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Sodapop dropped out of school at 16. He got a job talking to customers and filling up gas, he doesn’t go to church, he doesn’t read books, or go to the movies. He loved a girl named Sandy, but she didn’t love him back. He didn’t like it when his brothers fought, but at least they were getting better. But he loved life.
That’s all Ponyboy knew of his own brother.
And he thought he was okay.
Sodapop, in the back of his mind, felt a certain weight like it tipped his head back and made him sigh. He’d hit a wall in a conversation, pause for a moment, and return the joke to the other person like it was a lost sweater. He had to go to sleep early to wake up for the rigorous morning ahead.
Ponyboy still gets nightmares sometimes, and Soda still sleeps next to him after he recovers from the hospital. He smoked a few cigarettes, just from stress. He’d been working extra hard and long at the DX.
But one day, it just stopped.
It was like Soda was getting sober from life; he stopped smiling so much. He stopped talking to customers, only asking the necessary questions. He was short with Steve, which confused him and himself. Soda wasn’t in the mood anymore.
He drove around the neighborhood to pick Darry up from the last leaky roof he fixed and got them home, like routine. Asking Pony about school, asking Darry about work, and pitching in a bit of what conversation he picked up at the DX with Steve. His mouth felt tired, his brain felt overworked.
But when he got into bed with Pony, he had restless legs. He hadn’t had restless legs since he dropped out of school. He could barely sleep, tossing and turning with the lights off. Pony’s presence seemed to bother him more, which was weird, because he was fine with sleeping next to Pony before. His routine just got out of hand, and he threw himself out of control.
He woke up late the next morning with Pony shaking him awake this time. “Soda, hey, Sodapop. I’m going to school soon. You’re normally up.”
Soda felt like he had the worst sleep of his life. He ached all over, especially his neck. He groaned, “Sorry.”
“Hey, Pepsi-Cola, we’re gonna be late if you don’t get up soon,” Darry announced, passing by the open door of the room.
Soda winced as he sat up, “Ughhhh…”
“We have dish-washing duty,” Ponyboy said, not bothered by Soda’s disheveled state.
Soda wiped his face, “Mhm.”
Soda trudged to the bathroom and took a quick rinse. Steve pulled up to the house to snatch some cake before driving his own way to the DX. God knew where Two-Bit was. Soda had Darry drive as he closed his eyes in the passenger seat.
“Your turn, little buddy,” Darry said in what seemed like a few seconds. Soda’s eyes fluttered open, then squinted.
“You sure you wanna go to work? You look hella tired.” Darry asked after getting out of the driver’s seat.
“I’ll be fine.” Soda mustered a smile before turning the ignition and leaving Darry’s workplace.
Soda tried his best to focus on the road, but that seemed worse than before. Every bird that crossed in front of him caught his eye to follow. Every trash can and front lawn seemed like a neon light to him; it gave him a headache, and he could barely get to work today without crashing. He parked next to Steve’s truck, outside the lines, like normal. The one normal thing he could do.
He stretched for a moment, then walked into the DX.
•●•●•●•●•
“Hello? Soda?” Steve waved his hand in front of Sodapop after dissociating. “You good?”
Soda blinked tiredly, “Yeah… Steve? Can you cover for me, please?”
“What?”
“I…” Soda sighed. “I don’t think I can do it today.”
Steve shrugged, “What are you? Sick?”
Soda couldn’t answer.
Steve patted him on the shoulder, “You tried or somethin’?”
Soda swallowed. He didn’t even know what he was looking at. Nothing came to his mind; no thought, no feeling, no words, nothing. He seemed to be zoning out again.
That scared Steve. Here was his best friend in an unusual state, and nothing was clear. He didn’t have an idea what was going on.
Soda groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t wanna be here right now.”
“Buddy, what is going on?” Steve asked.
“I’m tired, okay?!” Soda snapped. “Actually, I don’t know. But I know that I’m stuck… somehow. I… I- I- I can’t do this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I just can’t do anything right now.”
Steve looked at him, shocked. He sighed and flipped the store sign to CLOSED.
Soda noticed what he was doing. “What-”
“I’m gonna drive you home.”
Soda stared at him for a moment.
“You look like you’re about to pass out, so I’ll drive you.”
“... W-with my truck?”
“Yeah.”
“But what about-”
“I’ll take a bus, it’s fine.” Steve grabbed a few quarters from the tip jar, grabbed the keys, and dragged Sodapop to his truck.
•●•●•●•●•
By the time Steve dropped Sodapop at his house, he couldn’t sleep. Soda gave the address of the house Darry was working on and dropped the truck there. But when he got inside, his body was too awake to fall asleep. He flopped on the couch and mindlessly clicked through TV channels. He doesn’t even like TV.
He got up to eat a piece of leftover chocolate cake, but his stomach was barely hungry for anything else. He smoked a cigarette to get rid of the worry of missing work. More bills I can’t pay, more time wasted. God, what am I doing with my life? I can’t think, I can’t think, I can’t think…
Huff, puff.
The worries will go away.
Ponyboy got home from track, confused. “Sodapop? What are you doing?”
Soda looked at his younger brother, then back at the TV.
Pony put his backpack on Darry’s chair and leaned down. “I thought you were at work.”
“I don’t… feel well,” Soda mumbled.
Ponyboy’s eyes narrowed. “Feel better. Uh… I had a test today. In English. You know how Mr. Syme is, he’s got his eyes burning in my back. I really hope I did well…”
Sodapop wasn’t listening. He stared at the TV, but he wasn’t hearing the sound from it either. No thoughts passed behind his eyes. He couldn’t think of anything.
“... And I thought he’d be fast, I mean, that’s why he joined track, right?” Pony yapped. “Sodapop? Are you even listening?”
Soda blinked. “That’s great, Pony.”
Ponyboy shook his head and looked away, “No, you weren’t.” He went over to the table to get started on his homework.
•●•●•●•●•
It started getting late, around 6:30 pm. Sodapop still wasn’t doing anything, and Ponyboy was in his room working on his theme essay. But he came down the hallway to Sodapop, staring at the floor while the noise on the TV played.
“Soda? Shouldn’t we be working on dinner soon?” Pony asked, itching his elbow.
No response.
“Sodapop?”
Sodapop blinked and reached to turn the TV off. “Uhhh… yeah. We should.”
Ponyboy noticed how burnt out Sodapop sounded. “I’ll make it.” He insisted and walked into the kitchen, starting up something.
Sodapop appreciated it, but couldn’t tell his little brother ‘thank you.’
•●•●•●•●•
Darry got home to the smell of eggs and salad, Sodapop curled up on the couch staring at nothing, and confusion on his face. Ponyboy whipped up some nice food, which he thanked him for, but was really bothered by Soda and driving himself home.
He sat next to Soda on the couch, “Hey, little buddy. What’s going on?”
Sodapop twitched.
Darry put his hand on Soda’s shoulder. Soda turned to look at Darry.
He started crying. Soda brought his hands up to his face and cried. Concern danced all over Darry’s face. Ponyboy slowly walked over from the kitchen, concerned as well.
Darry rubbed Soda’s back as he leaned into his older brother’s comfort. Ponyboy sat down next to him, waiting for the conversation to play out.
“What’s wrong, little buddy? What’s wrong?” Darry asked quietly.
Sodapop sobbed, “I don’t know. I don’t know…”
Darry glanced at Ponyboy, who just shrugged.
“Why can’t you think?” Darry asked.
“Why today? Why can’t you just focus?” Ponyboy started.
“I don’t know!” Soda cried. “It’s been like this for a while, I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I don’t know…”
Darry narrowed his eyebrows. “How long?”
“I don’t know…”
Sodapop continued to cry in the arms of his brothers until the sobs calmed down. He didn’t eat much that evening, and he didn’t sleep that much either.
He stared up at the ceiling as Ponyboy wrote at his desk, listening to the sound of his little brother’s pen against his composition book.
*What are you writing about, Pony?*
No response. Soda couldn’t open his mouth for the life of him.
Eventually, Ponyboy got tired and closed his composition book, turning off the light and crawling into bed next to Sodapop. He latched onto Soda’s arm like a koala. “I’m sorry I upset you.” He said softly.
Soda glanced at him and gave a little smile.
Pony looked deeply into his brother’s eyes, “How is that like? When you can’t think…?”
Soda moved to lie on his side, “... It’s like hitting a wall.” He managed to whisper. “And it prevents you from doing anything.”
“And you’ve dealt with this for how long?” Pony asked.
“... For as long as I’ve lived.”
Pony’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t know how. It’s hard to explain anyway.” Soda huffed.
Ponyboy frowned. “We're all we've got. Please, tell us.”
“... I’ll try.”
Pony nodded, adjusting himself on the bed. “Get some sleep, okay?”
Soda nodded back. “Okay. Goodnight, Pony.”
“Goodnight.”