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Before he’d left for college, Ponyboy had received countless warnings that finals week sucked. That these exams had a way of chewing people up and leaving them for dead. Each time, he’d nodded along, maybe laughed a little, and said he’d figure out how to get through it like everyone else.
But nothing could have prepared him for the literal hell of finals week. Absolute torture. Ponyboy was already circling the drain before he’d woken up with a sore throat on Tuesday.
Finals week stopped for no one. He’d worked through worse. So Ponyboy wiped the sleep from his eyes and the sickness from his face and took the damn test anyway.
By Wednesday, he woke up with chapped lips from breathing through his mouth all night and pounding pressure behind his eyes.
He lay in bed contemplating if passing his history final was even worth it as he watched his roommate, Dan, pack up for break.
“You know,” Dan said as he folded a shirt and tucked it into his bag. “My family’s going to be here by noon.”
Ponyboy groaned and rolled over. “Dan, it’s only--“ he looked at the clock. “Seven-thirty.”
Suddenly, he felt an awful lot like Soda—he couldn’t drag himself out of bed without a kick in the ribs, three warnings to get his ass in gear, and a promise that there was chocolate milk in the fridge.
“When’s your exam, Michael?” Dan asked nonchalantly, dropping his toothbrush in the bag.
Ponyboy shot up in bed. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
He tumbled onto the floor, threw on the first pair of pants he saw, stuffed half a box of tissues in his pockets, and grabbed his coat.
“Have a good break,” he called, already halfway out the doorway. “See you in January.”
“Bye,” Dan waved.
Ponyboy didn’t know what was happening to him. He’d hardly missed a deadline all semester and now he’d almost slept through his exam? Finals week was even worse than he thought.
He panted by the time he reached the exam hall, a sharp string of coughs forcing themselves from his chest as he fell into his chair and pulled out a pencil.
Two more tests. Then he was done. The train left tomorrow morning. And he’d be back home by Friday.
He shuddered. He wasn’t sure if it was the thought of going back to Tulsa or the fever he was pretty sure he was running, but the feeling traveled down his spine in harsh waves.
He wanted to go home. He was ready to go home. He just wasn’t sure if he was… ready to be home.
Four months had passed since he’d left Oklahoma. Since he and Darry slept on the floor of Soda and Steve’s apartment on their way to Ohio. Since Soda insisted they visit because “it’s basically a halfway point” and “you’re going away for months, stay for one extra night.” Since Ponyboy and Darry left Wichita and finished the journey to Kenyon College in their father’s old pick-up truck. Since Ponyboy stood in his dorm room—his home away from home—and hugged his big brother tight enough that he’d be able to remember the feeling for the next four months.
It wouldn’t be the same. Nothing was going to be the same. Tulsa had moved on without him. On the phone last week, Darry told him someone bought the lot. They were planning to revitalize it, then the whole neighborhood. Rumors flew about the city buying their houses and tearing them down. Darry told Ponyboy not to worry about it. That the process would take years and they’d be gone before then. That the next time he came home, mom and dad’s house would still be there.
And last time he checked, it was. At least, he was pretty sure it was. He was planning to be standing in his childhood living room by the end of the week, so it had to be there.
He didn’t remember a word he wrote on that test when he handed it to the professor. Or the one after that. When he stepped out of the exam hall, the first thing he noticed was the sting of the winter wind and the steady snowflakes swirling to the ground. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get out of here.
The walk back to the dorm only took ten minutes, but he could hardly feel his toes by the time he opened the front door.
“Aye, Mike!” One of the guys who lived down the hall—one of his friends when he didn’t want to spend a Friday night alone—Rodney, called to him. “Your tests over?”
“Just finished,” Ponyboy said hoarsely.
“When do you leave?” Rodney asked, setting the pool stick in his hand down.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“You still free tonight? Al and I were thinking about meeting up with a couple juniors and going out on the town.”
The thought of going to the bar made Ponyboy long to be anywhere else. The dim lights, loud music, and room packed full of strangers were going to be the last straw.
“Rodney, I’m beat,” he said. “And I’ve gotta pack up my stuff. And I leave at 8 am tomorrow. I’m gonna sit this one out.”
“Come on, man. Just for a bit?”
Ponyboy shook his head. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good break.”
“You too, Curtis.”
He slipped up the stairwell before anyone else got back from exams and before he got trapped in a lobby pool tournament against his will.
As the door to his room clicked shut, Ponyboy dropped his backpack and coat onto the floor, too exhausted to hang them up properly. He kicked his shoes off in the middle of the room and threw himself onto the mattress.
He curled up in the bed, pulling his blanket as close as he could and willing himself to fall asleep in a bed that wasn’t his in a place that wasn’t home.
_____
He wasn’t supposed to be there.
No one was supposed to be there.
He hadn’t been there in years. Yet the walls of the church seemed to move closer as the flames grew around him.
He had to get out of here. His eyes darted back and forth. Flames to his left, to his right, raging above him. There was no way out.
A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him to safety. Out the window just in time to watch the roof cave in.
Dallas Winston grabbed him, the same way he always did. Soon enough that he made it out. Soon enough to watch the building crumble with Johnny Cade still inside.
A train horn.
Ponyboy bolted upright in his seat. The train wasn’t moving, sitting idle at the stations and giving passengers one last warning before it left for the next city: a train horn.
He wished he wasn’t here. He wished this wasn’t the easiest way to get home. Yet here he was, trapped on the train for the next—he looked around, trying to find where they were, but came up empty handed.
“Excuse me.” His voice cracked as he called to the attendant right behind him. “Where are we?”
“We’re leaving St. Louis, dear,” she said, smiling back at him.
He tried his best to maintain a pleasant expression.
Seven more hours—trapped on the train for seven more hours. He couldn’t go back to sleep. No, he couldn’t watch how it all ended again.
He’d been so fine at college. In Ohio, the church and the train tracks and the mess he’d found himself caught in the middle of didn’t exist unless he told someone. He’d never tell his new friends. They seemed to like him well enough. He couldn’t risk losing them.
He talked about home as little as possible—it was almost like a game: how quickly could he deflect a conversation about his youth? He shared some things—just enough to look normal. Rodney and Alan knew he had at least one brother. When he’d been seeing Wendy—“a short-lived fling” was what Steve and Soda called it over the phone—he’d mentioned he was from Tulsa. But never why he left. Never why he had to leave. Never how he wound up in Ohio.
“Do you need something?”
Ponyboy jumped, startled when he realized she was still talking to him.
“Oh, uh,” he stammered, “no, I’m alright.”
She started to walk away.
“Actually, ma’am?” Ponyboy cleared his throat. “May I get a glass of water?”
“Just a sec,” she disappeared up the aisle, heels clicking against the linoleum floors.
Ponyboy dug through his backpack and produced a bottle of aspirin, shaking four of them into his palm before tucking the bottle back in the front pocket, just in case. He didn’t even bother waiting for her to get back before he tossed the pills in his mouth.
He opened Dune in his lap. Anything to occupy his mind. Anything to stay awake.
“Here you go,” the attendant said as she handed him the cup.
“Thank you.”
“Take care, hon.”
He took a sip, feeling relief wash over him as it soothed his throat.
He tried to resist as his eyelids started to feel heavy again. He wanted anything but to go back to sleep. He glanced out the window, at the book, across the aisle at the other passengers, but nothing chased sleep away. His head fell heavy against the back of the chair as he was whisked back to 1965.
A train horn.
That was the last sound Dallas Winston heard. That was the sound Ponyboy heard seconds before he reached the tracks. Before he saw Dallas’s shirt lying there. Warm. Damp. Abandoned.
A train horn.
He could have sworn he heard it from their house that night. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it if he’d just gone to the bakery on his way home.
Home.
He needed to be there now. He couldn’t take this anymore. He twisted and turned in the rock hard chair, waiting for the memories to stop. Waiting for the train to stop. Waiting to be home.
_________
Ponyboy didn’t even hesitate when he saw Darry standing on the train platform. He dropped his bag and threw his arms around his shoulders.
Darry’s arms wrapped around him just as quickly. “Ponyboy,” he said softly, “it’s good to see you, kiddo.”
“You know,” Darry said as he hugged him a little tighter, running a hand up and down his back. “You’re really warm.”
“It’s fine,” Ponyboy mumbled into his big brother’s shoulder.
“You feel okay?”
“It’s just a cold.” Ponyboy let go, sliding out of his brother’s arms and supporting himself on his own shaky legs again.
He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but suddenly it didn’t seem quite so bad. And he really didn’t want to tell Darry about falling asleep while his friends went out or his dream on the train.
Darry scrutinized him a second longer. “We should probably get you home anyway though,” he decided.
Ponyboy nodded and watched as Darry picked his duffel up off the ground and threw it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
When he stepped through the doorway and entered his home, a wave of relief washed over him. The place looked exactly how he left it—the same dining room table he’d sat at to do his homework for twelve years, the couch that was molded to his form from the evenings he’d lounged there and watched TV with his brothers, the photos of his family—his whole family—that hung above the piano that someone would inevitably play without an ounce of skill or a care in the world on Christmas Eve.
Tension leaked from his shoulders; his jaw loosened; the remnants of finals week dissolved in an instant, leaving only the ache of illness and the relief of the earth you only felt at home behind.
Darry shut the door behind him, setting Ponyboy’s bag down as he kicked his shoes off.
“You wanna sit?” Darry asked gently.
Ponyboy nodded. “Do I ever.”
He let muscle memory take over as he stumbled over and sank into the couch. He toed off his shoes and pulled his knees onto the cushion beside him.
Darry picked up the discarded shoes. “And your coat,” he said.
“What?” Ponyboy blinked sleepily.
“Take your coat off.” He held out a hand to take it.
“Oh,” Ponyboy mumbled as he unzipped his coat and slipped his arms out of it. His arms felt heavy now that he wasn’t using them.
Darry whisked his coat away and returned with a cool hand against Ponyboy’s forehead before he even had time to process what was happening.
“You’re burning up, little buddy,” Darry whispered.
Ponyboy felt a new type of warmth as his brother’s hand traced a path down his neck.
“Yeah,” he said, “I know.”
Darry stood up and hovered for a second longer. “It’s a good thing you’re home now.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Ponyboy watched as Darry disappeared around the corner and returned with a cup of water and a palm full of pills. Ponyboy didn’t bother to mention the ones he’d taken on the train earlier—surely they’d worn off by now.
More pills. More water. More hope that he’d feel better soon. But this time, he thought he really might.
“I’ll be right back,” Darry said. “Just close your eyes.”
Ponyboy didn’t need to be asked twice. The couch held him the same way it always had. The kitchen sink still dripped steadily. The blanket on his lap smelled like the laundry soap Darry always bought mixed with wood and oil and days spent in the sun and home.
It wasn’t until his eyes had been closed for a minute that he began to notice things that were missing. The radio wasn’t playing in the kitchen. Nothing clattered onto the floor, followed by a quiet apology. The porch was quiet.
He heard Darry reenter the room and felt the couch curve as he sat down next to him.
“When’s Soda coming home?” Ponyboy asked as Darry placed a washcloth over his eyes.
“He’s coming for Christmas,” Darry said, sitting down in the armchair. “I think he’s staying for a few days.”
Ponyboy paused. He forgot his middle brother wasn’t coming home after the end of a shift in a few hours. He was hours away working a job he never thought he’d have, but boy, was he good at it.
Two-Bit was the one who suggested it, but Ponyboy always thought that Johnny and Dally were partially responsible. Darry couldn’t believe it when he’d come home with paperwork for emergency medical services, but he wasn’t going to say no.
Ponyboy remembered countless nights sitting at the kitchen table, trying to write college essays while his brother poked and prodded at him, telling him which bone he would break if he flew through the windshield and how seatbelts were going to be universal real soon.
As soon as his training in Tulsa was done, he left. He’d never say it, but Ponyboy thought it might be because he’d never be able to respond to an incident that happened where his parents had died—or where Dally had died. Anywhere that would hit too close to home.
He and Steve left together. And they were happy. Soda had the adrenaline rush he craved and the need to nurture and care for others quenched by work. He stayed out of trouble. He’d grown up in a way Ponyboy never thought he would. But under that uniform, it was still his brother—carefree, reckless, and so full of love.
He didn’t know what Steve was doing up there. He hadn’t cared to ask. He figured it would give them something to talk about at Christmas dinner.
“Darry?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“What do you do now that we aren’t here?”
Darry sighed. “I worry about what you two are up to.” He laughed a little. “You, passing your classes and going to track practice. Soda, driving that ambulance like a maniac and causing more damage than he can fix. And I joined the YMCA.”
“You know,” Ponyboy said, already fighting back sleep. “Soda’s real good at that.”
“Don’t I know it,” Darry said. “Have you talked to Soda lately?”
Ponyboy shook his head. “Not since Thanksgiving. When you guys called.”
“Do you know he’s a cat person now?” Darry asked with a smirk.
Ponyboy peeled the washcloth off his eyes so he could see his big brother’s face. “What?”
“They got a cat.”
Ponyboy settled back into the couch. “Steve’s idea probably,” he mumbled.
“Pony, it gets worse: he loves the cat.”
Ponyboy scoffed. “I can’t believe it.”
“Ask him about it at Christmas,” Darry said, unable to hold back laughter. “Betcha he’ll sign things ‘from Soda and Fluffy’.”
Ponyboy laughed. Hard. For the first time in a week.
Darry glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up. “You eat anything on the train?”
“No,” Ponyboy murmured. “Didn’t feel like it.”
He didn’t need to say that he felt crummy and he tried to sleep but was shocked awake by memories he thought he’d managed to contain in the depths of his mind and food would sit too heavy in his stomach. Darry heard him anyway.
“Would you eat a grilled cheese?”
Ponyboy hesitated.
“Doesn’t have to be right now,” Darry told him, sitting back down. “We’ve got all night.”
Ponyboy hummed contentedly and settled back into the couch.
Darry drew the curtains closed, flipped the TV on, and fell onto the couch beside him. An arm fell effortlessly around his shoulder and Ponyboy couldn’t help but lean a little closer.
“Darry?”
“Yeah, Ponyboy?”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime. I’ve got you, buddy.”
And as his eyes drifted closed to the gentle buzz of Jeopardy in the background and his big brother’s hand in his hair, he knew there was no one else he’d rather be.
Because this was it. This was what home felt like.