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It was about a week after Johnny and Dallas died when I came home to find my kid brother dead-drunk on the couch. Not Ponyboy. He was still on strict bedrest, and he was plenty pissed about it but I couldn’t stand if something else happened to him, and besides, the Doc seemed pretty set on him resting up as much as he could, so I was being a real hardass about it.
But Ponyboy was already asleep when I got home that day, and my other kid brother was sitting on the couch in the dark with a jug of convenience store vodka to keep him company.
I switched on a light. “Whatcha doing up still, Sodapop?” I asked. I could hear the edge in my voice. I’d had a damn long day of work, and then I’d gotten stuck at the courthouse going over paperwork and meeting with the court-appointed lawyer. I tried not to think about that too much, ‘cause I was pretty sure I’d throw up if I did.
He didn’t say anything, just kept staring off into the distance. Soda didn’t get real sad real often, so when he did it kinda scared me. He got this look—I’d seen it when Mom and Dad passed—like he was watching it happen over and over again. Both my kid brothers got imaginations too big for their own good.
I sat down next to Soda and tapped his knee. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound real gentle. Kinda like Mom when I’d had a bad day at school. “You okay?”
He shook his head, slow, still not looking at me. “I thought I saw him today,” he said. “When I went in to get the—” He lifted up the bottle. “I thought I saw Dally.”
I felt myself go cold like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
“That’s crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “That’s plain crazy. We ain’t never gonna see him again.”
He looked at me when he said that, and I could tell that he wanted me to say something. Soda hardly ever gave me trouble. He was always helping out with Ponyboy or picking up extra shifts or cooking dinner when I was out late, and he never once complains. Soda’s just solid like that.
So I knew I oughta help him too, now that he was sitting in the dark with a bottle of booze for a friend, but I just couldn’t get my mouth to open. It was all crashing down on me right then, everything that had happened over the past few weeks, and I was suddenly more tired than I’d ever been. Without saying anything, I reached out my hand. Soda knew what I meant. He gave me the bottle.
“I saw this guy from the back,” he said. “He was looking at the flower bouquets. And for just a second, I was so sure...I just knew it was Dallas. And I didn’t feel strange or anything. I didn’t even think about the fact that he’s...” He didn’t say it. “I didn’t think it at all,” he said. “I just felt like everything was normal again. And we were all gonna be okay.”
“We are gonna be okay.” I finally managed to say something. “It’s gonna be tough, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure it out—”
“It ain’t gonna be okay unless they’re still alive,” Soda said and for once, he sounded really pissed off. He looked over at me, and I could see how bright his eyes had gotten. “They gotta be alive,” he said, and he’d never sounded more certain about anything that I’d ever heard. “They gotta, because if they ain’t, then everything...everything’s wrong! They can’t just be dead.”
I didn’t say anything. I drank.
“I mean,” he continued. “Dallas can’t be dead. Ain’t nobody in this town that could kill Dally. He was tougher than all of ‘em. This town couldn’t ever break Dallas Winston. He must just—I don’t know. He can’t be dead. He can’t, right?”
He looked over at me, but I couldn’t talk around the big ole lump in my throat. I just shook my head, ‘cause I couldn’t believe it either. It didn’t make any damn sense that there was an empty spot where Dallas should’ve been.
“No,” Soda said. “No, he ain’t dead. He just—He just hopped a train. Maybe back up to New York or up north somewhere. He’s out there—He just left. He hopped a train. He’s still out there causing trouble, and he won’t never stop.” He looked up at me, eyes glassy from booze and tears. “That’s good, ain’t it?” he said. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” I managed. “That’s good.” ‘Cause it was. It was good. It sounded a hell of a lot more true. Soda looked off into the dark, and I could tell he was really trying to believe it. He was silent for a second, and then his mouth turned down at the corners and he shook his head to himself.
The neck of the bottle was smooth against my hand. I tried to only think about that, about how nice the glass felt. Not about bullets or broken boys or any of the other shit that was clogging up the lungs of this town. Not about the fact that there were a thousand boys like Dallas out there tonight. Living the same. Dying the same.
I tried to believe Soda. I tried to believe that there was nobody who could ever stop Dally.
“And Johnnycakes—” Soda’s voice broke before he could get any further. He doubled over, folding in on himself, and I saw his back shudder with two big, silent sobs. I didn’t wanna touch him. It scared me. I felt like he might hit me if I did. Or I might start crying too.
But I made myself, because he was sitting them folded over and shaking, and it hurt me to watch him. My kid brother, with the heart way too big for this town. I put down the booze and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
As soon as I did, he flew up and grabbed me in a bear hug. He held onto me like he was drowning. Collided hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs and then held on like he’d die if he let go. I tried to hold on just as tight.
“They can’t have killed Johnny,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and all choked up with tears. “He was just a kid. They can’t kill him. They can’t. They can’t.”
I kept on holding him. I felt my shoulder getting wet from how hard he was crying. “I know,” I said. “I know.” I couldn’t say anything else. He’d said it already. Johnny was a scared little kid with big dark eyes and nervous hands. He was gonna make it. We were all gonna make sure that he made it. Just then, I hated everyone who’d let him die. I hated the doctors and nurses, and I hated the folks who’d let their kids play in that old church, and I hated the fire even though I knew there wasn’t anything it coulda done different.
Mostly, I hated his mom and dad and myself for not keeping him safe.
And Dallas...Dallas couldn’t be hurt by anything. That was one of the only things I was certain of. They could throw anything they wanted at him, but he’d be okay. He was Dallas Winston, and no one could hold him down. I’d been so sure about that. Dally would always, always be okay, ‘cause no one in the world could hurt him. He was strongest and faster and tougher and more dangerous than anyone else. No one could touch him.
But they were both gone. Nothing could change it. I was holding onto Soda just as tight now, ‘cause I felt like I was drowning too. All I could do was mutter, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over against his shoulder. And I knew it wasn’t even true. I could feel tears on my face, but they didn’t seem like mine. I couldn’t take that. Not after everything. I couldn’t start crying too. If I let it all in, if I thought about how tough Dally had always been and how hard I’d tried to keep Johnny safe, that I knew I’d break apart.
And Soda was still counting on me. And Ponyboy had just barely made it out. I couldn’t let them down, not when we’d already lost so much. With one hand, I brushed away the tears. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. We’d already lost too much. I didn’t know if we’d make it, but I’d do my damndest to make sure we did.
“It’s okay,” I said, and my voice sounded stronger now. I almost coulda fooled myself into thinking that I was telling the truth, but in my heart I knew that Soda was still crying, and I was holding onto him like I’d lose him forever if I let go. And Johnny and Dallas were dead, and nothing would ever be okay again.