Work Text:
~Ponyboy's POV~
It's been at least a week since I've wrote my English theme. I swear Mr. Syme, my English teacher, was going to faint right there in the classroom when he saw how long it was. I didn't really care that he thought it was too long; after all people needed to know my our story.
Life was settling back to normal. Well, maybe not normal, but at least something I could live with. Sodapop and Steve still worked at the DX, except both of them had been promoted to managers. Darry still works as a roofer, but now he's the head of his own crew. Even ol' Two-Bit got a job--a bartender at Buck's. We were all surprised when he came swaggerin' into the living room, bragging about his new job. I think the only reason he still has that job is because Buck still hasn't figured out that he drinks half the beers he sells.
The days are starting to blur together now, a mix of school and the occasional flashback. I'll catch myself waiting for Dally to come around the corner. I'll even see a memory of Bob sometimes, hanging around with some chattering Socs. I'll think I'll hear Johnny talking to me about getting out of Tulsa one day. But whenever I respond, all I get back is silence and a concerned glance from Darry.
I don't mind the memories though. They don't hurt so bad now, slicing through my chest every time I think of them. It feels good to remember Dally grinning at us or maybe Johnny laughing at something I said. I told Soda that. He said that memories soften the blow of grief. I thought that was real smart for someone who dropped out of school. It's very true.
At school, people still look at me weird, as if they're trying to figure out who I am now. I'm not so sure myself. I'm not just the 'kid who got wrapped up in murder', or the baby Curtis brother, or just a greaser anymore. I have no idea who I am anymore, but I sure know who I wasn't. I wasn't a dropout. I wasn't dumb. And I sure wasn't about to spend the rest of my entire life believing the fact that I was a nobody just because of where I'm from and of how much hair oil I where.
~~
A few days later, Mr. Syme gave me a phone call. Which was pretty surprising, considering teachers usually never call unless you're in trouble. And I hadn't gotten into (much) trouble this week. Darry still glared at me as he handed me the phone, Sodapop listening from behind him.
"You know, Ponyboy, I was thinking. You wrote something open and heartfelt. You laid yourself raw on paper. I admire that," he said seriously.
I didn't really know what to say, so I just muttered an 'Uhh, thanks."
"You're welcome. I know this is a lot, but how would you like to get your theme published?"
I nearly dropped the phone from shock. He wanted to publish my English theme? "Really?"
"I mean, it's up to you, Ponyboy. I completely understand if-"
"No, no! I'll do it! Please!" I exclaimed, voice high with excitement. "Sorry, Mr. Syme. I mean, I'm flattered. And I would love to publish it!"
"Excellent! I'll reach out to you soon about the details." Mr. Syme said, "Have a good day, Ponyboy. Well done on that paper." and with that, he hung up. This time, I actually dropped the phone from excitement, Darry glaring at me as he picked it up. I ignored him, practically bouncing from excitement.
"Well? What was all that about?" Soda asked.
"Igettopublishmyenglishtheme!" I blurted out in one rush.
"Slow down, Pony." Darry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry," I took a breath, still bouncing from excitement. "Mr. Syme--my English teacher-- says he wants to publish my English theme!"
Darry's face went from glaring to a wide grin. "Really? That's great!"
"Imagine it, Pony! My little brother, a famous author!" Soda grinned at me.
"Well, I don't know about famous." I shrugged. "But hopefully people will read it and understand our side of the story." That's what I really hoped. Nobody stuck up for the lower-class kids. The greasers, the bullied kids, the abused, the kids who needed help. Kids like Dally, with too much anger stored up inside. Kids like Bob who didn't care enough about themselves or others. Kids like Randy and Cherry who wore a mask of themselves just to fit in. Kids like my brothers who grew up too fast. Kids like Johnny, who never had a chance to make it out from day one.
~~
Later that night, I was sitting out on the porch, smoking a cig. I could hear Two-Bit slamming a door inside, Darry yelling at him not to. I could hear Sodapop and Steve laughing as both of them cheated at the poker game they were having. And I know they weren't really here, but I could hear Dally asking me for a cigarette.
I could hear Johnny telling me to stay gold.
The sky turned colors, the sun setting. Streaks of pink and orange and blue, mixing together and looking a lot like gold. I was thinking about how people think being tough means having not caring at all. Like Dally. But I thought that was wrong. I think the toughest thing is loving anyway, risking losing it all and still loving anyway. So maybe I was never really a true greaser. Maybe I was never going to be a soc. But maybe I didn't want to be. Maybe being a dream or loving too much wasn't weak.
Maybe it was gold.