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The first thing that Ponyboy registers upon being pulled from sleep is the obtrusive light streaming through the curtains. In the darkness of the room, it’s completely penetrating, and a groan breaks through him as he turns his face toward the pillow to shield his eyes.
That is crucial mistake number one.
Darry’s bed is empty, and thankfully so, because Pony isn’t too sure he has enough pride left to face his big brother. While he can’t remember much, he has unfortunately retained enough that his mind can weave a tapestry of the events that occurred last night.
Between the shots, drinking games, and ringing Darry from the phone-box by the bar, well, it’d be kinder for the ground to swallow him whole.
Crucial mistake number two comes when Pony decides to attempt sitting up, which he does quite successfully, up until the vertigo hits. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he takes a deep breath, hoping that it will help with the headspin. Amidst the nausea and the headache that has emerged behind his eyes, Pony can’t recall a recent time that he’s ever felt this utterly average.
“Fuck.” He’s not usually one to swear for the sake of it, but right now seems like the perfect time.
Pony shuts his eyes tightly, too afraid to stand up and equally apprehensive about moving to lay back down. He quickly determines that he’s never leaving the room again.
Of course, it’s in that exact moment that Darry Curtis very quietly opens the door and steps inside, as if he’s expecting Pony to still be asleep.
“How’re you feeling?” While he’s not asking to be coddled (after all, this is entirely his own fault), his brother’s amused laugh feels a little uncalled for.
Pony has absolutely no energy to even think of summoning a lie. “Absolutely awful.”
Darry reaches out to brush away a piece of hair that has fallen into the younger boy’s face. “Yeah?”
Nodding, Pony leans into the touch, shame acrid in his mouth now that his brother is beside him. “I’m really sorry about last night, Dar,” he tries, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
There’s a huff of laughter, and Pony catches a glimpse of sympathy. “No one’s mad, if that’s what’s getting to you. You’re allowed to have fun. Gave us a bit of a scare toward the end, though.”
While there’s some comfort in the words, they do little to ease the embarrassment. There’s a horrible memory of sitting on some random curbside, and God, did he cry? Pony’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that question. Some things are better left in the dark.
“How about you try and get a little more sleep?” Darry offers. “I think you’ll feel better if you just rest.”
He shrugs half-heartedly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ve been awake too long now.”
Without saying another word, Darry moves to the other side of the bed, swinging himself up and adjusting his position so that he’s leaning against the headboard. He reaches over and takes a vacant pillow and places it over his upper legs. “C’mere, kid.”
Pony’s affected mind is too slow to understand what’s being asked of him until his brother is gently pulling him back down onto the mattress. Darry guides him so that his head is in his lap, the rest of him curled up comfortably on top of the blankets. He rests one hand on his shoulder as fingertips lightly trace shapes over the fabric of his shirt while the other hand cards through his hair.
Usually, Pony would find this whole ordeal mortifying. After all, he’s nineteen, and in college no less. At this moment though, he feels so ill that all he really wants is this. After all of those post-Saturday night hangovers where all he’s had is Jim tossing half a bottle of water at his head, well, he’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to go back to that. Not when Darry is here to know what he needs without him even having to say a word.
It doesn’t take much longer than that for his brother’s supposed mission to be accomplished, as Pony finds himself fading back into a state of sleep.
***
Darry’s side of the bed is empty again when he next wakes, but the insistent clatter from somewhere outside the door tells him that his brothers have well and truly started their day. It takes him a moment to gain the courage to stand up, and even as he does so, Pony has to reach out and grip the headboard to steady himself.
The alarm clock on the cabinet is accusing, its hour hand sitting sternly between twelve and one. He must’ve slept for a while.
Well, no time like the present.
Legs shaking slightly, Pony enters the hallway and is just about to congratulate himself on making it to the living room successfully, when he finds one very delighted Steve Randle examining him from his spot at the dining table. Two Bit is seated beside watching some Sunday cartoon program while he eats a sandwich.
The latter offers a small grin. “How doth you fare on this fine day?”
“Superman said you were hungover,” Steve adds on, grinning, “but you look dreadful!”
Pony rolls his eyes, “because you look so handsome yourself. And fine, Two. Never been better.”
Clearly his third crucial mistake was ever thinking that leaving the bed was a good idea. So much for courage and good intentions. He knows his friends mean well, and on any other day he’d appreciate the normalcy of it all. However, as of right now, all he wants to do is curl up on the sofa and try to ride out the rest of this self-induced sickness.
Thankfully, Pony is saved from any more unwanted questions when Soda emerges from their room, evidently having just showered and changed. He doesn’t say a word at first, instead pulling him into a tight hug.
“What’s this for?” Pony’s voice is muffled by his brother’s shirt. Then again, his brother has never needed an excuse for tactility.
“Do you need anything? Aspirin? Water?” Soda’s arms remain around him. “You were fast asleep when I came in to check on you half an hour ago. Darry said you weren’t feeling too great this morning.”
Pony shakes his head. “I’ll grab something in a minute. Think I’ll just read my book.”
The statement earns him an uncharacteristically withering glare from Soda. “Go lay on the sofa, honey.”
Feeling far too unwell to continue an argument he’s destined to lose, Pony elects to do as instructed and collapses on the nearby cushions, before throwing an arm over his eyes.
Steve is as unsympathetic as ever. “Serves you right, kid.” Then, calling out to Soda, who is in the bathroom rifling through their medicinal supply, “it’s only a hangover. Let him get his own stuff!”
It’s in that moment that Darry’s voice sounds from the kitchen, touched with both amusement and irritation. “Funny, I remember that time a few months ago where you didn’t leave the spare room all day. Then, when you did, all we heard about was that headache of yours.”
It’s probably for the best that his oldest brother’s back is turned when Steve sends him a certain gesture in retaliation.
Two-Bit attempts to take a more kind approach, moving to sit in front of where Pony has unceremoniously thrown himself across the sofa. “It’s probably ‘cause you did all that mixin’, kid. Never make you feel good the day after.”
Now, his friend absolutely means well, but every single one of the gang seems to conveniently forget that not only is Pony nineteen, but has also been through two whole semesters of college. While they mightn't be there to witness the dorm parties and occasional pre-meet drinks (he fears the day Coach finds out about that little tradition), surely the others know that he’s familiar with the cardinal rule to drinking.
Still, Pony has no energy to even think of starting a conversation. He hopes that Two-Bit appropriately translates the glare sent his way.
As Soda, who has very kindly ignored his best friend’s remarks, places a glass of water and two pills beside him, Darry emerges from the kitchen and shoots him an equally entertained and compassionate look.
“What do you want to eat, kiddo?” His eldest brother asks, a smile playing on his lips.
Once again, Pony shakes his head. “I’ll make some coffee in a minute.”
Darry is instantly disapproving. “You should have some food, at least. You’ll feel worse if you don’t and it’s almost past lunch.”
“I think I’ll be sick if I have anything,” he admits, as Soda goes to sit on the vacant arm of the sofa.
When the older boy walks back into the kitchen, Pony thinks that the battle is won, and reaches over to grab his abandoned book. He only manages to make it through four pages before a plate of lightly buttered toast is placed next to the water.
“Trust me, you’re hungrier than you think you are.” Darry’s tone leaves absolutely no room for argument.
The next hour is spent as any other Sunday usually is in their house. Two-Bit remains leaning against the front of the couch watching reruns of The Flintstones while Steve and Soda engage in a spirited game of Cribbage. Darry sits in the recliner sorting through paperwork before deciding to take custody of the remote so that he can change the channel to football pregame commentary.
Pony tries his best to continue reading, he really does. But despite the aspirin, his headache has returned at full strength, along with the nausea from eating (thanks a lot, Darry), and he’s left feeling just as miserable as he did this morning. The words have all blurred together, and he elects to shut his eyes for five minutes just to take a break from the world.
He’s returned to sleep before he knows it.
***
The third and final time Pony wakes, it’s to find the house completely silent. It seems as if everyone has left, as the television is off and there is a thin blanket thrown loosely over him. Blinking, he realises gratefully that he feels far less ill than he did before his nap, and being the brave, valiant person that he is, decides to stand up.
Pony leans over picking up the now empty glass of water, and moves to the kitchen to refill it. As he does so, he notices something on the counter, scribbled on the letter paper he’d abandoned yesterday before the bar.
Soda and I have gone to the store quickly to pick up things for dinner. Didn’t want to wake you because you were knocked out. Back soon. Make sure you have some more water if you see this before we’re home. Darry.
Despite its simplicity, the familiarity of the note warms him, and Pony slips it into his pocket without a second thought.
While the sick feeling itself has subsided, he notices with an uncomfortable disdain that a hollowness has taken its place. Post-Hangover Mood as it’s commonly called up at the dorm, and Pony is one of its most reliable targets.
Of course, the evening itself had been some of the best fun he’s had all summer, but as with most successful drinking outings, there are things he’d rather forget. Calling his brother, for starters, probably doesn’t need to be brought up again, although Pony knows full well that he’ll be reminded of it this evening. Worse, he has a distinct recollection of sitting on a random curb and crying about Lord knows what, and that never has to be spoken about either.
Now, Pony is hardly a saint, but that state of intoxication is generally one reserved for his college friends, and not his family. Safe to say that both Darry, Soda, and the other two are probably well informed of what he gets up to on his weekends. He likely told them.
He does the only logical thing in this instance and finds his emergency pack of cigarettes. Since college, Pony’s really had to cut down on his smoking. In their very first session of training, Coach told him and his peers that if he found out about anyone engaging in tobacco use, then they were suspended from the team. He’s learned to be discrete, but the twenty minute shower afterwards just isn’t worth it sometimes.
Still, there exists half a pack of Marlboros for this exact occasion.
As he steps outside onto the porch, Pony notes with mild disappointment that it was a nice day. Late afternoon lingers gently, golden light pressing against the otherwise quiet street. The last of the swallows perform their summer dance, moving to and fro through the slightly clouded sky. They are due to head south towards new lands where the sun lasts evermore, escaping the bitter frosts which will soon grace Oklahoma. Even now, the sweet reminisce of honeysuckle unifies with the smoke, drifting in time with the breeze.
It’s a genuine shame to have missed it.
The tranquility is broken when Darry’s truck comes charging down their road, and as much as Pony adores the company of his brothers, somehow the thought of any social interaction makes him wince. Oh well, the silence was nice while it lasted.
Darry’s face breaks out into a grin the second he sees Pony standing there observing them with a cigarette caught between his fingers. “You’re looking better,” he calls, pulling a couple of shopping bags from the backseat.
Slamming the passenger door closed behind him, Soda somehow makes it to the porch in all of three steps, pulling him into his side. “How’re you feeling, honey?”
It would be so easy to say that the hangover has worn off completely and that there was never anything to worry about to begin with. It’s a shame, really, that Soda has always been able to tell when he’s lying.
Such is the bane of family, that his brother knows him better than he knows himself.
“Not my best,” Pony admits quietly, staring toward the genesis of a sunset, “headache’s gone though.”
Darry laughs at that, more than likely reminiscing on his own senior year and beyond. Pony remembers quite a few times their eldest brother was laid up suffering from the same infliction.
However, even as he goes to put the groceries inside, Soda removes his arm and sends a meaningful look. “I can do that, Dar.”
Whatever silent conversation the two of them have is one that Pony elects to ignore. He’s used to their almost telepathic connection, and has learned not to take offence when not included.
As the other boy vanishes inside with the bags, Darry moves to lean against the railing next to him. While Pony gained an inch on Soda during the last year of high-school, he never managed to reach his eldest brother’s height. Probably for the best in the end, because it’s likely that the latter would’ve never recovered from that blow to his pride. Hell, Soda barely did.
The last of the cigarette smoke rests aimless between them, as together, they watch as the fading sunlight catches on the tips of the clouds, turning their edges a vibrant scarlet.
Darry is the first to break the silence, and when they do, the words come quietly. “I want you to think that you can tell me anything, Pony.”
Momentarily, a rush of dread washes over him. The tone in his brother’s words is hinting at something else, something that Pony isn’t sure of yet, and the discomfort of Darry dancing around their meaning makes him uncomfortable.
“I know I can,” he responds carefully, “I do tell you things.”
Darry’s tone is equally meticulous as he turns his head to look at him. “I don’t say this to torment you, but how much do you remember from last night?”
Well, that is the last question he wants to answer. Pony feels himself flush red as mortification fills his chest. “I remember leaving the bar,” gritting his teeth, he tries to hold onto as much of his dignity as possible. “And we were sitting on the curb at one point, but that’s about it.”
All Darry does is nod, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know the last thing you probably want to do is talk about this,” he pauses momentarily, a pained expression replacing the previously contemplating one. “But Pony… are you happy?”
The bluntness of the question causes a fresh wave of horror to crash into him, and absently, Pony wonders if the most logical thing to do is to make a run for it. He knows he’s faster than Darry.
“I mean, college is stressful sometimes,” he says instead, hoping that this little talk is finished in the next half a second, “but other than that, everything’s fine.”
It’s his brother’s turn now to appear uneasy as he bites his lip. “Last night, it didn’t seem like it was.”
Pony freezes. “What did I say last night.”
The words appear more as a statement than a question, which only goes to incriminate him further.
Darry’s expression is awkward. “You were, uh, pretty upset on the walk home, kid. Sounded like you were really homesick and missing Johnny and all that.”
Evidently, this is some sort of nightmare that Pony hasn’t yet woken up from. The warmth of the summer evening is all but forgotten as his blood freezes over with ice, and there is not one thing that he can say to his brother in response. He remembers it now, a flash, sitting on that wretched curbside and gazing up at the stars. Darry and Soda comforting him the best that they can as he cried over everything that he had lost.
His college struggles are something that Pony has kept very private. Of course, he complains about the coursework as much as any other student, but the deeper conflicts have been hidden. Not that he doesn’t trust them with his life, but as far as Darry and Soda are (or were) aware, university is all that he’s ever dreamed it could be.
He’d hate to break their hearts with the truth.
Sometimes, Pony will sit by the window in his dormitory suite and feel all of fourteen again, the grief crashing into him like a summer storm. Five years isn’t enough to heal wounds that Time refuses to scar.
Despite his efforts, tears burn in his eyes and he attempts to discretely blink them away before the older boy can see how torn up he is. Lord, hangovers and emotional conversations aren’t a good combination at all.
“Can we please talk about this later?” Pony’s tone is more pleading than he’d ever care to admit.
But Darry has readopted his characteristic firmness and shakes his head. “No, we can’t. It’s been long enough, sweetheart. Everyone’s been worried about you for weeks.”
His brother moves an arm around his shoulder and shakes him gently, just as Soda reemerges from the house, closing the door quietly behind him.
Well, Pony absolutely refuses to start crying again, and places all of his efforts in watching the sun gradually disappear behind the trees.
“C’mon,” Soda pleads, pressing against his other side, “I hate knowing that something’s wrong and not being able to do anything to help it.”
Pony could so easily pull away from their hold. Run down the avenue like he’s competing for the title at one of his track meets, and they wouldn’t be able to hold a torch to him. He’d come back long after dark, slipping into bed silently, and when they all awoke the next morning, he would pretend as if nothing had ever happened at all.
There exists one major flaw in his plan. A singular thread that brings the entire web undone:
Ponyboy Curtis has never been able to deny his brothers anything. Not even this.
He takes a shuddering breath, and leans his full weight against the balustrade. “I think everyone forgets that I killed someone.”
His brothers both take a sharp inhale. It’s not often that Pony brings up that fateful night.
“Honey,” Soda interjects softly, “that was all just self-defence. The courts said so and all.”
Pony can only shrug. “Yeah. Maybe Bob deserved it, but doesn’t change that it happened. His blood is on my hands, y’know? If I hadn’t run away that night, chances are he’d be finishing off at Harvard by now.”
This time it’s Darry who steps in. “No, Pony, we don’t know.” Suddenly his eldest brother sounds incredibly serious. “From what I understand, you had nothing to do with it. They were drownin’ you and Johnny did the only thing he could think of to save your life.”
No matter how hard they try, his family just don’t understand. All that they see is the trade of a life for one they deem more valuable to them.
“He was seventeen, Darry,” Pony’s voice trembles slightly, “he was two years younger than I am now. Yeah, he was a shitty person, but you know what? I think most people are at that age. We don’t know any better.”
Soda scoffs, throwing his available hand up in a sign of frustration. “Jesus, Ponyboy, you can’t have fooled yourself into thinking that Robert Sheldon was a fucking saint. Shitty is kissing your friend’s girl. Shitty is beating on someone ‘cause you’re bored. It’s not murder.”
When he flinches slightly at his brother’s words, Soda backs down almost immediately. “I’m sorry, honey. I just… I just can’t see it like you do.”
“Like the Shepards or the River Kings haven’t done the same?” Pony stares out into the nothingness beyond them. “I’m not saying that what he did wasn’t awful. But…”
He lets his sentence fade. The three of them are clearly at an impasse, and Pony doubts his brothers will ever regret what occurred five years ago.
“Besides,” Pony lets out an involuntarily sardonic laugh. “I mightn’t have stabbed Johnny and Dally, but they died all the same ‘cause of me.”
Darry shakes his head, face far paler than it was five minutes ago. “How could you possibly think that,” he whispers, “that had nothin’ to do with you.”
For the first time in this whole nightmare, Pony turns to look at both of his brothers. “You think that,” he chokes back a sob, “but I was the one to leave that night. Johnny was only there ‘cause I asked him to come. And then the only reason he ran into that burning church was ‘cause I’d gone and done it first. I was just lucky enough to get out.”
Soda and Darry have been struck into horrified silence; both seem to know that there is no changing his mind. All that they can do is listen and be tormented by the fact that there is absolutely nothing that they can do to save him from this.
“And,” Pony continues, a cynical smile playing on his lips, “we all know that Dally would still be here if Johnny hadn’t died from that fire.”
Pulling him closer, Soda is the first to break the silence. His eyes are moist with unshed tears. “I’d give the whole world for you not to think that. Johnny made his choice, just as Dallas did.”
Darry nods in agreement, looking equally tortured. “He’s right, sweetheart. What they did was for their own reasons. The whole thing is awful and not a day goes by where I don’t miss them, but you can’t go blamin’ yourself for the way they died.”
Pony attempts to discretely wipe the tears that are threatening to fall. “I just feel like everyone forgave me too fast for all of that. I got this whole second chance at college, and it’s all wasted on me, ‘cause there’s not one bit of me that’s glad to be there.”
Ever the problem-solver, Darry asks softly, “is it your friends? Or your major?”
If only it were that simple. Just a meeting with a course advisor and some paperwork as a formality.
“No,” Pony breathes, “I just feel like I should be happier than this. It’s okay sometimes, and I have fun, but all I really want is to be twelve again, with Mom, Dad, and you two, and all of our friends. I didn’t know how good we had it. Not ‘til it wasn’t there anymore.”
He pauses for a moment, swallowing the heaviness that weighs down on his chest. "It’s not fair that I’m being made to lose everyone I’ve ever loved."
Above them, scarlet stretches from one horizon to another, the clouds touched with layers of gold that lace their edges with radiance. The sun has been entombed in the deep west, a final flicker of candlelight teetering between this world, and whatever exists beyond it. It’s by far one of the prettiest eventides that they’d have all summer, and goodness, Pony never did age out of his love for it.
A thought comes to him, and under normal circumstances, Pony wouldn’t voice it. But he’s already been completely transparent tonight, and perhaps that is the reason for his newfound candor.
“Do either of you still believe in Heaven?” The words are barely more than a whisper.
The three of them were raised going to the local Southern Baptist Church, waking early on Sundays so that they could change into their Best. It had been non-negotiable for their mom, who had said Grace before supper and knelt to say her evening prayers before bed.
He’d held on after his parents had died; perhaps for their sake more than his own, and attended the occasional service over the years. Yet, after what had happened to his friends, and the church burning down, it seemed that everything had been in vain.
Pony’s not really sure if it will make a difference in the end. He thinks he’s damned to Hell anyway.
His eldest brother is the first to break the silence, gazing out at the sea of red. “I don’t know,” Darry admits, his tone pensive. “Maybe not in the way that we’re supposed to. But I can’t bring myself to believe that there’s nothin’. We’ve cared about too many people for that.”
Soda is quick to continue, moving his hand in tentative circles over Pony’s shoulderblades. “It’s not so much about what comes after, for me. I dunno what happens once we die, but as long as I make the most of what I’ve got now, then I think that’s enough.”
There’s not much to stop the tears now. They fall thick and fast down his cheeks, and if what Darry says about last night is true, Pony thinks he’s cried enough in these past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. He moves his right fist up to his mouth, biting his knuckles in a desperate attempt to stifle the sobs in danger of emerging. Of course, Darry notices, and reaches out to remove it, holding his hand in his own.
“It’s not fair that you only had Mom and Dad for thirteen years,” Soda’s voice somehow grows even more tender, “and it’s not fair that you got Johnny and Dallas for less than that. But sometimes, Lord knows why, people go for a reason. And we have to let them.”
Pony’s voice fractures, his breath catching in his throat. “That’s awfully profound, Soda,” he tries to thread something akin to jest into his words, but completely falls short as anonother sob rips from him.
“I know it feels it,” Darry murmurs, “but you haven’t lost everyone. Soda and I will always be here, even if you decide to move to Alaska. Hell, you could go to Australia and we’d get on a plane if you asked us to.”
Soda grinned. “I don’t think Stevie and Two-Bit plan to leave you anytime soon, either.”
Darry moves now, not letting go of Pony’s hand even as he pulls him close to his chest. The younger boy buries his head in his eldest brother’s shoulder and takes a shuddering breath, trying to get his emotions under control before they get the better of him yet again.
“Baby, I think you forget that it’s only a couple of hours to your university in the truck,” Darry’s spare hand cards through Pony’s unkempt hair, gently detangling the knots that have formed since last night. “If you call us, we’ll be there by nightfall. There’s enough shitty motel rooms for us to stay in.”
Pony lets out a watery laugh, even as faint relief crosses Soda’s face.
“We weren’t sure if you wanted us there,” his middle brother explains, “college is supposed to be a place for you to get away from Tulsa, and sometimes, it helps to forget about home for a little while. I promise, honey, that’s the only reason we haven’t been to visit so much.”
The statement makes Pony’s heart break just a little bit more than it already has.
“Of course I want you there.” His voice is muffled by Darry’s shirt, the tears finally starting to subside. “I spend every day missing you guys.”
Darry huffs, but it would take a blind man not to see the fondness in his eyes. “Well, you shouldn’t. We’re only a phone call away, kid, and college is too exciting for you to spend it wishin’ you were somewhere else. But how’s this, when your next meet schedule comes out, tell us the dates, and we’ll make a weekend of it.”
Pony’s not sure what he did in his past life to deserve his family, but it must’ve been saintlike.
He nods, pulling away from his eldest brother to light another cigarette. The sunset has faded, leaving twilight in its wake, and for the first time in a long while, it seems as if everything might turn out okay. The tears have finally dried on his cheeks, and though the desperate ache for the earth to give up her dead remains, the weight of their absence has eased a little.
“Don’t even think about it,” Darry warns, and confusion washes over him for a moment before Pony realises that Darry’s glaring at the unlit Marlboro in his hand. “One, I can excuse. But it’s going to make you feel just as sick as you were before. Trust me.”
Rolling his eyes, Pony throws the offending item as his eldest brother, earning him a light slap across the back of the head. Probably deserved, to be honest.
“C’mon,” the older boy reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “Let’s go inside and get supper ready. I know you haven’t eaten anything but that toast this afternoon.”
It’s only then that Pony realises how hungry he is, and he nods in agreement, as the three of them abandon the porch for the comfort of their living room.
Darry quickly goes and busies himself with chopping ingredients as Soda and Pony unload the last of the shopping. Suddenly, his middle brother frowns, contemplation dressing his face.
“Pony, can I ask you a question?” Soda’s tone is equivocal, which is worrying in its own right.
“Sure,” Pony tries his best not to sound as uneasy as he’s feeling. “Hit me.”
A merciless grin suddenly crosses over his brother’s face. “How’d you get Marianne Ackland to kiss you at that party?”
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, what the hell had he said last night. Pony takes it all back, he’s going to migrate to Canada, or England, or Antarctica. He never wants to see his brothers again.
His face clearly gives away every single emotion he’s feeling, because Soda’s laughing like a maniac.
“Who’s Marianne Ackland?” Darry’s abandoned his task, instead choosing to examine him with no little amount of interest.
“No one,” Pony rushes out as quickly as he can, “just a friend from one of my classes.”
Soda cackles, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. “That’s not what you said last night!” He puts on a falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I think I’m in love, Soda! She’s the most beautiful girl in the world and I like her smile and I want to marry her!”
Darry is doubled over with laughter.
And Pony? Well, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this mortified in his life. “I didn’t say that.”
Soda looks him dead in the eye. “You did. Right after you got off the phone to Darry.”
The next twenty minutes is somehow the most agonising of the day so far, hangover and all, as his older brothers try and pry every single detail of his private life out of him. Safe to say, that invitation to come to his meets has been rescinded, as has his desire to ever see his family again.
As a peace offering, the three of them will later curl up under a blanket and watch The Hustler with the chocolate cake that Darry made after supper. Pony, like he always manages to do, will find himself falling asleep on Soda’s shoulder as the older boy runs deft fingers through his hair.
Maybe, the stars will shine ever brighter that night; a reminder to all those on earth that the lost ones are beyond the horizon, just out of reach. Perhaps grief only exists so that they never forget how they loved, and when Death comes to take them too, it will guide them towards those waiting with open arms.
Or not. After all, the poets wrote that beauty is here to remind us that life is fleeting, that moments are to be treasured more than anything else because they are all we get to keep.
And when Pony wakes up in the morning, Soda’s arm around him protectively, all those sacred promises whispered on the porch remain engraved on his heart.