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Paul was always a ring wearer. The weight of his wedding ring is familiar on his finger. He never thought he’d get married in college, not in a million years, but Sarah Kazansky fascinated him. The moment she walked into his college class as a guest speaker about psychology majors and careers, he was intrigued by her icy blue eyes and her brittle brown hair. She was a social worker, working around Oregon with the foster agency.
She looked like Darry if he squinted. So he didn’t squint. He kept his eyes as wide open as he could when they went on their first date. She’s 34, turning 35 soon and she’s made it very clear that her family dates to marry. Paul can do that.
They date through his sophomore year in college, and it’s good. She thinks his doodles are cute, and thinks he should play guitar more often, and she tells him stories about the foster agency (or at least all she’s allowed to tell anyone).
She meets his parents, and Paul’s father approves of her. A nice woman who wears button up blouses with the sleeves rolled to her forearms and slacks, who has crows feet and smile lines and three strands of greying hair from the life of furrowed brows and smiles. He’s sure her job is stressful.
She looks like Darry if he squints. Darry always took things too seriously, his eyebrows would constantly be furrowed, whether it be disapproving of his Spanish homework, the taste of a new mixed drink he tried, or the younger boys on the football team.
He gets a call one January night from Bob Sheldon, a nice west side boy who he took under his wing every football season until he himself graduated. A tragic auto accident was all over the papers. The story detailing a car crushed by a train after stalling on the tracks bisecting Tulsa.
“It was Darrel’s parents.” Bob says.
Paul’s blood runs cold. He always liked Mr. And Mrs. Curtis. They were certainly better than his own parents, and he knew he was always welcome at their house. Paul knew Bob and Darry never got along as well as he wished they would, but he appreciates his buddy letting him know.
“Shit.” Is all he says.
“Yeah, shit. The funeral is Saturday next week, but I doubt many people will go.” Bob says, and Paul doubts that.
Maybe not many Soc’s will go, but he’s sure greasers will show up left and right. The Curtis’ had to have been the best parents on the east side. So Paul decides no matter how much it hurts, or how many cans of worms it could open, he’ll go.
Sarah helps him book a flight back to Oklahoma, still having her own work to do in Oregon. He’s nervous as soon as he steps onto the plane. He flies in on Friday and leaves early Sunday morning.
As predicted, all of the kids from Darry’s younger brother’s gang are there. Keith Matthews’ family is there, as is the little Johnny kid. Dallas is there which doesn’t surprise him. But what does are the tears streaming down the kid’s face. Some other greaser families are there as well as some of his old teachers.
He feels a little out of place, his shoes shinier than everyone else’s. He stands off to the side and only once most people have left does he approach Darry.
“Hey.” Darry is in a sweater that doesn’t seem to be keeping him very warm.
“Hey.”
He watches as Darry’s lip quivers. Paul swallows his own lump from his throat and brings Darry in for a hug. The first touch in over two years.
He’s immediately taken back to senior year. When he was allowed to hug Darry, tell Darry whatever was bothering him would be okay, when he was allowed to love Darry. Maybe he shouldn’t have allowed himself to.
“Darrel, I’m sorry. I know this is tough.” He says and breaths in the scent of Darry’s cheap aftershave. It’s still the same. He feels Darry touch his elbow when he pulls away and they stand there for a second. They’ve always been almost telepathically connected, so he understands Darry’s sad smile and follows him to the Ford that used to be Darrel Curtis Sr.’s.
Darry’s gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white, so Paul takes a risk and grabs one of them, interlacing their fingers.
He knows what he’s signed up for, and he shouldn’t. He should feel guilty, and maybe he will later but he can’t bring himself to think about anything but Darry. This is such a devastating thing for him. Paul knows he’ll have to give up his full ride to take care of his brothers, and Sarah has told him all about how, even after trying so hard to find children good foster homes they can’t all be winners.
So he lets himself feel what he’s missed. Love what he’s forced himself to drown. Darry takes, and Paul doesn’t want to stop giving. It’s feverish and it’s desperate but it’s as perfect as it could get.
If he squints Darry looks like Sarah.
He should’ve squinted, but he wanted his eyes open to see the pleasure and the tears and the love that Darry has never been able to say.
They’re sweaty and satisfied as they lay in Darry’s bed. Darry’s head rests on Paul’s chest as they breathe. The only sounds are the sounds of their breathing and the hum of the heating. Darry’s breath starts to deepen, his lashes fluttering. Paul knows he’s starting to fall asleep, somehow getting heavier than the bulky build he already has.
Paul feels Darry’s body jerk as he tries to stay awake.
“Go to sleep. I got you.” Paul whispers.
Paul feels Darry bury his face further into Paul’s bare torso. “I wish you were a girl.”
Part of Paul was hoping the two years gave Darry a chance to find himself. Maybe give Darry a chance to realize that Paul knows he loves him and all he had to do was commit.
A stupid thought in Paul’s mind had float past, thinking he’d miss the flight Sarah had booked back home. Go radio silent and stay here in Tulsa. He could see Bob graduate. Maybe even after all of this he could help Darry take care of his kid brothers. Draw with Ponyboy and talk about drag races with Sodapop.
But he’s not a girl. And boys don’t do that with other boys. Darry knows it. Paul knows it. Everyone else in fucking Tulsa knows it.
If Paul ever wanted any sense of normality he’d have to marry a woman. It was a hard pill to swallow when Paul was used to that shitty bubblegum liquid stuff they give to kids.
Maybe Darry was right. It was always meant to crash and burn.
So Paul says, “I know.” and places a kiss on Darry's sweaty forehead.
He doesn’t frown and he doesn’t pout. Not while he tries to fall asleep, not when he spots his purple and gold madras shirt in Darry’s room, and not on the early morning plane back to Oregon.
He frowns when Sarah asks how the funeral was.
“Sad.” Paul says.
“Funerals usually are, yeah.” Sarah says, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you know them well?” She asks.
“Yeah. I stayed over at their house a lot. Their oldest son, Darry, was my- my friend.” He explains, and hopes he saved it.
Sarah’s expression contorts into a little confusion at Paul’s hesitation but she doesn’t say anything about it. “That must be really hard honey, I’m sorry.”
Paul shrugs.
“The hotel called last night, reminding us of your stay. They said you hadn’t shown up yet.” Sarah says. “I can’t get a refund for that.”
“I stayed with Darrel.” Paul says. “I’m sorry, I can pay you back.”
“No, it’s okay. Just tell me next time okay? So I don’t have hotel workers pestering me while I’m doing a house check?”
Paul laughs. “Yeah, okay.”
He proposes the next week.
A few of his friends expected a huge white wedding, but there wasn’t one. Sarah just wanted to go to a courthouse with people that were close to each of them.
So that’s exactly what they did. In April they got married. He kissed his bride and they went on with their lives. He was always a ring wearer so it wasn’t much different.
He’s on a short break from school and decides to visit his parents. Sarah, ever busy with work, couldn’t come. But Paul promised to spend time with her and not spend the entire three weeks he was off of school in Tulsa.
He reconnected with old friends. Mainly guys who were on the football team. He can't help but notice how they’ve all grown up. He remembered Chet as a freshman, all baby faced with eyes full of wonder. He’s sprouted up like a beanstalk. Chet oughta be taller than Paul now.
Brill was pretty much the same, quiet and athletic and his favorite color was still clearly green. A lot of opposing players would always underestimate him, but he’s fast as hell. He’s got himself a cheerleader girlfriend too. Beverly.
He’s not as familiar with Terrance Dipp or- Trip, he guesses. He doesn’t like being called Terrance. Paul’s really only known him through mutual friends.
Randy is nowhere to be seen.
“How about we go to the drive-in?” Bob suggests. “Bring the girls?”
The group agrees and Paul just goes along with it, feeling a little awkward. He bums around with them all week, getting lunch with them on their lunch hour at school and running drills with them. Just like they used to in Bob’s backyard.
On Wednesday he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Bob’s blue mustang when Bob starts to follow a greaser kid on his way home from the movie house. The kid’s bouncing a small red ball and minding his own business when Bob starts to speed up. Chet and Trip hop out of the car and start to chase him on foot while Bob, Brill, and Paul catch up in the car. They’re all in their letterman jackets, and Paul’s feeling like one of those people who definitely peaked in high school. It’s weird, and he doesn’t like it much.
When Paul gets closer he realizes it’s the youngest Curtis, Ponyboy. He really should just walk himself back to his parent’s house, but Bob and the guys corner him almost like they did Ponyboy.
Paul catches Darry’s brother say that “they’re not playing the new Paul Newman movie on the east side,” in response to whatever Bob’s question was. Chet is tossed a football.
“That’s not my problem” Bob snickers, an almost sadistic grin on his face. Paul doesn’t remember him being this mean. “Is that your problem, Chet?”
“Not my problem. Your problem, Brill?”
“Not my problem. Trip?”
“Not my problem either.” Trip says, the ball being tossed amongst them with each question. “Is that your problem, Paul?”
Paul sighs. He knows Ponyboy recognizes him. He’s sure Darry will hear about this, but Paul isn’t supposed to care what Darry thinks. Not anymore. Not when Paul’s married now.
“Not my problem.” He says apprehensively and holds the football as they bully Ponyboy into their hold.
Paul watches as a punch gets thrown, giving Ponyboy a mean shiner. Ponyboy yells for Darry.
“Shit.” Paul mutters. “We should get out of here.”
Each other boy gets a hit in, knocking Ponyboy unconscious.
Bob and his crew hop back into the car, Paul in the passenger seat again and Bob drops them off at their houses.
As usual, Paul’s parents aren’t home, probably working. He doesn’t know why they aren’t retired yet, but it gives him a moment to just sit in silence on the couch.
Friday rolls around soon enough and the drive-in is as popping as it was two years ago when Paul was in high school.
Bob has a flask in his hand. Again, a surprise to Paul. It’s obvious Bob is annoyed, clearly thinking his girl Cherry is spending too much time with Chet. But Bob said that like many girls, Cherry doesn’t like it when he drinks—for good reason.
Everyone’s dancing and grinding and making out when the movie starts. Bobs drunk halfway through, having been taking gulps from his flask since they arrived. Bob eventually just sits in the car by himself, and Paul joins him after he gets a Coke. Ponyboy and his friends are there, sitting behind Cherry and Marcia.
Dallas Winston starts up on Cherry. Paul can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s sure it’s something dumb by the way Cherry is reacting. He has to stifle a laugh when Dallas gets Cherry’s soda throw on him.
People have settled in and he watches as Ponyboy and Johnny move to sit up with Cherry. That’s not good. Bob oughta be pissed, and Ponyboy already clearly has a target on his back.
Paul knows Ponyboy loves movies. Always used to talk about them at Paul when he was over at their house. But Ponyboy wasn’t even paying attention. He was only paying attention to Cherry.
Paul watches as Ponyboy escorts her to the concession stand. He hadn’t even noticed that Bob had exited the car. A screaming match is already underway and Paul freezes as Cherry says she’s done. When Bob doesn’t believe it and demands she goes to the car it almost reminds Paul of his dad. The way he speaks to his mother.
But Bob is his friend, right? He doesn’t really know what to do, but Bob is his friend. Really the only one Paul feels like he himself has so he’s gotta stand by him.
That night he’s sitting in the passenger seat with the rest of the guys. Bob is driving. He said it would clear his head, but Paul is keeping a close watch. They keep making loops on the east side of town, and Paul is starting to get a little confused.
Bob pulls up to Pershing Park when he spots two figures. Fucking Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade.
“Bob, come on-” and he’s being shouted at to get out of the car.
Paul’s brain is a little too fogged to even register what’s being said until Ponyboy spits in Bob’s face. Bob, Brill, Chet, and Trip grab the greasers and start punching and kicking them, Paul is standing stupidly as the group splits up, bringing Ponyboy to the fountain and starting to dunk his head in.
“Fucking do something Paul!” Bob shouts. So he goes to hold Johnny back. He thinks he can manage that.
He’s elbowed in the gut, and Brill is kicked in the shin and all of a sudden there’s a scream.
Bob’s body is limp over the fountain and his purple polo is slowly turning red. Johnny has a knife in his hand and the kid looks scared to shit. The rest of the guys scatter, and Paul wishes he could do something. He leaves the car at Pershing Park and calls the cops.
Apparently Ponyboy and Johnny fled the scene not too long after, and no one knows where they went.
He and Cherry are questioned that night.
“Cherry, tell him.” But Cherry doesn’t open her mouth. “It was Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade, officer.” He says, and part of him feels like he’s betraying Darry. He can’t imagine how their family is going to get out of this mess.
The grief hits him hard the next day. The adrenaline was keeping him going and it finally crashed. He was angry. Furious.
He does something he truly does regret looking back. He takes it out on Twobit. By far the jolliest out of Darry’s friends, and he lets Beverly put out her cigarette on his face. War is declared, avenging Bob. Saturday night, Pershing Park.
He doesn’t expect to see Darry. He knows Darry hasn’t fought in any rumbles since high school, and even then, even though he was the strongest boy Paul knew, his punches were always light. Afraid to inflict long lasting damage.
This time, Darry is at the front of the rumble.
“Are your boys’ girly rings off?”
“Oh, our hands are clean.” Paul sneers. He’s angry, and he knows Darry can tell. His brother killed his best friend. His hands are not.
He’s not mad at Darry though. Maybe two years ago he was deeply hurt and upset, but he could never find enough scorn within himself to be angry at Darry.
“Still have that purple and gold madras shirt I gave you? I remember it looked pretty good on you.” He asks, and he doesn’t really know why. Paul has a hunch that Darry still has it, especially after spotting it in Darry’s room in January.
“Yeah I still got it. I use it to clean my toilet about twice a week,” Darry says.
Paul almost laughs. He punches Darry, and feels a little bad for lying about the rings. But the only thing on his mind is Bob, and how the innocence in his eyes was far gone when Paul came back. How the life in his eyes was gone now too. Paul didn’t know which was worse.
Paul knows Darry registers the wedding ring on his finger. For a moment Darry looks sad. But in a blur Paul is on the muddy ground getting his ass handed to him in a way he didn’t know Darry had in him. He gets hit square in the jaw, the ribs, the stomach. He should fight back. This was for Bob.
But maybe it could be for Darry too. If Paul squints Darry still looks torn up. About his brother, about his parents, about them. Paul knew he was one of the only people who got to see Darry with his heart on his sleeve.
He lets Darry hit him. No matter how much it hurts, maybe this can take away from the pain he’s caused. Maybe he deserves this. He couldn’t save Bob. Maybe he could make up for years of shit communication and shit circumstances. He doesn’t care if he returns to Oregon with broken ribs or an ear cut off. He’ll tell Sarah he got into a bar fight.
But Sarah knows he doesn’t drink much anymore.
Someone pulls Darry off of him and Paul lays there just letting himself be drenched in the rain. It cools his red hot face. It waters down his anger. His grief.
He does in fact return to Oregon looking like shit. His face is all bruised and so are his ribs. His nose might be broken. He saw his parents twice in the two weeks he was in Tulsa.
When Sarah asks how his friends were he says they were fine. He could try to ignore how she didn’t believe him.
She’s dealt with guilty, emotional children for years as a career. Paul feels guilty, and like a child. There are so many things he hasn’t told anyone.
He shouldn’t lie to his wife.
She’s kind. Sarah really is nice and understanding and slow to anger. She’s still nice and understanding when she divorces him.
He was honest. He was scared. He was a boy who was still in love with another boy. With Darrel Shayne Curtis Jr..
They sat on the couch when he told her everything. About high school, about the funeral and what happened after, about the last two weeks. He expected her to call him a queer and tell him to get out and threaten to ruin his life. But that’s not the kind of woman she is.
She said it might be a better idea if they separated. Especially once Paul described Darry to her and it seemed like she looked just like him.
“Your heart never really was mine, was it?” She asks, and there’s no hostility to it whatsoever.
Paul shrugs, on the verge of tears.
“Oh honey.” Sarah says and brings him into her arms, holding him until he’s ready to let go.
Paul knows she wanted to date to marry. He feels awful about it, but she assures him she’ll be okay.
“Have you ever heard of the poem Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost?” She asks, her hands running soothing circles over his shoulder blades.
He shakes his head. She tells him about it, and what she thinks it means. It sounds like something Ponyboy Curtis would say.