “Every night I see them in my dreams and I can’t get them off my mind. I don’t think I’ll forget about them anytime soon, and that scares me. I want to forget. I don’t want to remember that pain, I don’t want to remember the look on Darry’s face when the officer came home with the news. I don’t want to remember how Soda had cried his eyes out that night, and I still remember the headache I had for the next few days because I cried every last tear out of my body. Every day, I remember how I would wait for them to come home, how Darry had to tear me away from the couch so I wouldn’t sleep there, waiting on them like some dope. I would call my father’s office, waiting for him to pick up the phone. He never did. I would come home from school, waiting for my mother’s meals on the table. They were never there. I don’t want to remember, Curly. I don’t wanna. But every night I’m forced to and–” He went silent, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shook slightly. His breaths were labored, as his leg bounced up and down uncontrollably on the wooden floor.
The floor creaked, and the loveseat springs stuttered slightly, as if they too, understood the pain and loss Pony was experiencing. As if they too, had sensed the loss of the Curtis Parents. It is as if a weight has been lifted off of them but has left them emptier than before. Curly knew their impact. And after they had passed away he felt like he had lost a part of himself too. Although it was a small part, he still thought it had gone. They had treated him with so much kindness, and when they were ripped away, so was that small part of himself. He couldn’t imagine it with the Curtis brothers.
Curly only knew half of their pain, his mother had died when he was seven. And although his father had never really been around for months at a time, technically, it wasn’t a loss, he still knew. He looked down at his ring and looked away again. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Ponyboy spoke up again.
“And it’s jus’ not my mom and dad anymore, Curls… I see them . I see Johnny. And I see Dallas. I still remember the sound of the wood. That fucking creak… the way it slammed onto Johnny. The panicked look in Dallas’ eyes… golly, I ain’t ever seen him so distraught up until that moment. And the hospital, right after the rumble... What Johnny had said to me and the way Dal ran right out. The phone rang, he was robbin’ some store and the fuzz were after him…” Ponyboy leaned his head on the back of the loveseat, squeezing his eyes shut. “The gunshots, the fucking gunshots, Curly, I–” He broke, a small tear falling down his face. Then another. And then he broke, tears streaming down his face as he breathed in short gasps, his right hand gripping onto his shirt and the left trying to find a grip on the loveseat.
“His gun wasn’t loaded,” He said. “His gun wasn’t loaded,” He repeated, over and over again, as if those words would somehow tell the cops that they made a mistake and that they would magically bring back Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston.
Curly didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t ever comforted anybody, let alone be comforted himself, god, this was confusing. He looked around, trying to find something, anything that could help Ponyboy. When he realized everything he thought could help was useless, he thought back to his mom. What would Mama do? His mind searched for something, coming up blank before he remembered his mother would always wrap him around a blanket and rock him gently. It worked every time, and it would always make him fall asleep. Curly grabbed the nearby blanket, wrapped it around Ponyboy, and hesitantly put his arms around him.
Pony tensed, and Curly had thought he had made a mistake. God, there goes that plan.
Just as Curly was about to pull away, Ponyboy grappled at him, not wanting to let go as he sobbed into his shoulder. “Don’t leave,” He whispered. “Please don’t go.” The desperation in his voice was clear as day. Curly wasn’t leaving any time soon. Not like he had a choice anyway.
“Easy, Ponyboy,” Curly said his name. It felt so weird, all these years of calling him Baby Curtis and yet, he never really remembered the last time he called him as just Ponyboy.
They stayed in silence, the occasional gasp of air coming from Ponyboy, and just the sound of Elvis’ voice. Take my whole life too… god, it always got Curly feeling things.
“This is a good song,” Curly mumbled, “It’s m’ favorite. Always gets stuck in my head.” He didn’t know what else to say to Pony. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to distract him from the nightmares? Or was he supposed to talk about it? He felt so, so stupid.
“It’s from that one movie Elvis was in,” Pony sniffled, “Blue Hawaii. I watched it with mom and dad when it came out. It’s a really good movie. They wouldn’t stop dancing to this song together for weeks. Got the record and everything so they could listen over and over.” He laughed, recalling the memory, “You know, Darry is a sucker for this song. Sometimes he grabs their old record and just listens to it.”
Curly smiled softly, “Hell, I don’t blame him. I’m a sucker for this song too. Don’t tell Tim though, he’ll call me a pansy for not havin’ Devil in Disguise as my number one favorite like I told him.”
“My lips are sealed, Curls.”
“Good. Don’t need that coming out any time soon.” They sat on the loveseat for another period of silence, just enjoying the song.
“You ever think about the future, Curly?” Woah, okay, huge change.
“I ain’t got a future. So no, I don’t think about it often,” He looked away again, wow, those bricks are really interesting! Has the wood on the floor always been this shiny?
Ponyboy tilted his head slightly, trying to look into Curly’s eyes. Stop. Stop. Stop. “Why’s that? Everyone’s got a future in one way or another,” Shut up. Por Dios, please.
“Well, I don’t, alright? Stop askin’, even if I do I bet it won’t be anything good. Lord knows what the hell will happen to me if I even make it past sixteen,” He spat out, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his face.
Ponyboy sighed, and Curly suddenly started to regret talking to him that way. It wasn’t Pony’s fault that Curly felt this way. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t control Curly’s condemned future. Hell, if he could, he most likely would help Curly succeed for once.
Curly put the pillow down, sighing heavily. “I’m awful sorry, Pony,” Those words left a weird taste in his mouth. He never knew how to apologize, and yet here he was, “I just… don’t like the idea of the future. It’s so close. And yet whenever I think about it I just end up blank. Either that or I end up dead in a ditch somewhere. I don’t know why I’m so bugged by it. I mean, the idea of death ain’t new… I’ve seen boys like us drop dead and that never bothered me, so why’s it bothering me now? Why the hell is it so scary, man?” He brought his knees up to his chest, closing his eyes, “I don’t know if it’s just because I’m starting to believe that I’ll never be good at anything or if it’s because I know nobody’ll remember me after I die, even if I do get better.”
“That’s not true, Curly. It’s not.”
“But what if it is? God, Pony. You got that big brain of yours. You’ll get far. What do I have? A heater and a pack of cigarettes. The furthest I could get would be just another detention hall. Or worse, six feet under.” Pony didn’t seem to have a response to that, staying quiet. No matter how much he tried to reassure Curly, he was right. He’s seen this story a million times before and always knew the ending to them, they were always the same. “I’m sorry.” The words fell out of his mouth with a bitter taste. It was unfamiliar to Curly, and yet he could repeat it to Pony over and over until the end of time would come and go. Even in the vast emptiness of nothingness, his words would linger forever even if it wouldn’t matter anymore.
Curly hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Pony shushed him soothingly, a blanket keeping him warm for the first time in forever as he was held the same way he had been as a child. He let out a strangled sob, clinging onto Ponyboy for dear life the same way he had allowed Pony to do a few minutes prior. He shivered slightly as he felt Pony run his hand through the complicated mess of curls he called hair, and for the first time in forever, he didn’t reject the touch. Looking up at Ponyboy, he realized there were other things in life other than cigarettes, heaters, and grass. Hell, maybe above Velitas. He realized that if there was one person who would believe in him through and through, it would be the youngest Curtis brother. The boy who was enamored by sunsets, sunrises, movie stars on those silver screens, the words in a book that had been rejected a million times before, the boy who loved writing, and the boy who loved his friends above all. The boy with stars littered across his face, the boy with the stormy grey eyes he had so adamantly refused to call green. The boy with roots as dark as wine, and hair as golden as the sunsets he had dreamed about.
Although they hadn’t realized how close they had gotten to each other, yet there was a mutual understanding—an understanding that this was where they were meant to be at this moment in time and that this was something they’d never want to forget.
Curly didn’t know what he was thinking. In fact, he never thought at all. He guessed that was the one thing that held him back a lot. He never thought about his actions and their consequences… and he certainly didn’t think about the consequences of his actions the moment he kissed Ponyboy.
Pony froze, his body tensing up as he registered the kiss for a second. Did… did that actually happen? He kissed back hesitantly, but only for a moment. A moment so quick and tentatively that Curly barely realized that Pony had even kissed him back. He didn’t realize what he was doing until Ponyboy pulled away, a look of confusion etched across his face.
“Curly?” Mierda.
“I’m sorry,” He said. He had gotten too used to saying it now. He couldn’t imagine himself saying that to Tim, Angela, hell, not even their dad.. but he could say it to Pony until he dropped dead.
“Don’t apologize, Curly, it’s okay,” he said in a hushed whisper. He wouldn’t dare speak up at all, god knows what would happen if Darry or Soda were to wake up and see this.
“I’m not a queer, Ponyboy.”
There was a silence across the room as those words lingered between the both of them.
“I ain’t one either, Curly.”
Curly bit his lip as he looked towards the wall again, trying to think of something to say. Why are feelings so confusing? He just wanted to stop feeling. Stop thinking. He never used his brain for anything good other than getting angry, so he might as well not use it at all.
“I don’t know what I am, Ponyboy. I don't know who I am, what I want, or who I want. I mean, you got it all figured out. Why can’t I have it figured out?” Curly let out a string of words that didn’t seem to make sense to him. Nothing ever did. So how was Pony supposed to know?
“I don’t have anything figured out, Curly. I’m just as confused as you are. I guess that’s just what life is. We get confused, never figure out anything, then die,” Pony snaked his hand toward Curly’s, intertwining them together.
Curly buried his face into Ponyboy’s shoulder, breathing in and out. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he felt Ponyboy’s arm wrap around his shoulder. “What are we gonna do now?” He mumbled, burying his face deeper.
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. I know we will.” Pony pecked the crown of Curly’s head, trying to reassure the other boy (and himself) that they were going to be okay, even if it wasn’t true. Maybe they wouldn’t be okay. Maybe they would.