Chapter Text
Last night, I dreamed that I was a child
Out where the pines grow wild and tall
I was trying to make it home through the forest
Before the darkness falls
I heard the wind rustling through the trees
And ghostly voices rose from the fields
I ran with my heart pounding down that broken path
With the devil snappin' at my heels
I broke through the trees and there in the night
My father's house stood, shining hard and bright
-Bruce Springsteen
June 1966
Wichita, Kansas
● ⟰ ●
Ponyboy’s mother had been sick for some time now. Not that he would ever tell anyone that on account of getting scared that he would be sent away. He’d been taken into child protective custody once before when a teacher found out they were living in a shitty motel downtown. That was the last time he trusted a teacher enough to tell them anything. Now it was summer, so as long as he kept to himself and didn’t make small talk with any well meaning librarians, he would get to stay with his mother and make sure things didn’t get too bad.
“Mama?” He said quietly as soon as he’d locked the crummy apartment door behind him. He didn’t want to wake her if she was sleeping but he had to be careful that she knew he was home too. There was one time where he had made the mistake of coming home without a sound and his mom had all but freaked out. It took her about an hour to settle back into bed and fall asleep after that. It was not his proudest moment.
He had a few dollars cash on him from earlier. Now that it was summer and his mom was no longer able to work, he’d taken to pawning items from around their house or things he found around the neighborhood for any sort of sum. As long as he was able to pay for food, it was fine. Ponyboy was able to cover rent simply because he did the edging and all yardwork for their apartment building twice a week. He used to do it together with his mother but then she got sick and he’d had to get used to doing it on his own. As far as living went, it was fine, he was handling it and taking care of his mother, like any good son would.
“Mama?” He called again, setting down his wallet and bag of pasta and canned tomatoes on the table. He’d taken to buying canned tomatoes instead of red pasta sauce because they were cheaper and always on sale. It was also easier to dent the cans in the back of the store and claim that he needed a discount every once in a while. Ponyboy had taken to eating once a day. He skipped breakfast in favor of finding stuff around the house or neighborhood to sell and then spent the afternoon walking through the city to different pawn shops to see where he’d get the highest price. He usually wasn’t back until dinner and that’s when he finally ate for the day. Ponyboy was fine with it, his mother didn’t hardly eat anything anymore either. He’d taken to stealing chicken brother pellets from the store just so she would eat something that wasn’t tap water.
Ponyboy slowly tiptoed into her room, looking at the lump on the mattress on the floor and guessing that she hadn’t moved from where he’d left her this morning. It was hard to leave her most mornings, unmoving and coughing weakly. But he did it because how else would they eat or keep the lights on. Sometimes he missed when he was going to school and she was working because after a long day he’d find his mother here and curl up next to her. They’d lie for hours while she slept and he read a book. He didn’t have to go out and barter for money because he was too young to hold a job. She was still able to function okay at that point, she’d just needed more sleep than the average person. Now, she was too sick to do much of anything.
Ponyboy walks over to her, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder and shaking softly. “Mama, I’m home. You okay?” She startles softly, her bony hand coming up to grab at his hand on her shoulder. “It’s just me.” He says softly, learning all about the tenderness he had possessed since she’d been getting sicker and sicker. She visibly relaxes at that, almost giving him a ghost of a smile.
“Hi baby.” She says weakly, stifling a cough. “How was your day?”
“It was good.” He says softly, letting her grab his hand with all the strength she can muster. “Got enough for dinner tonight if you’re up to it.” She doesn’t seem to hear that part, instead she looks past him.
“You wanna lie down with me for a little while? Like when you were little?” Her eyes are glazed over and it’s like she’d not really seeing him. Ponyboy’s heart twinges and he can’t bear to be away from her just then.
“Sure Mama.” He whispers as he carefully starts lying next to her. Ponyboy knows somewhere in the back of his mind that she doesn’t have much time but he doesn’t know what he’ll do when she actually goes. His short time in the foster system was awful and it was a relief when his mother had gotten him back. He’s only thirteen! He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his youth in the foster system getting the shit beat out of him by some asshole on a power trip. Hypothetically, he could do it but he doesn’t want to have to do it. His mother’s arms curl around him and Ponyboy relaxes slightly at her touch. They had been doing this since he was little, especially because even when he was younger, she was too tired to do much else besides work and then go to bed immediately. He wonders not for the first time just where his father is and if he would be sent to live with him when this all ends… God forbid.
His mother hadn’t told him much about his father, just that they had to leave because she had her reasons and that she never wanted to see him or any of the rest of them again. Though Ponyboy didn’t know what she meant by ‘the rest of them’. His imagination went wild with that information, conjuring images of his mother being beat to a bloody pulp by a looming statue of a man before grabbing him and getting the hell out of dodge. It was tough not to wonder though, what had been so bad about the man that Ponyboy didn’t get to grow up with a father? He was only eighteen months old when they left, he doesn’t have any memories of the man or any of the others that his mother had so carefully danced around. Most days, it doesn’t bother him but sometimes it hurts his soul that it had to be this way.
“Are you okay baby?” His mom asks in that whisper silent voice that she’d been using for as long as Ponyboy can remember. What he didn’t recall was how weak it had gotten in past weeks.
“Yeah.” He said softly, sinking into her. He hasn’t been okay in a long time but that’s not a conversation for his sick mother.
“This isn’t how I wanted things to be.” She says then, her voice tickling the back of his ear. “I’m sorry that you have to do any of this. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a better mother for you.” Ponyboy knows what’s about to come so he turns around in the bed, facing his mother and pushing their foreheads together. He knows what’s coming and exactly how to stop it.
“Don’t say that Mama. I love you.” She gives him a watery smile, the kind that comes before a crying fit that sends her to sleep for more than eighteen hours.
“My sweet, smart, responsible boy. You just don’t deserve this. None of it. You deserve a real shot at life.” She puts a hand on the back of his scalp and runs her feather light fingers through his hair. Ponyboy doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he just presses their foreheads harder together.
“It’s okay Mama. I don’t want any more than I have.” If only that sentiment was true.
● ⟰ ●
Ponyboy wakes to a growling stomach. He realizes slowly with the hazy blinking light through the covered window and neighbors fighting through the wall that he must have fallen asleep long enough for it to be approaching eight or nine. His mother is still asleep next to him, his limbs tangled in his. His stomach growls again, hunger snaking its way up his stomach and throat and making the spots at the back of his eyes grow larger. He needed to eat soon.
“Okay Mama…” He mutters, detangling them as gently as he can muster. “I’m gonna make dinner.” He says softly. He knows that she doesn’t hear him, she usually doesn’t when they do this sort of thing. He silently closes the bedroom door behind himself and starts boiling water on the stove. He works in silence for a couple minutes, his eyes swollen and his face tight. He’d never had a nightmare when he slept in the same bed as his mother but he did often when he slept in his own room. Sometimes he cried in his sleep without even having a nightmare, Ponyboy was half sure that was why his face was so tight right now. He stirs in the pasta sullenly, trying not to let the weight of everything press down on him. He’s trying even harder not to think about how much his stomach hurts by making a mental tally of what he’s going to sell tomorrow and how he’s going to find it.
Suddenly there is a knock at the door. Ponyboy startles, having half a mind not to open it but he steps quietly over to it anyway and stands on his tip toes to peer into the peephole.
“Ponyboy are you alright in there?” He smiles, it’s just Maybellene, the woman who runs the office and is sister of the landlord. Ponyboy pulls open the door and suppresses a wince when she smiles at him. “Hey honey, how are you?” He presses a finger to his lips, trying to signal her silence before pointing to the backroom. “Oh,” She mouths. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He whispers.
“How is she?”
“Still sick.” It’s the answer he gives every time. He’s too scared to give away that much. Maybellene had good intentions which meant she’d be the kind to ship him off to foster care if he thought he was being neglected or something like that.
“Oh that’s too bad.” She says in a whisper voice. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Um,” He’s scared to ask for anything so instead he keeps the requests down to a minimum. “I’m making her some broth right now, she isn’t able to eat much.”
“You really should try to find a doctor. I could help if you wanted.”
“That’s okay.” They’ve had this conversation before and Ponyboy had always refused. Even if they could afford it, he didn’t know the logistics of how they would get her there. They didn’t own a car, his mother had always taken the bus when working and even owned a bike at some point. “She’ll be okay. She just needs some rest.” Maybellene looked like she wanted to say more but stopped talking for his sake.
“Alright but you gotta let me know if something happens, okay?” He nods and gives her a grim smile. “You think you can sneak away for a couple minutes?”
“Why?” He asks, his eyebrows raising.
“You have a phone call. Or your mother does.”
“You want me to answer it?” He asks and she goes to say something else. “Her thirteen year old son?”
“Don’t sass me Mr. Carter.” She says with a no nonsense look. Ponyboy smiles just the slightest bit.
“Okay, I can answer it then.”
“Thanks.” He reaches back, turning off the oven and leaving the pasta water there, no sense in burning the apartment while he was gone. He shuts the door behind him quietly, hoping that his mother doesn’t stir awake while he’s gone. It’s always a gamble on how well she can handle him being gone. “Listen I tried to tell this man that Ms. Carter was not up for talking but he just kept asking if someone else could take the call.”
“Is this the same guy that’s been calling?” There was a man that had taken to calling once every couple of months just to ask about how any of them had been. His Mama had always refused to even answer or she would hear one word and slam the phone but Ponyboy had been the one to answer him the past couple of times. He had no idea who the man was but he’d kept with his mother’s theme of slamming the phone down as soon as the questions got too personal. From what his mother said, the guy was some old stalker boyfriend determined to get into touch with her. Ponyboy was to tell him nothing.
“I’m pretty sure.” Maybellene answers. “But there really is no way to tell.”
“Is there a way that you can redirect him? Or report him to the police? How does he even know we live here?”
“I’ve been hanging up and redirecting him for the past hour but he says he’s going to keep calling until he hears your mother’s voice. I figured you were the next best thing.” He follows Maybellene to the office. “We can’t report him to the police without your mother getting involved and obviously she has not been well enough to do so.” Ponyboy just sets his jaw and nods, prepared to tell this guy to fuck off and never call them again. He would never say that of course, not with Maybellene in the room but he still has to rally himself to sound stronger than he is.
Maybellene touches his shoulder, a tight smile painting her face. “You can do this honey.” She hands him the phone.
“Hello?” Ponyboy says, closing his eyes tightly and turning away from Maybellene.
“Karen?” The voice asks. “Is that you honey?” He sounds drunk, that’s the first thing that Ponyboy registers. He sounds drunk enough to call an ex lover.
“No.” It’s all he says. Ponyboy doesn’t have enough patience for this, he has a sick mother upstairs and is hungry enough to be seeing spots in the corners of his vision.
“Are you the kid then? Ponyboy?”
“How do you know who I am?” He asks, fearing the answer.
“Is your mother there, kid? I really… I really gotta talk to her.”
“She’s sick,” He says and he feels angry enough about everything to make sure that this guy never calls again. “Why do you keep calling us? You need to stop because it ain’t doing us any favors. So just fuck off.” He doesn’t wait for the guy to answer, just hangs up the phone and looks at Maybellene who has her mouth hanging open.
“Nice kid.”
“He was drunk… and he shouldn’t be calling us.”
“I’ll try to tell him that you moved next time he calls.”
“Great.” He calls over his shoulder, leaving the office and nearly running back upstairs before quietly opening the door to his apartment. He checks the kettle on the stove, the boiling bone broth cooled down enough to take to his mother. He starts up the stove for the pasta before pouring the bone broth into a mug. He opens her door quietly and tiptoes right in.
“Ponyboy?” She calls, her voice weak and hoarse with disuse.
“I’m right here Mama.” He says softly.
“Where’d you go? I heard you leave.” There are tears trailing down her cheeks, dried tracks and new ones falling from the corners of her eyes. Ponyboy sighs internally, sensing one of her random crying fits to come along soon.
“I just went downstairs to help Maybellene with something, you remember her?”
“Yeah, I just got scared that he took you back.” More tears fall and she angles for his hand. He gives it to her, turning on the bedside lamp that sits on the floor next to the mattress without the bed frame. He sets the cup down and rubs his thumb over her hand, the other hand in her hair softly scratching.
“Nobody’s coming to take me Mama.” He says softly. “There’s nobody who would.” She gets like this sometimes, shakier than usual and going on about some man coming to take Ponyboy away. He guesses that it has something to do with his father and those visions and nightmares come back. The same ones that feature her beaten and bloody, running out of the house and grabbing him so that neither of them get hurt anymore. He gets scared for something that he doesn’t remember, even more heart sick for his mother who does have to remember it.
“He would.” She cries weakly into his shoulder. “He wants you.” He just rubs her back like she used to do to him after a nightmare.
“Breath Mama.” I made you some bone broth and you gotta drink it.” She doesn’t seem to hear him, instead hiding her face in his shoulder. “You gotta eat.” He repeats for deaf ears. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. His mother gripping him like he’s going to disappear and Ponyboy rubbing her head and telling her that nothing like that is going to happen. Ponyboy is seeing stars, even in the darkness from hunger. His stomach is turning, the kind of nausea that you get with hunger working its way through his throat.
She calms down enough that she’s just lying bonelessly against him with a hand around him.
“Can you eat Mama?” He asks then, testing the waters just a bit to see if she’s okay. She nods, straightening and letting Ponyboy put that cup to her lips. She manages about half of it before her eyelids are fluttering and she’s ready to lie back down. Ponyboy takes the cup away, setting it on the ground and helping her to lie back down.
“You are a good boy.” She says, gasping just the slightest bit. “You have been such a good son.”
“I love you.” He says softly, unsure of how to respond like he always is. It cuts him just the slightest bit, when his mother works herself up like this and then praises him for dealing with it.
“I love you too.” She says, breathless and hurting right before her eyes close. Ponyboy lets out a sigh of relief when her breathing evens out. He leaves the room, cracking the door and going back to his dinner. He’s lucky that the stove takes forever to warm up, that way the pasta hasn’t boiled over. He grabs out a noodle and tests it. Once he pours the diced tomatoes over the noodles, he sits down to eat, slumping in exhaustion. He wished his mother wasn’t so confused all the time and that she could be like she had been back when he was a kid. Once upon a time he had spent his summers reading and you may go to the library every day during the hours when his mother was at work. Now he spends his time pawning off shit for less than it was worth and stealing from the grocery store. He supposed it could be worse. His mother could be a drug addict like some of the kids in this apartment building. Or he could be back in foster care.
Ponyboy shudders at that thought, it could be much worse. He could be alone.
● ⟰ ●
As the summer progresses, his mother does not get better. She gets worse actually, refusing to eat and going into crying fits when he leaves. He always stays long enough to calm her down but Ponyboy knows there is no way to keep the two of them afloat if he doesn’t get out of the apartment to pawn things.
This particular morning is an anomaly. Normally, he brings in his mother some bone broth and some noodles. Always tiny bags of pastina that are easy for her to swallow. She hasn’t been eating well at all. She usually only manages a few bites but this morning, she refused to eat at all.
“Mama come on.” He says softly. “Just eat something before I go.”
“You are such a good son.” She says instead of responding. She brings up an emaciated arm to wipe his hair back from his eyes. “The best son I ever could ask for.”
“Thank you.” He says softly, unsure of what to say in response. “But you really gotta eat something.” She complies, taking a small bite of the pastina. Ponyboy tries to be happy about it. She was actually eating something, but it felt off. He’d always felt like the clock was somewhat ticking for the both of them but he felt this strange force that time was out. The clock had run out for him.
“I love you baby.” She says, she swallows hard, looking up at him with her murky gray eyes. They had been dead for a long while. “I’m sorry for all of this.”
“I gotta go soon.” He says, sensing some sort of crying spell coming on. “It’ll just be for the day and then I’ll be back.”
“I understand. I love you.” She puts a hand on his cheek, reminiscent of his younger days.
“I love you too. I’ll leave the bone broth here, try to eat some of it.” She nods, slumping down bonelessly and letting him leave. He takes off out of the house, locking the door behind him. His stomach feels sick as an eerie feeling settles over him. It doesn’t feel right, leaving her like that. It never feels right but for some reason, it especially feels wrong today.
He heads straight for elementary school. He hadn’t been there in weeks but he’d been getting desperate. The stuff in their house had been weaned down to nothing and he didn’t feel right about trying to steal from any second hand stores today. His current plan was to slip into the elementary school and search for their lost and found. He would go to the high school but he’d been busted the last time he’d been there and was now too scared to go back. So he heads for the elementary school to hopefully find some items of clothing to sell to the thrift stores that would pay for clothes. Maybe he’d find a watch or something else he can pawn. He never knows but from the way this morning turned out, he’s got an uneasy feeling.
● ⟰ ●
He’s come up empty by six. None of the clothing stores want second hand children’s clothing from his shitty neighborhood. Instead of going home just yet, he’s been sitting on the corner bumming cigarettes from Jerry who’s homeless. He knew Jerry, he saw him most days and the guy was friendly enough to help upkeep a thirteen year old’s cigarette habit. His mother had even invited him over for dinner on occasion back when she was healthy.
“How’s your Ma?” He asks and Ponyboy wants to go back to the war stories he’d been telling. It was easier to hum along and pretend to be interested as he let the nicotine flood his system.
“Um… She’s okay.”
“Still sick?”
“Yeah.”
“I ain’t seen her in a while.” Jerry says. “Couple months maybe.”
“Yeah, she ain’t doin’ too hot but it’ll get better.” The words felt hollow in his mouth as he said them, he didn’t think she was getting better, she was getting worse and at the very least she wouldn’t ever be the same again.
“You need to see a doctor, kid.”
“I know that.” He bites out. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are but this is too much for you. You know if you really think she’s dyin’ or something, just take her to the emergency room, they gotta help her.” Ponyboy stubs out the cigarette.
“I better head out. Thanks for the cigarette.”
“Of course kid, tell your Ma I’m prayin’ for her.”
“I will.” He gives Jerry a salute and heads back down towards his apartment building. He fishes out his key, hanging his head in shame as he realizes he’s coming home empty handed.
“Mama?” He calls softly, just like he does every other day of his life. There’s no answer just like there always is and he goes straight for her room. The bone broth is untouched just like he expected and her form on the mattress is unmoving. “Mama?” He asks again, bringing his hand to her shoulder. She doesn’t stir and Ponyboy feels a thrill of fear go through him. “Mama?” He shakes her a little harder but she doesn’t make any movement. He puts a hand over her mouth, trying to feel for breath. He comes up empty. “Mama please you gotta wake up.” He begs before putting two fingers to her throat. There was no pulse, no movement at all. Ponyboy was truly panicking now. “Mama please.”
Flashes of his mother when he was little flash before his eyes. He has nobody without her. Even sick and not herself, she still loved him. She was always a loving mother, she just didn’t know how to be a good one. He lies his head down on her sunken chest, wondering how long she’d been dead and wishing that he would have stayed in with her today. Even if they had just fallen asleep together in her mattress like they did every once in a while. Even if they had spent the day together and not talking, it would have been better than Ponyboy running around town trying to scrounge up money that doesn’t exist.
He cries for a little while before it truly sinks down to his toes that his mother is dead. He’s known she was dying for a while but it only now sinks in just how stupid he was for believing things could get better. He should have gotten her to the hospital, found a way, even if he had to go into foster care while she got better, he would still have his mother.
He sits up off of her then, running his hand through her hair one last time. He stands up and covers her face with the blanket, leaving her there as he runs downstairs to find Maybellene or anyone really. It didn’t matter that he had to go to foster care, even if he got the worst of the worst, it would be deserved because he had killed his mother.
He found Maybellene behind her desk, glasses on as she went through some papers. There’s a break in her face as she notices his sullen face.
“Ponyboy-“
“She’s dead!” He bursts out, trying not to start crying all over again.
“Slow down. What happened hon?” She asks and he forces himself to take a deep breath.
“My Mama, I came h-home and she was dead. I- I felt her pulse and she didn’t have one!”
There is a panicked look that crosses Maybellene’s face before she gets that determined set to her eyes.
“Okay, I’m sure that everything is going to be okay.” Ponyboy doesn’t believe her but he follows her back up to their apartment and sits him down on the couch while she goes back to the bedroom. “Stay here and I’ll see.” She’s in there for a long minute, Ponyboy just sits with his eyes glazed and his fingers shaking. He’s trying to swallow the panic in his throat but he doesn’t know if he can bear it.
It’s then that Maybellene comes back out of the room, her face white and drawn. Ponyboy just stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to confirm what he already knows.
“It’s going to be alright Ponyboy.” She makes her way over to him quickly, pulling him into a tight hug that he doesn’t return. “I’m going to call the police and I’ll be with you the whole time. Let’s go sit in the office and get you a nice cup of tea.” He doesn’t answer, just lets himself be pulled towards the office.
True to her word, she lets him lie down on the couch in the back and hands him a mug of tea before she heads to the front to make a call. Ponyboy just sits there shaking, thinking about his brief stint in foster care and how that was about to become his life. It would work out, he deserved it anyway.
● ⟰ ●
They send a social worker with the police. Apparently Maybellene had told them that he had nowhere else to go and no one else to call. The police question him for a little bit, leaving him alone after a while. He nearly freaks out when he sees them pulling his mother out in a body bag. He thinks of what she had told him just this morning.
You are the best son I could ever ask for. I’m sorry for the way things turned out. I love you.
The tears had fallen down his face while the police tried to ask him things about how long she was sick and why he didn’t take her to a doctor earlier. It’s then that the social worker pulls him away, yelling at the police for alluding to a thirteen year old boy who just lost his mother of killing her by not knowing to take her to a doctor. She pulls him into the backroom of the apartment office, smiling sweetly.
“Are you okay Ponyboy?” She trips over his name, like almost every authority figure does when they say it. It’s almost like they aren’t quite sure if it’s right.
“What’s going to happen now?” He asks, wanting to get the pleasantries out of the way. He knows what happens next, how this ends. The social worker just takes a big breath.
“Well my name is Alice Denta and I’ve been assigned to your case. For now, we are going to take you back to the boys home for the night while I try to get in touch with any remaining relatives.”
“I don’t have anyone.” He says sullenly, the weight of it not quite sinking in until that moment.
“According to your file, it says that your father is alive.”
“My father?” Ponyboy repeats, his eyes going wide. His mother never talked about him, never talked about their lives before.
“Yes,” Ms. Denta looks down again at the stack of papers on her lap. “Your file says he is the only living relative that can take you in.”
“I don’t know him.” Ponyboy says, feeling dumbfounded. “My Mama left when I was little.”
“Well he doesn’t have a criminal record or anything that alarms me upon first look. I just have yet to get into touch with him.” He just stares at her and she squirms a little bit, seemingly uncomfortable under his puffy gaze. “And when I do, you will be placed in his custody.”
“Alright.” Ponyboy says, unsure of how to feel. He’d always wondered about his father, that wonder was only intensified by the fact that his mother refused to talk about him. Yes, he’d had that vision of his mother beaten half to hell and clutching a baby as they’d run out of the house but he’d also had other visions. Ones of his father as a cowboy or an astronaut or a musician. There was no telling what he was because he didn’t know. Maybe he had a whole other family with other kids. Maybe Ponyboy’s thinking about it was not even worth it because his father would refuse to even house him. Maybe he would hear Ponyboy’s name and slam the phone, refusing to hear of it. Or maybe he would take Ponyboy in, but it would be for some sort of sick reason. Then Ponyboy would be forced to suffer. Every way he put it, his imagination began to run wild as he followed Ms. Denta to her car and sat looking out the back window. He's quiet for a little while, despite Ponyboy’s urge to pepper her with questions.
“Where is he? My dad?” He asks, unable to hold that one back as he knows it’s probably where he’ll be going soon.
“Tulsa.” Ponyboy had never been, at least not that he knew of or remembered. That was the last they spoke of Ponyboy’s father that night.