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Darry-Twobit-Paul
Paul stared at Darry and sighed. “Stay here, Dar. I’m going to get Two-bit from his house and make sure he’s not drunk in a ditch somewhere. I’ll be back soon.” Darry didn’t reply back to Paul. He hadn’t expected him to say anything back to him. Darry had just sat in the old, worn armchair. The same Paul Newman movie had been on the TV all day. All Darry had said to explain when he asked why that one was “Pony’s favorite.”
Paul hadn’t said anything back to him after that. Paul couldn’t fight grief no matter how much he wanted to. All he could do was try to comfort the men he loved… and maybe on Two-Bit’s end make sure he wasn’t dead in a ditch from drinking too much.
Paul looked at Darry with worry in his eyes. As he stepped out the door. The feeling of cold air hitting his face allowed him to focus. “Alright, time to find Keith.” He said to himself softly. He got into Darry’s old truck and started to drive.
He stared at the house in front of him and prayed Two-bit was in the house instead of being out getting drunk and doing stupid shit somewhere Paul would rather not go like the dingo. Despite him dating two greasers, Paul wasn’t the most popular guy around. He knew why. It had taken a while to get Darry to even give him a chance again. Trying to get the other greasers to like him? Hah! He’d have better luck getting the other Soc’s to say that they accept who he dates!
Well, time to stop loitering outside of the house. He walked up to the door and nocked. A second later, Miss. Mathew’s answered the door. Upon seeing him, she smiled and said, “Ah, you’re probably here for Keith, right? Let me get him for you!” He just smiled back at her and nodded. Their relationship was rocky at first. But for some reason, she was one of the first people to accept him. A moment later, she showed up at the door with a very drunk Two-Bit. She shoved Two-Bit at him and said, “Tell Darry my condolences when you get back, Paul.”
“Of course, Miss. Mathew’s.” Paul replied as he started to get Two-Bit to walk over to the car. He managed to get him into the car without too many drunk complaints.
As Paul started to drive back, Two-Bit started drunk sobbing. “S’not fair, Paul, he’s only 14, why’d they have to pick ‘im?” It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what Keith was talking about. Paul just reached over to him, patted his shoulder, and said, “I don’t know, Keith, I really don’t know.” They arrived at the Curtis house shortly after their conversation.
He dragged Two-Bit inside and set him on the couch. Paul then dragged Darry over to the couch and set him down. Paul sat between them and said, as Two-bit leaned on him and as Darry’s body lost some of its stiffness, “Now, how about we finish this movie.”
Steve-Sodapop
Steve looked at Sodapop sprawled out in bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling. A sketchbook was on his chest, Soda’s arms around it protectively. There were tears tracks down Soda’s face. Steve sat down on the bed next to him. Sodapop readjusted, setting his head in his lap. “Why did he have to die, Steve? Why him! It’s unfair.” Sodapop said wetly. “Why my kid brother! He was only 15; he had a whole life ahead.” The more Sodapop spoke, the harder it was to understand him through his sobs.
Steve ran his fingers through Soda’s hair and said, “I don’t know, Pepsi. I truly don’t know. I just wish I was nicer to him.” It was true; ever since Ponyboy’s death, all Steve could think was, What if I was nicer to him? What if he didn’t know that I cared when he died! And then Steve joined Soda in his crying. Sodapop sat up, and they held each other till they both fell asleep. Before falling asleep, Steve said, “I just wished I talked to him more.”
Dallas-Tim
Dally and Tim had never been one for large romantic gestures. The most romantic thing either of them had ever done was when Dally gave Tim his St. Christopher necklace. And even that, neither of them had ever really talked about it. Tim had just clipped it around his neck, and they never talked about it again.
Tim stared at Angela as she got ready for her Valentine’s date. One of his gang members had ended up acquiring the nerve to ask her out. (Tim thinks that threatening him was very much necessary and NOT overprotective, thank you, Angela.) Curly was out of the house doing god knows what. Well, knowing him, he was probably trying to find some poor broad to bother. Tim flicked the St. Christopher necklace that his hoodlum had given him, and he wondered if he should do something. I mean, Dally never had been one for romantic gestures, and then he remembered something that sent him rushing to the calendar.
Shit, shit, shit, shit! How could I forget! The anniversary of Ponyboy’s death is in three days! This would be the first Valentine’s Day with the kid gone, and it somehow had completely blanked my mind. The only thing running through his mind was that he had to find Dally. He grabbed his coat on his way out the door. He was in such a rush he didn’t notice Angela questioning his rush. He slid into his car and got it started up as fast as he could, and then he started driving exactly where he knew he’d find Dally.
Tim had never been a big fan of Buck’s Place, but he knew Dally liked the guy, and Tim also knew that whenever Dally was feeling particularly upset in a way he didn’t want others seeing, he would go hide in his room at Buck’s. Buck didn’t seem surprised to see Tim, which told him that it was just as bad as he thought it was. Buck just pointed at the stairs and nodded at him. Tim rushed up the stairs and burst through Dally’s door. And there he sat in all his glory. He was lying face down on the bed, and Dally’s hair was matted and greasy. All he was wearing were his sleep pants.
Tim was just glad that instead of doing something dangerous, he was in a depressed pile on his head.
Dally didn’t sit up when he came in; he just said, “Leave me alone, Tim.” His voice was muffled from his position on the bed.
Tim just walked over and opened the blinds. “Alright, enough moping around! You are coming back with me, and you’re talking a bath!” If he were talking to anyone else, he might have been slightly more gentle like he was the first time he saw Dally after death, but depressed or not, Dally didn’t respond well to gentleness in most scenarios. Dally just turned away from the window. Tim wasn’t taking no for an answer today. He just walked over to the bed and picked Dallas up and set him over his shoulder.
Dallas squirmed against his arms and screeched indignantly. “Let go of me right now, or I swear I will beat your fucking ass, Tim!” Tim decided not to dignify that with an answer and started to walk over to the stairs. Dallas just continued yelling at him as he walked out to his car. Buck had sent him an odd look on the way out, but when he saw Dallas over his shoulder, he just nodded and continued whatever he was doing. Tim tossed Dally into his passenger seat. And started to drive back to his house.
Dally was glaring at Tim with a slight flush on his cheeks the whole drive home. As he got out of the car, he just turned to Dallas and said, “You gonna come in on your own accord, or I gotta carry ya in to the house to?” Dally just glared at him and flipped him off as Dally got out of the car.
Angela had left for her date at some point, and Curly was still nowhere to be seen. Tim turned to Dallas once they were inside and said, “Am I gonna hafta hold ya down to get you to talk about your feelings, or will you do it on your own this time?”
Johnny
It was Valentine’s Day today. It was also three days till it was the anniversary of Pony’s death. Unlike Darry and Two-bit, and Soda and Steve, and Dally and Tim, Johnny didn’t have anyone he loved to comfort him. So he decided to visit someone who he could care for instead.
The walk to the graveyard was quiet as if the world held its breath. The cold air brushed against Johnny, leaving him flushed and shivering. All he had to protect himself from the cold was an old, thin, ratty jacket. Finally, he arrived at the grave he was there for. On the grave, it said “Ponyboy Curtis” and “1951-1966.” Johnny pulled out a brush from his backpack and started to clean off the grave. It took him one hour and twenty-six minutes to clean off Ponyboy’s grave.
And then Johnny was back almost a year ago now, the last day he had spent with Ponyboy. I watched as Ponyboy dug around in his pocket looking for a light. They stood on the porch together. Darry hated it when anyone smoked inside. Eventually, he gave up and turned to me and said, “There’s a chance you got a light, Johnnycakes?” I had just smiled at him and flicked out his lighter from my pocket. He had given it to me when we were sitting at the fire pit a few days ago and had forgotten to ask for it back. He gasped at me dramatically and said, “Wow, Johnny, can’t believe you’d betray me like this! Stealing my light now, huh? Right before Valentine’s Day too! Wow, I can’t believe MY boyfriend would do me like this.” I had just laughed back and said, “Sure, Pony, sure.” Ponyboy died a week later.
And then Johnny sat down against the grave and pulled out a book from his bag and started to read. Johnny wasn’t as good a reader as Pony was, but he wanted Ponyboy to hear the end of the book. The title of the book? Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.
“It’s about time we finish this book, huh, Pony?”