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Dally's mother was blonde. It's one of the only things he remembers about her.
He remembers how those pale-blonde locks fell on her shoulders. How soft they felt when she held him. How she always had her hair down so it cascaded down her back and framed her face.
Then it started falling out.
Dallas was too young to understand it. All he knows is that his mom's blonde locks were disappearing, and soon enough his mom disappeared too.
He understands now that she OD'ed. Years of drug use and addiction caught up to her. Dallas has never touched anything harder than weed because of it.
But, he has always kept his hair long. Just like his mama. He ties it up though—usually with colorful hair ties. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure.
Dallas imagines he doesn't look like your typical greaser or hood. In New York he could get by, but down here in Tulsa? They've never seen a guy like him before.
"You ever thought about cuttin' it?" Pony asks. Dallas is trying to brush his hair, but the kid won't stop asking fuckin' questions. He specifically went into the bathroom of the Curtis house to avoid the questions he's been asked a million times.
"Nope. Why would I?" He answers, because ignoring the kid has never worked.
"You look like a girl."
Two-bit laughs obnoxiously somewhere deeper in the house. The walls are too thin for this shit.
"So? I'll still kick your ass anyday."
"Still. You would look more like a greaser if you used some grease."
Dallas growls. He can't get this one knot to brush out and Pony still hasn't learned to shut his mouth.
"Pony. Leave him the hell alone." Darry says. He takes the brush from Dally, and the blonde contemplates murder. But then Darry gets to work brushing out the knot.
Dallas really doesn't get Darry, or their relationship. All he knows is that he melts once the man's hands are on him. Not in a romantic way, or even a sex way. It just reminds him of his mom.
"Stay still sweetie, I have to get the knots out." She says gently. Dallas, all of four years old, squirms in her lap.
She continues to brush out his hair—it's not as long as hers, it'll never be as long as hers. He whines whenever she struggles through a knot, but tries to stay still.
He's a good kid, he's just different. Probably from all the drugs Mom was on when she was pregnant. He came out all fucked up.
Mom never minded, though. She soothes him as she finally gets the last knot.
He picks out a bright purple scrunchie, and she lovingly uses it to tie up his hair. Sometimes he'll put clips into it, but they have church today.
"Perfect. You're perfect, my little moonbeam." She kisses his cheek, and he giggles, squirming some more.
Darry's hands are rougher than Mom's, but he tries to be patient.
"There. Now ain't that better?" Darry smiles. "Cmon, where's the hair ties?"
Dallas wordlessly hands over his purple scrunchie. It's worn from age and use, but he can't bear to let it go.
Darry frowns at it. "We'll have to get ya some new ones." He says, more to himself. Dally doesn't argue, he's a good kid.
Darry doesn't know how to be gentle, but he tries his best as he ties Dally's hair up. A few stray locks fall on his shoulders, but they're quickly gathered. They're soft to the touch, but don't quite reach his back. The ponytail isn't half bad, Darry's had a lot of practice with Dallas around.
He smiles into the mirror, at Dallas, claps his shoulder, and walks away. He drags Ponyboy with him, despite all his whining. They leave him, still staring into the mirror.
Dally's mom was a blonde. Secretly, Dallas thinks looks like his mother.
He smiles softly into the mirror, and then goes to join his friends.