Chapter Text
As I stepped out onto the damp grass from the backseat of Darry's busted up car, I had only two things on my mind: Dallas Winston and Johnny Cade. It ain't been too long, just five or six months since it's already March, but it's sure feels like I ain't seen them in a decade or two. Sometimes, I catch myself getting real excited about something, and I start heading to the lot to tell Johnny. Then, I remember that he ain't gonna be there anymore. I usually end up going to Two-Bit or Sodapop instead depending on where everyone is. I even tried talking about stuff to Steve once while he was underneath a car at the DX. He only listened because he thought I was Soda. Two-Bit says we sound rather similar now that my voice is getting a little bit deeper, and that makes me feel real hot about myself.
Sodapop climbed out of the car behind me, sneaking a sweaty arm around my neck. Darry got off early today for something, but he said he didn't want to talk about it. He usually doesn't like talking about work when he's off. He took me to pick Soda up from the DX since Steve was out sick. Two-Bit said he probably got mono from his girl Evie.
Two-Bit still finds a way to joke about stuff, even after all the hard times that our gang has been through recently. I try to find Johnny in him sometimes, but I usually look at him and see the slightest bit of Dallas still clinging onto him. I always thought that Steve started acting like Dally after his death, tougher and more reckless. Two-Bit, on the other hand? I didn't like thinking that he would end up being that kind of guy. Dallas was a hood, but he was at least decently book smart. He didn't go to school, neither did Steve, but he could write and do math real well compared to some of us. I never expected Two-Bit to be able to be like Dallas, because being like him means you need at least some brains. Two-Bit likes school, but that doesn't mean he's good at it.
Sodapop was talking about something that happened at work as we walked towards our house, but I wasn't really paying any attention to him. He started acting more like Johnny after everything that happened. It's not that he acted softer or weaker, but he just acted quieter. More distant. Before, he'd usually start up conversations with random customers as if he'd known them for years, but now he seems to try and keep his long talks within the gang—and girls, of course. He ain't been real great since Sandy left either, but he knows that he's gotta move on at some point. He makes it look easy. I was only pulled out of my thoughts when I heard Darry slam the gate shut. I hurried up the steps to try and get inside faster.
"Woah! Glory, Pon! Save your running for track, you're acting like you got a Soc on your tail!" Soda chuckled at his own words, playfully yanking me backwards by my collar. I lightly hissed like a wet cat. He only laughed harder. I don't dig it when people grab me by my collar. It reminds me too much of that night in the park. It reminds me of Bob's dead body laying on the pavement around the fountain. It reminds me of Cherry saying she wouldn't visit Johnny in the hospital. It reminds me of Randy saying he wouldn't fight in the rumble. I really haven't told anybody about how much all that changed me, not even Soda.
"Yeah, yeah. I wasn't paying no attention to how fast I was going." While rolling my eyes, I opened the door and held it for Sodapop and Darry to go inside first. We still never lock our front door. Soda ruffled my hair and went on inside, but Darry grabbed the door from me and raised his eyebrows briefly, as if urging me to go inside first. I did go inside first. The house was feeling just as sweaty and humid as it was when we left, and Sodapop had already tossed his DX shirt somewhere in the living room. I can't blame him, I was laying in our bed earlier while basically naked from how hot it's been. The springtime showers only taunt us.
I had walked down the hallway to the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. I took a few long seconds to look at myself in the mirror, specifically to look at my eyes. They're still the same greenish-gray color that they've always been. I used to just hate them, but now they remind me too much of Cherry. I can't really "hate" the girl, it's not like she did anything wrong, but she's definitely not the kind of person that I'd want to meet in a world where we didn't. She ain't the kind of nice girl that me and the gang would talk lousy about either. She reminds me too much of Dally, how he had acted to her that night at the drive-in and how she had said she'd fall in love with him. I just sighed and unzipped my fly.
I washed my hands quickly, trying to avoid the water as much as possible. I'm not aquaphobic or anything, but rather cautious. I still remember the burning of water and liquor in my lungs some nights. I know that I should be tougher. Greasers shouldn't be scared of something as insignificant as water. I can drink it just fine at my track meets, but I can almost feel my chest stinging whenever I look at a full bathtub or running water. I stopped going to the park altogether, finding myself too scared that I'll see Bob still laying there.
The bathroom door creaked as it opened, just the same as it did that night when I came home late from the lot. I like to think that Johnny and Dallas might've been alright if I hadn't been such a baby about Darrell hitting me, but I know that something would've happened either way. Maybe Bob would've found Johnny in the lot alone and beat him to death there without anybody knowing until hours later. Maybe Dallas would have gotten into some dirty fight at Buck's place and gotten killed by another hood in front of everyone. I could never know. They're dead now, and they ain't coming back. There's no use in pretending that they're still here, or that something else happened to them. Johnny died alone and helpless in the hospital that night from his spinal injury, and Dallas blew up and got himself shot in front of the gang due to being unable to live without some kind of hope.
My footsteps landed heavy on the hardwood floor, making the planks creak with every step. The whole house smelled like cancer sticks. Sodapop started smoking a lot more after Sandy left and the guys died. I never thought that I'd see him smoking so much, he never acted like he needed it. He's still high on life, but he needs a little help from cigarettes sometimes. Darry still doesn't like smokes or grease in his hair. He might've stayed the most normal out of everyone. He's just as tough and worn out as before, but you can tell that he's been a little more melancholy at home.
I stopped outside of my bedroom door, gently pushing it wide open. I left it like that as I strode over to my desk, taking note of a new book laid on it. It's plain black and too thin to be on my reading level. I curiously open it, finding that it's blank on all of the pages. A journal. A nice leather journal. Darry definitely thought hard about getting it, something nice like that would cut down on the money that we have to spend for necessities. We aren't going to starve because he bought something as simple as a journal, but it's too high quality to be a lazy and unthoughtful gift. I grinned as I grabbed one of Soda's fancy pens, the kind that you'd imagine a Soc boy or broad would write sappy letters with. I found my place at my desk, starting to scribble my name onto the front page. I thought about what I should write about first, and if I should introduce myself. I chose to draw horses.