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I’ve always been great at lying. Whether it was gambling, dealing with the fuzz, or sneaking a pack of Kools out of the gas station, lying was useful and practical. It was the best thing you could do to get out of a tight spot, too. I had to lie all the time in New York, for everything my gang did. I always had a fake story for the cops to eat up, being the youngest member back there. Lying’s second nature to me. Easy as breathing. But the minute Soda barged into Buck Merrill’s place with that desperate expression, I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to lie my way out of that one. Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.
“Has Ponyboy come by here, at all? He ran away from home the night before last, we thought he would come back, but then he showed up in the papers and we couldn’t find him anywhere, Darry’s searching too, and now…” He was talking way too fast. There was pleading in his eyes, and he came into the house without asking. I was almost insulted it had taken the gang this long to assume I would care that Pony and Johnny were missing, but it worked out better for them, I guess.
Normally I would have told Soda to stay outside the damn house on account of Buck not being too glad about non-regulars coming in, but even I could see that wouldn’t have landed so well with Soda. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, still wearing the ratty flannels from the day before. The usually silky hair he was so prideful of was tangled with excess grease, combed back poorly. He looked like a hoodier greaser from the far East Side, which was hardly true for any of the Curtis brothers. “Well, have you?” He was being unusually persistent.
“Can’t say I have. Hey, didn’t he n’ Johnny get mixed up in a murder rap? What's-his-name Sheldon? Saw it in the papers the other day.” I flicked out my lighter and a cigarette and tried to sound unbothered, like I had only heard about this from the Tulsa Daily News or some gossipy broads. Like I hadn’t heard it straight from Johnny’s wide-eyed face, his switchblade clutched hard in his hand and darkened to the handle. I think Pony was more shook than Johnny was, hardly making a sound and breathing unevenly while Johnny told me what went down. While I was glad Johnny could get back at the Soc for that god-awful jumping he went through, I was hoping I would get a chance to beat his head in personally. Nobody does that to a member of our gang, no matter how rich and Soc-y the drunks were.
“Anyways, he didn’t come by here, honest. You should beat it out of here ‘fore I get my head taken off by Buck, though. He don’t like visitors.”
I didn’t get a response from Soda. I looked up from the now lit cigarette to see Soda pacing restlessly in Buck’s living room, and I was losing what little patience I had left with him. My ribs still hurt something fierce after Tim cracked them and sleeping it off hadn’t helped, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of his hysterics. “Didya hear me? Git out, or—”
“I know you’re lying, Dally.” Soda glanced up from the floor, looking more annoyed than worried now.
“How so?” I made like I was offended, but he just wasn’t buying it.
“First of all, you never read the paper, you hate reading at all. You’re never “honest”, and third—” He threw Ponyboy’s sweatshirt at me forcefully, which I had hung to dry over the ugly cow-hair couch. I silently swore at myself, I shouldn’t have hung it out in the open where anybody could see it. It was still damp, and the wet fabric felt real unpleasant on my face. I dropped it on the floor, and Soda hung it back on the couch. “Now,” Soda crossed his arms, looking unimpressed, “Are you gonna tell me where he is?”
“...Fine, fine! I was covering for Pony, man… he came to Buck’s party last night and got buzzed, but I don’t know where he’s at. Sorry,” I put my hands up in surrender and lied again, trying to get Soda to just leave already. I moved toward the door, but Soda’s feet were firmly planted. I noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, and that his socks were covered in filth. He must have run through the whole east side looking for Ponyboy if they were that dirty.
“Lying again, wow, Dally. Pony hates coming here, that darned Hank Williams grates on his nerves. He wouldn’t have come here unless something really bad happened. And considering someone got killed and you're the best guy for the job…” Soda trailed off, looking at me knowingly. I knew then the gig was up, lying was no use with an empath. He was just too good at reading people. Ponyboy told me that was his best quality, but it was awful irritating right then.
I sighed finally, wishing Soda would stop interrogating me. My ribs were still bugging me. “I clearly can’t tell you where I’m hidin’ them. That’s why they asked me and not you or Steve or anyone else in this gang. I’m not close to their favorite person, but I’ll keep my mouth shut no matter who asks. So beat it.”
Soda’s pained expression surprised me; I wasn’t expecting him to take me so seriously. I always forget to soften the blow around people who feel things strongly, like Johnny or Ponyboy. Ponyboy and Soda are the same like that, only Soda doesn’t really show it when he gets bothered.
“Alright, then. I’ll git before Buck sees I was here,” Soda said sullenly. He turned to leave, but his saddened expression looked so much like Johnny’s own I had just about had it with acting mean. I would’ve told him where Ponyboy was if I could’ve, I wasn’t lying about that.
“Well, hold on just a minute, you crybaby. I’m not a total asshole.”
Soda turned around, looking confused but hopeful. I rummaged around in some drawers until I found where Buck kept his paper. It took me longer to find a decent pen, and I gave both to Soda. “Here. Write him whatever you wanna say. I was gonna go and check up on them soon, the fuzz ain’t looking where they’re hidin’. I tipped them off that the pair was headin’ for Texas.” I grinned to myself, feeling that was awful smart of me.
Soda spent a few minutes writing the letter, and I finished puffing the last of my cigarette. He folded it up neatly and handed me— money?
“Half my paycheck, can you give this to the two of them too? I expect they’ll need more than the dough you probably gave them.”
“Well, sure,” I nodded at him. I put both the letter and the cash in my back pocket, on the same side as the heater in the inside holster of my belt. “I’ll give him that letter, then. Anything else you wanna tell him? I’m already givin’ them news on that rumble they’re plannin’, the Socs…” I started moving towards the door again, and thankfully Soda followed this time.
“Make sure to tell him that Darry's taking this mighty hard. He thinks it’s all his fault. I know they never really got along, but Darry does love him. He just has a funny way of showing it, that’s all.”
Since Buck was due home soon and I had to scuttle all that dirt Soda’s socks left, I told him I would and that if he didn’t leave right that second I’d break his arm.
“Thanks, Dally, you’re a real pal,” he beamed at me.
“Yeah, yeah, now git,” and with that I pushed him out the door.
I knew I owed that letter to him, at least. He really cared about Pony. I would’ve gone right then and there to deliver it, but the sun was already setting to its oranges and pinks and purples. Tomorrow, I decided. I’ll deliver that letter tomorrow.
Buck won’t mind if I borrow his T-bird.
~~~~
I got an early start on driving, that church was way out of my way. It would have taken quite some convincing to get Buck’s T-Bird if he came back when he said he would, but I lucked out. I heard from his girl he ended up splitting town for a few days ‘cause someone tipped off the fuzz about his bootlegging, so I was sleeping in the extra bedroom instead of my own house. I hardly ever went to my old man’s place. I didn’t want to see him and he wouldn’t care if I came home or not. He wouldn’t care if I was shot dead, probably. He would just sit there in that armchair with his lifeless expression. I hated him for that. So much.
I mostly just slept at the Curtis house—their door is always unlocked, terrible protection but the sofa’s comfortable—or out on a bench somewhere. But I sure didn’t want to go to the Curtis house now and get shouted at by Darry, sick with worry over his kid brother.
There wasn’t any time to grab breakfast, and so I took some money out of the sum Soda had given me to take the three of us to Dairy Queen or someplace. As I got into the red T-Bird, slamming the door, I noticed the sun was starting to rise.
While the deep, rich blues got lighter, the final pure, watery sky settled in as the golden sun peeked over the distant hills. Thin rays of light slowly reached across the hills with a soft glow. Glory. Even the thought felt subdued in the silence. I stared at the sun the whole time it rose. I didn’t look away once. It felt sort of childish and dumb, staring at the sun like its rising was sacred and I couldn’t move until it came over the horizon. I knew when I looked away I would get those weird colored spots you get from staring at the sun—afterimages or whatever.
But somewhere over on those little green hills was the Windrixville church, and Pony, and Johnny, probably swooning over the colors in the sky. If they could appreciate it that much, I was allowed to just watch it rise. I could take it in.
~~~~
I shouldn’t have spent all that time watching the sun, I was running later than I had hoped. I wasn’t going slowly, either, fast driving was my specialty. I had hit a long ribbon of empty road and was cruising along at a leisurely seventy-five, not stopping when I hit potholes. Turns felt even nicer, swerving wildly at the last second with the brakes shrieking. I did have to lay off the rough driving after a while, though, Buck wouldn’t let me take his car out any more if it came back totaled.
I decided to save the speeding and the gas for when Johnny and Ponyboy were in the car. I figured Pony liked fast driving, seeing that Soda was always speeding him around in their Ford (though not as fast as I did, he still cared about the traffic laws), and I already knew Johnny was wild about drag races.
The downside of driving at fifty-five like a grandmother was that there wasn’t a single thing to look at on that red dirt road. There was the occasional gas station or truck stop, some sparse shrubbery, and dirt, dirt, dirt. I had another turn at some point, but that wouldn’t be for ages. I was bored out of my mind.
So my thoughts wandered, and wandered, and eventually landed on Johnny. Our most meek, nervous, soft-spoken member had killed somebody. Really killed somebody. I never figured he would have the stomach to live with the guilt that comes with that. He could never hurt a fly… but he had stabbed that Soc.
…No, I needed to stop thinking about him like he was younger than Pony, like he was still a kid. It bothered him, the way the whole gang treated him like a baby brother. I was hardly a year older than him. Once he got really worked up about it, to the point he started blowing off steam at me, of all people. It was maybe a month after that Bob jumped him for the first time, and we were still walking on eggshells around him. We didn’t notice that it was bugging Johnny, all the new sympathy he was getting.
We were all over at the Curtis house for dinner and were goofing off in the backyard after. Steve and Soda were squeezed onto the one chair, and the rest of us were sitting in the damp grass. I was lingering under a tree away from the group, holding some book called Little Women that I had to start for English but was putting off. I didn’t usually notice when people were feeling down, but even from a distance I could tell Johnny was hot under the collar. Being in a bad mood so often, you can really see the look of one in others.
His jaw was clenched and he wasn’t making much eye contact with anybody, black eyes trained on the weeds nearby. Two-Bit told him to lighten up, and everyone tried to make him laugh. He started looking alright, like he wasn’t so bothered anymore, until Pony laughed at something Johnny had said and mentioned how he thought of him as the gang’s pet. Man, that was a bad thing to say.
Johnny seethed silently for a moment, then stood up abruptly and walked back into the house. He closed the back door very quietly, but we heard him slam the front door hard when he left through there. The whole gang looked confused, Johnny never snapped at anyone or slammed doors (something all the rest of us took every chance to do). Soda got up to follow him, but Darry stopped him. “Leave him be, Soda. He just needs some time alone.” Soda sat back down reluctantly. Ponyboy looked rather shocked, he hadn’t meant to hurt Johnny. Everyone sat in the grass awkwardly, not saying anything. What was there to say? We didn’t know what the problem was then.
I figured I’d fetch Johnny myself. Even if I wasn’t the best man for the job, at least I wasn’t the one who made him storm off. I didn't think he would get mouthy with me because Johnny was never mouthy with anyone, but if he did, I could handle it just fine. He didn’t scare me. I knew he cared a lot at heart, no matter how tough he had to act for respect. Why else would he stay in that lousy household of his, if he didn’t think his folks could care about him the same?
“Yeah, I’m gonna go get him. I don’t want him getting beaten on by no more Socs, and there was a car cruisin’ by here earlier,” I lied (see, being full of it’s a helpful skill). I Frisbee’d Little Women onto the grass and heard a groan of protest from Pony before I left through the back gate. I didn't stick around too long, because someone would stop me from going for sure. If everyone’s favorite understanding, sympathetic fucking saint of a guy wasn’t going to comfort Johnny, why would they let the foul-mouthed delinquent do it?
It took me a little to find him on account of the darkness blending with his hair, but I found Johnny maybe a street down from the house, kicking a rock in the dark and visibly frustrated. He was never really upset with us. I almost didn’t want to approach him, but I’d already told everyone I would bring him back over.
“Hey, kid, what happened back there?” I should’ve approached him more friendlike and caring, but you only think of those kinds of things when you get outta the situation. Johnny looked up and saw it was me (though he could probably tell from the tone who it was), then went right back to kicking the rock. I walked with him while he kicked it, and we reached a streetlight-lined area. I was waiting for him to respond.
“Nothing happened… I just blew up. It was real stupid, too. Pony wasn’t making a jab at me. I’m just… I’m done with you treating me like I constantly need to be protected. Not you, you, the gang...”
Johnny huffed and paused, pushing his hair out of his eyes, but I didn’t say anything. I could tell he wasn’t done talking. “Like I’m lesser than, and fragile, and-and you all just keep on–” His tone had started out breaking and low, but the volume and strength in his voice were increasing all the while he ranted– “keep on treating me like a baby animal! A pet, like Pony said, and I’ve had it up to here! I get beaten and screamed at every other day, and I’m the fragile one? Sure! Fine! Treat me like I’m ten and pathetic, who cares?” Teeth clenched, he kicked the rock as hard as he could. It flew a good ways away, into the air.
I was surprised to see Johnny so worked up. He didn’t ever get like this, and I started to see the severity of the situation. He was tired of getting treated like a pet, just like I was treated back in New York at ten. The difference was, while I could do things to prove my worth to that gang, this one already knew that Johnny was worth a lot. But they still treated him like a puppy dog, and that was what was eating him up inside. Being fully understood and still not being treated just the same as the others.
Johnny took a few deep breaths and said quietly, “I didn’t mean to yell like that, ‘poospecially not at you. Really.” How was he concerned about offending me, when I had been mistreating him just the same as the whole gang had been? ‘Cause I did think of him as our pet then. Maybe it wasn’t in a derogatory way, but it was still bad of me. I felt damn guilty, wishing I could get a real apology out of my dumb mouth. The best I could muster was: “Nah, no sweat. We all get like that sometimes.”
Johnny was watching me intently with those big black eyes, and I remembered about speaking gently for once. “You lash out less than most, and it’s good to have a nice shout once in a while, yeah? Hope that cooled ya off,” I offered him a sideways smile.
He gave a little smile in return, tilting his chin up and still staring at me. The white streetlight above us cast a sort of soft halo around his face. “You’re right about that, Dally. It felt real good. That’s why you ’n’ me get on well, you treat me just the same as you treat everyone else.” I felt awful relieved right then, that he didn’t feel belittled by me. I made up my mind then to stop thinking of him like a kid and more like a kid brother.
“Now we best get goin’, Johnnycake, it’s getting to be late and the gang’s bound to be worried for you.” I thought he would give me some pushback—I never liked having to go straight back to someone after losing my head—but he went right along with what I said and we walked back under the lights, talking leisurely. It got me wonderin’, about why he never questioned me...
Pony once told me that Johnny thought of me as his idol, and I could’ve sworn he was lying. But lying’s my thing, not his. How could a nice boy like Johnny look up to a trashy hoodlum like me? The things he was were the things I wanted to be, sometimes. Being able to feel things strongly, being all earnest and open. Maybe if I were more like him, we would be closer buddies. What was the phrase? The lawn is always greener in your neighbor’s yard? I never payed attention in English anyways.
…Oh, shit, where am I? Wasn’t there a turn I had to take? I groaned and exhausted my entire vulgar vocabulary. I had a terrible attention span and my thoughts were always going from one thing right to the next; that was why I never did well in school. There were no other cars on the road, so I took my chance to hit a screaming U-turn and engrave tire marks into the dust road. This time I kept my eyes peeled and hit the turn, eventually seeing the old church up on the hill.
After getting over that mountain of a hill, I parked and blew the Shepard gang’s whistle— a long, low sound which suddenly went high and cut off. I saw Johnny sitting on the steps facing away from me, reading some real heavy book. His hair was cut short so it wasn’t in his eyes anymore, and he had washed the grease out so it looked downy like a boy’s. I was glad to see my jacket was going to good use though, he was bundled up in the too-big leather coat. It was almost ironic, the sweetest of us in a dirty delinquent’s jacket.
(Readers do we see the irony of Johnny being the one to murder Bob)
He was so invested in his book hadn’t heard me whistle, and so I ran up behind him and conked him on the head good-naturedly.
Johnny made a sound of alarm, then relaxed when he saw it was me. “Hey, Dallas! Why’re you up here, did something happen?”
“Nah, just came to check up on the pair of you now that the cops aren’t lookin’ here.” I took the book from his hands and inspected it. “I have news for you, too, but I’ll get Pony first. Damn, that’s heavy.”
“He’s still sleeping, last I checked,” he added as I passed him and went inside.
“Who cares, it’s time for him to get up anyways.”
I stopped when I entered the church, though, and tried not to laugh too loudly because Ponyboy was still sleeping. He was splayed out on the floor like a dead body, his mouth half-open. His hair was cut short, too, but his ears stuck way out now that they were visible. Even funnier was the bleached-white coloring, he looked like a complete other kid.
I kicked him lightly in the ribcage. “Glory,” I smirked, “He looks different with his hair like that.”