Chapter Text
I was walking home from school, and per usual I was lost in thought even though there were only a few things on my mind. I was thinking mostly about Paul Newman, and how tuff he looked in that poster for his new film I’d seen up at the movie house. I hoped Darry would let me go see it soon since I’d been real good about getting my homework done. Me and him were finally getting along, and it was in no small part thanks to Johnny. We’d had this awful argument one night where we both said some pretty awful things and he ended up throwing a plate through the back window. Soda and I ended up spending the night on Two-Bit Mathews’ bedroom floor since Darry started freaking out about us getting robbed, even though he leaves the front door unlocked every night. Apparently, Johnny talked to Darry when he heard what happened and got through to him that he was really starting to scare us, and that made Darry finally sit down and actually talk to me and Soda about what had been going on with him.
I was so lost in my head that I barely noticed the familiar whimpers coming from the back of the parking lot. When I went to check it out, I saw Johnny curled up in a ball on the ground.
“Jesus Christmas!” I yelped, even though that probably wasn’t something I should’ve said. Johnny just groaned.
“D’ya think y’can help me up here?” he asked me. I honestly wasn't totally sure if I could, but Johnny was my buddy and I ain’t in the habit of leaving my buddies alone when they need me, so I did my best to pull him up even though it was really him doing most of the work. It was real slow going on the way home from there, but I knew Darry wouldn’t be mad about me being late if it was for a reason like this. He wasn’t mad most of the time, he told me, just real scared, and, well, Johnny getting hurt is definitely something to be scared about.
“Can you tell me about that book again?”
I was surprised that Johnny was interested in the book, especially since it wasn’t actually real. It was this story I’ve been writing for a little bit where this kid goes on a big adventure and has to face a lot of his fears. I want to try and get it published someday, but I always chicken out when I try to say it’s from me, so I lied and told Johnny it was by some random old guy whose name I saw on a short story collection at the library.
“Sure thing,” I said, and I did exactly that, even going over the parts he already knew. When I got to the part I wrote about greedy kings and princes stealing money from the kid’s family, he shuddered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from his injuries or my story. I kept going anyway. Everyone in the gang knows better than to interrupt Johnny when he’s listening to something he really likes, and I was getting to his favorite part.
“And this kid keeps looking for a knight to come save him, but there ain’t any around. They all work for the princes and kings, so he has to step up himself and become the knight his family needs.”
“Kid’s tough. What’s his name?”
I paused for a minute. I hadn’t named him yet. Names were always hard for me, ‘cause it can’t be too personal, but it’s gotta have a meaning to the story. I decided to lie again.
“Don’t know,” I replied, “The author hasn’t said anything yet, and it’s in first person.”
“Oh,” Johnny said, looking down. I pretended not to be disappointed in myself, since he wasn’t supposed to know I was the author. It sounds stupid, especially coming from someone with a name like me, but names really are the most important part in a story. No character is complete without one, but a lousy name is more damaging than no name at all.
“Does the kid know his name?” Johnny asked me, and I laughed.
“Whaddaya mean, Johnny? How can someone live a whole life without knowing their name?”
He shrugged as we limped along the sidewalk. We were almost at my house, where someone would patch him up and send him on his way. Darry, Soda, and I always ask Johnny to stay, but he’s never taken us up on it before. I thought Johnny was ridiculous sometimes. Not just ‘cause he always went to sleep in the lot. He says strange things sometimes, like that name thing. I stayed quiet, though. Johnny likes to pause a lot when he talks, especially if he’s hurting a lot. I caught on pretty quick that I shouldn’t talk again until he looks at me. It’s like he has to give you permission first.
“It’s just that lotsa people go ‘round being called somethin’ they don’t really go by. Like the stuff my old man calls me, or what them Socs go around callin’ you an’ Two-Bit an’ Steve at school.”
“I guess you’re right, Johnny.” I’d never thought about it like that before. My name is weird for sure, but it ain’t never been said the way someone at school would call me a grease or a bum. Ponyboy was always said like it was something priceless, something so beautiful that it could be treasured for generations. Even when Darry was at his angriest, he never said it like that, he always called me Pony or Kid or something else. It was like my world had shifted on its axis a little bit when Johnny said that to me. I’d been learning a lot of new things recently, ever since our parents died eight months ago in that auto wreck. I learned how hard Darry could work, and what he was willing to give up for his family. I learned how Soda loved me so much that he would give up his bed for me every night. I learned how people act angry a lot when they’re really just scared to lose someone else. I learned how even when you have nothing, you still have something, ‘cause there are always people like Johnny Cade who would kill to have those things that you think you don’t have. We were right in front of the gate to the house when my world shifted again, but this time it was ‘cause Johnny had passed out and was dragging me to the ground with him as I called out for my big brothers.