Work Text:
Trophy
*
Wyatt
I walk by the high school. It’s Saturday, not a school day, but there’s a lot of cars and people there. I can hear them. I hear the people cheering and chanting and it has an excited sound. Probably some stupid sports event. I move closer. Yep. Track meet by the look of it. A race is being run. People are standing in their seats, arms raised, shouting. The sun, casting their dark shadows before them like phantoms.
Down below on the track the runners have hit the end of their run it seems, as they are slowing down into walks, leaning forward and resting their hands on their knees, hanging their heads. One guy is way out in front of the pack. He finishes the race; he wins it by a lot. He walks forwards a few steps, staggers and falls down onto the grass next to the field.
I stop to watch this. A bunch of guys are running towards him, shouting. They skid to stops when they reach him, bending down and scooping him up, giving him a shake. Their faces are masks of concern, even from here I can make out their worry.
They are circled around him. Seems the kid has scared them half to death. Well, that’s what you get for running around in a circle on a track, I think.
Stupid kid. The guys all look like greaser guys. Kind of surprising. I usually associate school sports with the Soc’s. I give a little shake of my head and move on. This action isn't for me. There’s bound to be a concession stand around here. I'm hungry. I could use a snack.
I walk around the field, taking my time, checking out the girls. One looks at me and does a double take and then looks away, hurriedly. At the top of the field, they are handing out trophies. People are applauding happily. So dumb.
I walk over to the concession stand. Everything’s just laying out, right in the open. Candy bars, gum, cookies. There’s a popcorn machine behind the counter and a soda fountain, a freezer with ice cream sandwiches. I reach over and take a candy bar and walk away.
“Hey, kid! You have to pay for that, you know!” a voice shouts behind me.
I turn and head off, bumping into a young guy. I make eye contact with him and instantly hate him. I hate guys with green eyes.
He looks at me and says nothing. I walk away. Glancing back, I see him watching me. I almost want to go back just to punch his stupid face, but I keep going.
“Get lost!” I shout, shooting him the bird.His expression doesn’t change. He just watches. Idiot, I think.
I leave.
Ponyboy
It was the last race. I win this and I go State finals.
I take a deep breath and try to focus. What helps me focus is nothing. If I can just blank my mind. Running is like my own private shrink. I run and all the things I’ve got bottled up come bubbling up to the surface like carbonation. It can be a blessing or a curse, depending. But having a blank mind works best for me.
I breathe out slowly, and crouch in the block.
“Don’t think. Don’t feel.” I chant inwardly.
The gun fires and we’re off and I’m flying down the stretch. I run for my life. I know I’m clearly ahead of the pack, but when I see the last 100 feet in front of me, I intentionally raise my legs to lift higher. I pump my arms harder. I pull in breath till I feel like I’m going to explode.
And run.
Run.
And then it’s over. And I’ve won. And I’m not thinking of anything and it's wonderful.
It feels so great to not to have thoughts and memories scrambling around in my gourd like marbles. That feels like a bigger victory than winning the race. VICTORY! I shout, internally.
And then I laugh out loud. I stagger forward, smiling. I see the grass growing next to the track and head for it. Throwing myself down on it and rolling onto my back, laughing at the blue sky and the white, trailing clouds. I feel great, really great.
Soda reaches me first. Then Darry, and Two-Bit and Steve, and Ryan. Darry is picking me up and shaking me.
“Ponyboy! Ponyboy!” I look into his concerned blue eyes and smile. I look at Soda. His brow is creased with concern. I grab my two brothers and pull them in, laughing.
Steve glowers at me. Two-Bit looks confused and concerned. Ryan, my friend, looks completely confused.
I look at their faces and just laugh. I'm so happy to be with all of them.
Soda starts to laugh too, and pretty soon we’re all laughing and hugging.
**
I drop my trophy into the back of Darry’s truck. Coach has asked for a last-minute team huddle in ten minutes before we get out of here, so I stop at the concession stand for a coke. The guy in front of me, a greaser in a leather jacket grabs a candy bar from the stand and starts walking off, bumping into me, hard, in the process.
"Hey!" Someone shouts "You have to pay for that!"
He catches my eye. He has startling large, clear blue, blazing eyes. His hair is shining, wavy, jet black, greased back. He glares at me.
His appearance, those blue, blue eyes, contrasting against the black hair is startling. Striking.
And he reminds me of something. I stand there, looking back at him, trying to think of what it is. I shouldn’t stare. Staring causes trouble. He sees me watching and cusses me out, flipping me the bird.
**
Coach is gushing. He's so pumped up. He’s giving us the big pep talk, talking about how great we’ve done. We’ve got hurdlers, jumpers and sprinters who are all going to the class A finals. Coach is elated. He claps me and others on the back. He lays out his short-term expectations and tells us he’ll see us at our next practice, admonishing us not to let our latest victory go to our heads.
When I come off the field, we all go to meet at the diner for burgers and shakes. Darry is going on about what colleges I should be applying to, and what my major will be, although, I think we all know it’ll be English and writing. Soda flirts with the waitress. Of course he does. Two-Bit is cracking jokes.
My theme paper about Johnny and Dally and everything that happened is about to be published into a book. All before I can even graduate high school.
I can tell Darry is excited about this. I’m not so sure though. It’s a year till graduation, but right now, I’m not so sure I’m excited about leaving my brothers and going somewhere else. Darry sees different. He always dreamed about getting somewhere else.
Soda senses my hesitation. He squeezes my arm. “You don’t have to decide anything yet, you know, Pony.”
I’m grateful for Soda. He always knows what I’m thinking. What I’m feeling.
When we get back to the house, I reach into the back of the truck for my backpack and swing it up out of the bed. It’s suspiciously light. I look inside. The trophy is gone.
**
Sunday, Soda drives me to the stable where we work. Today we’re just giving the horses some feed and checking on things, our main shifts are usually afternoons. But not today, today we're there first thing and just to make wure the horses have what they need for the day. I nuzzle Lilah, my favorite stable horse and give her little handful of oats that she greedily lips up off my hand. We just feed and water, do a check and head home. Sundays are easy.
After we go home, we have the afternoon off and kick around. Steve and Soda are playing cards, Two-Bit is watching TV. Darry is reading. I’m making a chocolate cake, when the telephone rings.
Soda answers. I hear a tone of surprise in his voice, then he says "Yes sir," and then he hands the phone to me.
“It’s the police.”
He stands there staring at me as does Steve. Two-Bit gets up from the floor and comes over. Darry comes out of his room. Everyone’s eyes are wide, questioning.
“Hello?” I ask, half scared.
“This is Sergeant Ramsey of the Tulsa Police Department. Am I speaking to Ponyboy Curtis?”
I swallow. I glance over at Darry, who is standing stock still, very serious.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Curtis, we have something of yours down here at the station. Are you missing an athletic trophy?”
“Uh..well," I say, "Yeah. It got taken out of our truck yesterday,”
“Well, we have someone in custody here. Found it on his person. He says you gave it to him. Could you come down to the station to claim it or corroborate his story?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I hang up and stand there staring at the phone.
**
Darry and Soda and I clamber into the truck.
“This is gonna be good!” says Two-Bit. He waves us off and stays at the house with Steve.
"Watch the cake!" I call out.
"You really gonna trust Two-Bit with that cake?" asks Soda. "You know he's a menace in the kitchen."
"You should talk!" I shrug. "What am I going to do?"
When we get down to the station, we check in at the desk I show him my school ID card. The sergeant leads us to a room where another officer is sitting at a table with a guy.
I recognize him. It’s the guy from the concession stand yesterday. He’s slumped in his seat, glowering, staring at the floor. He looks up when I walk in. Soda and Darry stand in the door.
“Mr. Curtis?” The officer asks when I enter.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say, not taking my eyes off the guy in the chair.
He’s sitting there glaring at me. His blue eyes blazing at me.
There’s something about him. For all his posture and attitude there’s something else. Something. He’s angry. I see that. But something else. Like a hurt animal. I can’t put my finger on it. It's nudging at something. Something buried that I can't think of.
“Mr. Curtis, Mr. Everett here was found with this trophy in his possession. It has your name on it. Do you recognize it?”
I looked at the trophy. “Yeah. That’s mine. I won it yesterday.”
But the nameplate is blank. It hasn’t been engraved yet.
"But, where does it say my name?” I honestly didn’t know. How did they know it was mine?
The officer flipped it over. My name is written on cellophane tape with pen and stuck to the bottom of the trophy.
“You have a pretty unusual name, so it wasn’t hard to track you down. So, this is definitely yours?”
“Yeah,” I say. The guy in the chair seems to deflate. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking how stupid he is to not have checked for a name.
The police officer continued: “Mr. Wyatt Everett here says you gave him this trophy, is that correct?”
The officer is looking at me. He glances triumphantly at the kid sitting on the chair. The kid looks about 16. The cop looks like he’s caught his prey.
The kid glares and then looks away at the wall.
I look at the kid. He’s a greaser. Like me. I don’t know him from Adam, but he’s still a greaser, sitting in a police station. And I don’t trust cops. Cops are never there for us. When we need help, we get a laugh. We get the blame. Even when it’s the Soc’s, it’s the greasers who get the blame.
“Yeah.” I say. “I asked…Wyatt… to hold onto it while I went to dinner with my brothers.” I don’t really know why I said it, but I wasn’t going to sell this kid out to the cops. I felt Darry let out his breath and shift his weight behind me.
The greaser kid shifts his eyes to me. The blue eyes holding my own with that deadly gaze. They widen only slightly, but his face settles into a mask of neutrality.
I reach over and take the trophy. It’s heavy in my hand.
“Can I have this?” I ask.
The cop looks surprised, and disappointed.
“Yes, it’s yours. You can take it.”
I look over at the kid.
“What took you so long? I've been waiting for you to bring this over. I'll see you later, Wyatt,” and I turn and walk past Darry and Soda and out of there.
**
Darry and Soda look at me as we rumble down the road.
“What the hell was that?” Darry asks.“You don’t know him.”
“No, I don’t know him.” I say.
I’m sitting between the two of them. I feel Soda squeeze my arm. Darry sighs. But I know he gets it too.
**
Wyatt.
Damn punk! What does he think he’s playing at? I can’t for the life of me figure out why the kid didn’t just bust me then and there. Whoever was with him, they looked like his brothers maybe, they all kind of looked like each other, even looked surprised. Well, I don’t owe him a damn thing.
Jerk!
Ponyboy
It’s Saturday, July 22. My birthday. My brothers have a BBQ for me.
Burgers and dogs on a grill in the back. Two-Bit and Soda and Steve are doing flips on grass in the back. Two-Bit is out of breath.
“It’s all them cigarettes and beer.” I laugh.
“You should talk,” he comes back. “You’re the king smoker and I don’t see it keeping you from winning races.”
I just grin.
Ryan laughs and tries to do a handstand. These tricks aren’t in his wheelhouse.
“Keep moving your hands,” Soda encourages. “Keep the momentum going.”
I move to join him.
“I hear happy birthdays are in order!” I hear a voice.
I turn around and look. It’s Manny, my boss at the stable. And Rosa, his daughter.
I’m surprised. “You came?”
Manny smiles. “It’s not every day that one of my best stable hands turns 16,” he smiles..Rosa smiles and hands me a gift, wrapped with a bow. I feel shy taking it. I like Rosa. We don’t see each other a lot. We go to different schools, and our contact is limited to when we see each other at the stable. But we have an easy-going friendship. Maybe if we saw each other more, something might come of it. But Darry says it’s better not to mix business and bosses daughters. Maybe he’s right.
“Thanks.” I smile, taking it from her.
“Open it,” it she says, her dark eyes twinkling.
I do. It’s a billfold, handmade in leather. It has small letters stamped into the corner PMC. My initials.
“My dad helped me make it,” she says.
It’s got a leather thong binding and is soft in my hand. It’s well cured leather.
“Wow.” I say. I’m impressed. It’s really nice. “Thanks, it’s beautiful.”
“You’ll stay and eat?” I ask, feeling shy. I feel eyes watching us.
She looks at her dad and he nods. They stay to eat and Manny takes a beer and relaxes one of the chairs we set up outside
.“We’re going to have our own little BBQ soon.” Manny says looking around.
“You’re all invited.” He looks at Darry when he says this.
Darry nods and says “Sure. We’d love to. Thanks.”
“We’ll let you know,” Manny smiles.
He and Rosa smile at the flips and handstands. Rosa laughs and not to be outdone does a couple of cartwheels. Manny laughs and takes Rosa’s hand and says he’ll see me on Monday. I’m working full time this summer. Soda and I both do the stable work and give trail rides. I’ve been working there more than a year now.
**
Two-Bit drops us off. We’ve been cruising the Ribbon for about an hour. Saturday nights are never as busy as Friday’s but it’s still fun. Two-Bit says he’ll catch up with us in a couple of hours and we’ll head up to watch the kids drag racing. Local kids use the this stretch to race each other when it’s late enough. And dark enough. It's not like the isolated strip, kids called 'The Deck' out in the country, but kids do it anyway. Even if they do get busted.
We spend a while walking around, we go into a pool hall and play a couple of games of pool and watch some out of towners getting hustled by the local kids. We sit on the stools and watch, till it’s time to get out and meet Two-Bit on the corner. We cut down the alley and are close to coming up on the Ribbon when someone steps out of the shadows.
Menacing.
It’s dark. I can’t see who it is, but I see the glint of a blade. We freeze. Standing stock still.
“Give me your money.”
I laugh inwardly. Money? This guy needs to spend more time picking his marks, I think.
Great birthday present, I gumble in my head.
I take a step back, considering whether we should run. This guy ain’t gonna be happy with the measly two bucks I have in my wallet.
As I step back, he steps forward and I see who it is. It's that guy. It’s Wyatt. He’s holding his blade out, those spectacularly blue eyes flashing in the ambient light.
“Wyatt?” I ask.
He stops, surprised, looking at me. But the look of surprise turns to one of anger and threat.
“Just give me your money.” He snaps.
Again, that feeling. That feeling like a memory. What is it? He swings he knife towards Ryan, who is standing stock still in the alleyway, frozen in place. But that move towards Ryan gives me the chance I need and I step forward and knock the blade out of Wyatt’s hand. The knife goes skittering off in the dark. But Wyatt doesn’t stop, he charges at me. I step out of the way. I push Wyatt and he stumbles and goes down on his hands and knees. He turns around facing me and starts to get up, but I throw my hands out in front of me in a ‘stop’ gesture. And surprisingly he does. He’s staring at me and looks like he’d like to gut me then and there, except he doesn’t have his knife.
“Wyatt.” I say.
I’m still trying to place this feeling I have. I see a change come over his face. Like a shadow. Like fear. Then it’s replaced again by almost rabid anger.
“Wyatt,” I say again. “Geez, take a break.”
I reach into my wallet and pull out my two dollar bills and toss them at him.I grab Ryan’s arm and turn my back on Wyatt and continue up to the street. I think Wyatt might actually come after us. I expect to feel him hit my back and grind my face into the ground. But he doesn’t.We keep walking up the street, till we meet Two-Bit on the corner and get in his car. I turn and look back, looking for Wyatt, but I don’t see him.
**
Wyatt.
What the hell is it with that kid? No matter what, he just acts like it doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t matter what I do. What I can do. And that look in his eyes. Like he knows me or something. Jesus, I hate him.
Ponyboy
That night, after Two-Bit dropped us off after the drag races, I sat alone on the sofa. Darry and Soda were in bed. The test signal was showing on the television screen, glowing ghostly in the darkness of the living room, the low sound of static humming. I could hear the train horn lowing.
What was it about Wyatt? I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Those eyes. Those blazing, blue eyes.That look. But more than one look. Different looks. One was anger. But the other. The other was doubt and fear. It confused me because it made me think of something that I couldn’t place. I didn’t know this guy, but I’d run into him twice in a few months now. He almost seemed to be on fire with rage. I wondered about him till I fell asleep on the sofa.
I woke up to Soda pulling on my arm.
“C’mon, Pone,” we gotta get out to the stables. Time to go.”
I let him drag me up and went to pull my boots on. I’d forgotten about falling asleep out here.
“You alright?” Soda asked. “You don’t sleep out here often. Bad dreams?”
I shook my head. It’d been a while since Soda had had to sleep with me to keep nightmares at bay. I think I felt more in control of things than I’d ever been in the last couple of years. Sometimes, a nightmare would invade my nights, but mostly I was too busy and too tired to dream much anymore.
“You’d better wise up, Pony. You get tough like me and you don’t get hurt…” said a voice in my head..“What?” I said. I actually turned to see who had said that. There was nobody there.
“What’s that, Pony? What’d you say?” Soda was looking at me curiously.
“Nothing.” I said, pulling on my work shirt.
“Let’s go.” I sat in the truck as it rumbled to life and stared out of the window. Thinking.
The next day
Today's not a workday, so I decide to take an evening run. Doing what I do best. It feels good to move. I’ve hit my stride and I’ve wandered far from our neighborhood, running through busy streets. I pass a convenience store, all lit up from two cop cars standing outside it. Another hold up, I assume..I keep running. The night air is warm, the glow of sodium lamps have a comforting glow. Up ahead, I see a park bench and a lone figure sitting on it.I recognize him. Wyatt. I run up and stop. He’s just sitting there looking straight ahead, his blade in his hand, lying next to him on the bench.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me.
I stop, panting.
“That, back there; that was you, wasn’t it?" I look back towards the store with the cop cars.
He looks up at me. He almost seems surprised to see me. For once that fire is absent from his brilliant blue eyes. His black, greased hair falls forward a little over his eyes. He seems absolutely spent. He looks back the way I had come from and then at me and nods..And I suddenly put it together. Johnny. He looks like a kicked puppy. Scared. Lost.
And then I realize that when those eyes are blazing, full of hatred and anger, he’s Dally. He’s both in one.
I realize that Dally may have once been like Johnny, before he became so, so … tough. He may have been lost and hurt and scared. I know he had.
He got tough so he couldn’t be hurt. I remember.
I sit down on the bench, next to Wyatt.
“Wanna smoke?” I ask.
He looks at me. His blue eyes look on the verge of filling with tears, but they don’t. He nods.
I hand him a smoke and light it for him and light one up myself.
“Why do I keep running into you?” he asks in a defeated voice.
The sirens are coming down the street. They’d be here soon.
I shrug.
He looks at his feet.
“What’re you going to do?” I ask, considering him.
He shrugs. He takes a drag of the cigarette.
“Why do you do it?” he asks.
“You could have my ass six ways from Sunday, but you don’t.” His eyes are big, wondering.
I sit for a moment and I’m not sure either. But then, I remember and I’m sure.
“I guess it's because you remind me of someone.”
The sirens are close now.
“It won’t help you know.” I add, taking a drag.
He looks at me. “What?”
“Being tough. Being tough so no one will hurt you. You might survive, but you’re still gonna hurt.”
He laughs bitterly.
The cops are just about here.
“So, who is it then?” he asks, He searches my face, earnestly. "Who do I remind you of?"
“A friend.” I say.
He makes a noise in his throat. I don’t know if it’s a chuckle or a sob. I wait.
“You’ve got some things going on, Horseboy,” he says. “What the hell kind of name is that?”
I shrug. I grin.
“It’s Ponyboy. And yeah, I do.”
“You’ve got school. You’ve friends.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching him.
“And you can run.”
“Yeah, I can run.” I say.
The police are coming through the signal light up ahead.
“You should run now. Staying here won’t do anything for you.”
“Ain’t you gonna run?” I ask.
His shoulders slump. “Nah. I’m done. You run now.”
“It doesn’t help. Running away.”
I look at him, and the look on his face makes him look so old. But he’s still gazing straight at me.
With those blazing blue eyes. Only now they aren’t blazing like Dally’s. They’re resigned. And scared.
I stand up. I don’t know what to do for him. I can’t help him now.
"I'd help you if I could."
He doesn’t move. He looks at me.
“You run now.”
And I do.
I hear the cop cars as they screech to a halt in front of the bench. I hear orders being barked. I’m a block away, but I can hear everything clear as day. I turn and see them putting Wyatt into the back seat of a car.
Wyatt
I’m sitting in the back of the police cruiser. My hands are handcuffed behind my back; the cops are reading me my rights. But it’s the kid I’m thinking of. That horse kid, Ponyboy, with the green eyes. Talking to me. Talking to me like he knows something about me.
He doesn’t know shit.
The cruisers moves forward and we are moving down the street. After about three or four blocks, we pass the kid, running down the road. He moves and dips his head to spot me as we drive by. He looks me straight in the eye. And he smiles at me. He doesn’t grin or smirk or laugh. Those green eyes are deadly serious, but he smiles at me just the same, and nods. It’s friendly.
And I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I sit in the back of that cruiser and think about it all the way to the station and still can’t figure it out.
**
Ponyboy
I keep running till I get to the DX. Soda and Steve are closing the gas station down, hanging up the closed sign, turning things off. I run up.
“Hey, Pony!” says Soda with a smile when he sees me.
"Out running? Everything okay?"
He looks a tiny bit anxious. Probably about me running around town in the dark.
I shake my head. I nod at Steve.
“Hey, Hubcaps,” I quip.
Steve glares at me, but it doesn’t mean anything.
“Nope.” I say, throwing my arm around Soda’s shoulder and giving a wide smile at Steve.
“Nope, I’ve got everything I need.”
I even grab Steve and throw my arm around him and pull him in. He looks at me like I grew a second head. I just laugh.
“Coming?” I ask. “Two-Bit's lost his mind and has decided to make us dinner.”
“Two-Bit?” yelps Soda.
“C’mon, let’s get over to our house, stop him before he poisons us or something.
Get in the car, Pony.”
I do. Soda twists around in the driver’s seat and asks “You okay, Pon'? Everything alright?”
I smile again.
“Yeah, everything’s alright. We’re alright.”