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It was the first summer without them and the weight of their absence seemed to fall heaviest when Ponyboy tried the hardest to ignore it. Something about the scorching Oklahoma heat on a June morning and the gentle light beaming down on the east side and the stillness of a quiet morning reminded him of easier, softer times.
Yet inside his home, it was complete chaos. Darry seemed to be running four different directions at once—making sandwiches, double-checking batteries, opening and closing the fridge every few minutes, disappearing down the hall and returning with something or other—Pony could hardly keep track of him.
He raced from the house to the car, all the while mumbling something about “it’s what Mom and Dad would want” and “traditions to maintain.” He had been talking about it for weeks; they all had.
Camping, just the three of them, for the whole weekend. Darry had taken off of work on Friday. Soda had dug the old tent out of the closet a week ago. Pony had kept a countdown pinned on the fridge. He could hardly wait.
It used to be the five of them, crammed into the old station wagon with tents, sleeping bags, and a cooler full of sandwiches. And to Darry’s point, it was tradition. Mom used to bring along her father’s harmonica she couldn't play; Dad always let Pony try to build the first fire, even though he needed help every time.
It was different now, and Pony wasn’t trying to ignore that, but somewhere in his mind, he thought following the tradition his family had been doing as long as he could remember might make the pain feel a little more distant.
Somewhere, he knew that going camping with his brothers was going to bring him closer to mom and dad.
“Darry?” He asked. Darry looked over at him. “What can I help with?”
Darry looked around the room before returning his gaze to Ponyboy. “I’ve got it, bud. Just a couple more things to take out to the car and we’ll be ready. Is your bag packed?”
Pony nodded. He’d been packed since Wednesday.
“Then just hang tight for a few minutes. We’ll leave soon.” with that, Darry went back to loading the car and grabbing last minute items.
Ponyboy perched on the arm of the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest and his composition book in his lap, to watch the scene unfold. He looked down at the blank page before him, trying to come up with something to write, but coming up with doodles of thick pine trees and vast lakes instead.
He checked the clock. 8:46. They were supposed to leave for the lake by 9.
“Come on Sodapop,” Darry yelled down the hall, “we hit the road at 9!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” called his muffled voice from down the hall, followed by a loud cough.
"Sure you are," Darry said, smiling slightly as his eyes rolled.
Not 30 seconds later, Sodapop shuffled in, but it only took Pony a quick glance to gather that he was not ready for their weekend in the woods. His hair stuck up in four different directions, ungreased—uncombed too, Pony thought.
The dark circles under his glassy eyes complemented chapped lips and the red tinge spread across his nose and cheeks. A blanket cape and mismatched socks protected him from the chill of the June air. There was no way he was on his way out the door.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Soda croaked.
Ponyboy tried not to laugh. "You look like a walking flu commercial."
Soda rolled his eyes in response. "I ain't sick. Just a little...stuffy. Allergies.”
“Allergies?,” Darry asked, walking over to his middle brother and placing a hand against his forehead. “Allergies don’t usually come with a fever, little buddy.”
“I feel fine,” he sniffled, “besides, we’ve gotta go. There’s a—there’s—“ he stopped abruptly as a pair of sneezes cut him off.
“There’s no way I’m taking you into the middle of the woods like this,” Darry decided.
“Dar, seriously. It’s a cold. I’ll live.”
“No way,” Darry said firmly.
"It's tradition," Soda whined, falling onto the couch and instantly regretting it when he started coughing. "We always go camping in June. Always."
Darry stared back at him.
“I’ll take it easy,” he said quickly.
Darry shook his head.
“I’ll stay in the car.”
No reply.
“I’ll sleep the whole way there.”
Ponyboy looked at Darry. Darry looked back at Soda. None of them said it, but they were all thinking the same thing: This was supposed to be the first good thing since Mom and Dad died. A little piece of normal.
Darry sighed, knowing it was his job to be realistic. "Soda, if we take you out there and you get worse, there's no doctor for miles. You’ll be miserable the whole time. And we’ll be worried. We’re not going.”
“But—“
“That’s enough, Sodapop,” Darry snapped, “I’m not going to continue to debate with you when we both know this is a stupid idea.”
Silence filled the room. Pony felt as though he had just watched his dream weekend escape fall apart in slow motion. So close, but now it was done. Gone. Just like Mom and Dad.
The look on Darry’s face suggested that he didn’t like it any better.
Soda curled into a ball on the couch, stuck somewhere between sorrow and discomfort. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his knees as he coughed again.
Darry set down the bag he had been holding and sat down on the couch, reaching out to stroke Soda’s back. “It’s not your fault, kiddo.”
There was a pause in the conversation as the three of them came to terms with the disappointment. Then at last, Ponyboy spoke up. "What if we camp in the backyard?"
Soda looked up, red-rimmed eyes wide. "What?"
"I mean, it's dumb, but we could still set up the tent. We can build a fire, roast marshmallows...” He began, watching his big brothers’ faces to see if he had messed up.
“We’ll play cards and tell stories like Mom used to make us do,” Darry added, reassuring Pony that he was onto something.
“We can still sleep under the stars,” Soda agreed.
“We’ll see about that one, Sodapop,” Darry nudged his shoulder.
“So… backyard camping?” Pony asked.
“Let’s do it.”
___________________________________
By the late afternoon, the backyard looked more like a campsite than a lot on the east side of Tulsa.
The tent had been pitched under the big oak tree and a makeshift fire pit made from an abandoned barrel Pony had found at the lot sat beside it.
Darry had unpacked the lawn chairs from the car and set them up in a large circle with the cooler and a pile of miscellaneous camping supplies near by.
While Pony crafted the fire—without help this time— Darry had gone inside to fetch a round of lemonade and Soda had begun testing every sleeping bag from the comfort of Dad’s favorite lawn chair.
One of them had made it back to the tent, but the latter two found themselves drafted as the base of a rather extensive sleeping bag nest, complete with another blanket and Darry’s old football hoodie.
Pony tried not to laugh, as he looked completely ridiculous, but content.
“I heard y’all aren’t leaving this weekend after all,” a familiar voice came from the other side of the fence.
Ponyboy turned and grinned as his eyes met Two-bit’s. “Nah. Change of plans.”
Two-Bit Matthews climbed over the fence holding a grocery bag in one hand and a six-pack in the other. "I brought snacks,” he said as he took as seat next to Pony. He immediately began pawing through the bag, tossing a pack of hot dogs into Pony’s lap and a box of tissues into Soda’s before breaking open a bag of potato chips.
Darry returned from inside with a tray full of drinks and Johnny, Steve, and Dally in tow. Johnny carried a bag of marshmallows and a few bars of chocolate.
Darry set the tray down on a small table and wandered back into the house.
Dally slunk into a chair between Two-Bit and Soda. “Backyard camping, huh?” He said as he took in the scene. “You guys are so domesticated I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Pony watched as Soda threw an empty can at him and missed horribly.
“I mean, come on,” Dally continued as he leaned back and lit a cigarette, “Who gets a cold in the middle of June?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Soda muttered, pulling his blanket tighter around his neck.
“C’mon man, cut him some slack,” Johnny murmured, nudging Dally's elbow.
Dally smirked but said nothing for a moment, watching Soda shake beneath his sleeping bag pile. Then he shrugged. “Alright, alright. But if you’re gonna cough all night long, I’m moving my chair.”
Soda sniffled, looking half offended and half relieved, but he didn’t say anything as Dally dropped another blanket over his shoulders as he moved.
Darry came back out and handed Pony a flashlight before settling in Dally’s now-vacant chair. “Alright, who’s telling the first story?”
“Dally volunteered,” Two-Bit said quickly, passing Darry a beer.
“The hell I did,” Dally replied, but his mouth twitched into a small smile. “The best scary story I got is about the time I got roped into camping out in someone’s backyard like some domesticated mutt.”
There were a few scattered laughs around the fire. “We know that one already, Dal,” Johnny said.
Steve took the flashlight. “You want scary? Let me tell you about the time Two-Bit tried to make spaghetti.”
Pony yanked the flashlight out of his hand. “No, that’s horror. We want scary, not bone-chilling.”
“That’s slander and I will not stand for it,” Two-Bit replied between mouthfuls of chips.
Johnny took the flashlight from Pony and finally began a story. “Okay… I heard this one from a guy at the lot a few weeks ago,” he began, leaning closer to the fire. “He said there’s this old house just outside of town that everybody’s scared of. They say a kid got locked in there once, and nobody ever found him again. But sometimes, late at night, if you’re close enough, you can hear…” he paused. “like scratching, or maybe someone crying… I don’t exactly remember, but you get it. Like the kid’s still trapped inside, trying to get out. I don’t know if it’s true. Maybe it’s just the wind… but I don’t think I’d wanna find out.”
The circle was filled with a brief silence before Darry spoke up. “I guess that’ll make you think twice before sneaking out alone, huh?” He didn’t even have to look at them to know that both his kid brothers were rolling their eyes.
The sun dipped low and the fire roared on. They toasted marshmallows and burned more of them than they could count.
Stories continued—some scary, some fond memories of moments that no longer existed. Darry told of his football days and Steve shared the elaborate backstories he and Soda had crafted for the regulars at the DX and Two-Bit told a story about a lake monster.
Soda dozed off partway through Pony’s rendition of Dad’s classic Bigfoot encounter, head tilted back against the lawn chair, mouth hanging open. Darry sat beside Pony with one arm slung around his shoulder and the other lazily holding the stick he had been using to adjust the fire. Dally lit another cigarette, sharing occasional commentary with Johnny or Steve. He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, boots close enough to feel the warmth of the fire. Johnny leaned against his side and didn't move for a long time, eyes fixated on the dancing flames.
When Pony finished his story, he looked around the fire and was met with five tired faces. “Okay. I’m calling it. I’m ready for bed,” he said, getting up from his chair.
“Fire’s dying down anyways,” Darry followed suit. As the rest of his friends began to move in the direction of going to sleep, he gently shook Soda awake. “You sleeping out here or going inside, little buddy?” He whispered.
“I’ll stay out here,” he replied groggily, making no attempt to get out of his chair.
“If you say so,” Darry replied, laying his sleeping bag out in the grass beside him.
“You know, it almost feels like camping,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Almost,” Darry agreed.
“Close enough to count,” Pony added as he laid his sleeping bag on Soda’s other side.
“Goodnight guys,” Pony heard Johnny say from somewhere in the yard.
A chorus of ‘goodnight’s and ‘see you tomorrow’s responded.
As Ponyboy lay back on the grass with the remnants of the fire crackling beside him, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Somewhere nearby, Two-Bit was still mumbling about the lake monster until his voice finally faded into snores. Soda shifted under his pile of blankets, back asleep faster than he had woken up. Darry was still awake and didn’t speak, but Pony could hear his steady breathing just a few feet away.
They didn’t have Mom or Dad anymore, and they weren’t up at the lake like they had planned to be, but under the stars of their own backyard, it was enough. It still felt right. Like tradition and family and love. And that was more than enough.