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When Ponyboy Curtis was 14 years old, Johnny Cade was 16. A two year difference.
However, by the time July 22 rolled around in a few years. Ponyboy Curtis was 16. But so was Johnny.
Ponyboy turned 16, but Johnny stayed 16. Over and over again. But every year, without avail, Ponyboy would get older, and Johnny would stay scared, young, nervous, and 16. He visited Johnny's grave, grief filling his heart yearly as he sat there, talking over and over to the lump of dirt covering what was his best friend.
"You know, Johnny, in your letter, you mentioned that Dally doesn't know the good in the world. I wish I could've told him."
No response.
"I- I think it's insane, really, what happened. I sort of wish that I hadn't run off, but something would've happened anyway."
No response.
"I know you said you were- that you were proud of saving those kids, but... some days I wish you hadn't. Now I feel like the one who needs saving."
No response. Always no response. Not like Ponyboy was expecting his late best friend to pop out of the grave and pull him into a hug.
It'd sure feel nice though.
But it wasn't going to happen. Ponyboy stared at the grave, eyes tracing over the dates on the gravestone, not enough to represent the person that Johnny was. The years "1949-1965" didn't say anything. Didn't mention how he was valiant, how kind he was, how quickly he ran into that fire, how fast...how fast that beam fell. But it's not like anyone cares about a greaser's death. No one cared about Dally's. And Ponyboy doubted that anyone would care about Johnny's if he hadn't done what he did. If Johnny's dad had gotten too drunk and shot him, it would've likely garnered no attention.
But either way, there was nothing to be done. Johnny was dead. No matter how much convincing Ponyboy did, he couldn't keep telling himself Johnny was just asleep at the lot, or talking to the others back at his house. Johnny was the body back in the hospital, and no matter how much Ponyboy repeated to himself that Johnny was not dead, Johnny was not dead, Johnny was not coming back.
So he brushed the dirt off of his pants, stared at the sky, and remembered instead. Remembered the conversations in the lot. The look on Johnny's face every time he saw a Soc. The smile Johnny cracked after a dumb thing, like if Dally fell out of his seat like he had at that drive in. That night at the church in Windrixville, Johnny really had been right.
Nothing gold can stay.