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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
Even if Darry tried, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since his parents died. The second he answered the door that night, he started running and never stopped. If he stopped for even a second, the world was liable to collapse all around him. So his only choice was to keep pushing.
He got up in the morning, made breakfast, woke his brothers and saw them off to school and work. He went to his own job and toiled away from monotonous hours. He’d get home late, cook dinner and shower and prepare for the next day. He’d wake in the night to his brother screaming. And then he’d do it all over again.
It wasn’t a bad life, not at all. There were so many people who had it worse, some of them were Darry’s best friends. But God, it was exhausting. There was always a heavy ache in his bones, a ringing in his ears.
He was like one of Two-Bit’s favorite cartoon characters, running and running, not even noticing they were no longer on solid ground. If he looked down, he would fall.
Darry couldn’t let that happen.
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Darry got home late that night, having pulled overtime. Despite the protest of his entire body, he knew it would be worth it at the end of the month. He would be able to get Soda the new record he and Steve have been talking about for weeks.
As he parked his car the warm glow of the living room lights greeted him. Outside, the wind was biting so he darted inside as fast as he could.
In the entryway, he took off his shoes and coat as quietly as he could, knowing someone was probably sleeping in the living room.
Upon peering into the living room he was proved correct, finding Johnny and Ace fast asleep. Johnny was spread out on the couch, tucked under a heavy quilt. His wheelchair was folded in the corner of the room. On the coffee table was a mug with the last remnants of Ovaltine in it. Ace was curled into a ball on Darry’s arm chair. She was the only one besides Ponyboy small enough to sleep there comfortably. She had at least two blankets draped over her and by the looks of it was wearing one of Soda’s old hoodies.
The house was drafty this time of year, but it wasn’t cold enough to turn on the heat. At least they were out of the wind and they were bundled up, Darry thought, despite the voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t doing enough.
He must not have been quiet enough because when he picked up Johnny’s dirty mug, Ace’s eyes blinked open. She yawned and gave him a small wave. Quietly she said, “Soda put food for you in the fridge.”
“Thanks, Ace girl. Go back to sleep.” Darry told her. Ace yawned and settled back down into her nest.
Just as she said, there was a foil wrapped plate in fridge. With a sigh, he ate his plate over the sink, shoveling cold mashed potatoes and chicken into his mouth. He’d barely put his empty plate in the sink when the screaming started.
Darry wanted to cry and scream himself.
Of course Ponyboy would have a nightmare tonight. And then he hated himself. Ponyboy couldn’t control it and he had never asked either of them to comfort him afterwards. It wasn’t his fault. That made Darry want to cry even more.
He heard murmuring from the living room and walked back out to see Johnny and Ace, both light sleepers, startled awake. “Soda’s got him,” Darry assured them. Ace nodded, letting her eyes fall closed again. Johnny just kept looking at Darry, eyes wide as the screaming turned to crying. Darry understood. No matter how many times he heard his little brother like that, he would never get used to it.
Johnny remained awake as Soda padded out of his bedroom, looking sleepy. Upon seeing Darry, he smiled a little, “Just got home?”
Darry nodded, “Pony okay?”
Soda sighed and filled a glass with water, “He don’t like it when you’re gone so late. Took a long time for him to get to sleep.”
Shame coursed through Darry’s blood like venom.
Darry reached out and took the water glass from Soda, “I got him, just take a second.”
They both loved their baby brother to death, but these sleepless nights were hard on the both of them. Sometimes Darry wondered if this was how new parents felt, then hated himself again for the comparison. Soda nodded thankfully and Darry disappeared into the hallway.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
In Soda and Pony’s room, he found the boy in question sitting in bed, legs curled to his chest. Darry sat down beside him, pressing the glass of water into his hands. In the darkness, it took Ponyboy a second to realize it was Darry with him and not Sodapop.
“You’re home,” Pony said quietly, voice thick. Darry wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him to his side. Since that awful week, they’d all been pretty nervous when someone wasn’t home on time. Darry couldn’t blame the kid at all, his heart started to race when Ponyboy was even ten minutes later than he said he would be.
“Finally.” Darry rested his cheek on Pony’s flat curls. This too, was familiar. Was it awful of him to say that comforting Ponyboy had become a routine? Probably. “Sorry I was so late.”
Silence fell between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not anymore. Through the walls, they could hear Soda talking softly to Johnny. It was only the weight of Ponyboy against him that kept Darry from drifting off. On nights like these, he felt so much like a ghost.
Ponyboy took a drink of water. “Are you okay?”
The question was posed so softly that, at first, Darry thought he imagined it. The Pony shifted, looking up at Darry with their mama’s eyes.
If Darry tried to explain, he knew Ponyboy would understand. If he told him that sometimes he felt like a ghost or a horse caught in a zoetrope, Ponyboy would nod and hum in understanding. But Darry didn’t deserve that. Ponyboy didn’t deserve that. Despite all he’d been through, he was still just a kid. Darry wasn’t about to put the weight of his hollowness onto Ponyboy. No chance in hell.
But knowing that Ponyboy was still waiting for an answer, Darry kissed his clammy forehead, “Just tired. It was a long day.”
“You got work tomorrow too?” Ponyboy asked.
There was a lump in Darry’s throat. “Yeah.”
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
The sun would start to rise in a few hours and Darry would have to do this all over again. But for that single moment, he closed his eyes and held onto his baby brother. For just a moment, the anger at his situation was quiet.
It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.