Chapter Text
September 1965.
It only takes a moment for everything to go wrong.
The click of a clock, the blink of an eye, the strike of lightning,
Or the doorbell.
I was sitting on the floor in the living room as the gang sat around me. I was trying to read my new book ‘The Red Badge of Courage’ by Stephen Crane. It was a really old book, from the 1800s. Something about the Civil War, of which I didn’t understand much, for the words weren’t processing in my head.
I couldn’t finish Gone With The Wind, not without him. But historical fiction was his favorite, especially about war. He didn’t know anything about war, really, but he liked it when I read about it to him. He thought the men in the book we read together were gallant. That was the word that, once I defined, he thought was the only one that fit them.
“I bet they were cool ol’ guys.”
I blinked back tears. His view of the world, his silent optimism, wasn’t something he was quick to share. He only really spoke of his outlook to me, but rarely. It was when we read together—more so, I read to him—he’d always have something he could understand about it. He didn’t have to know a topic well to find the good in it. That was the way he was.
Two-Bit’s drunken cheer was what snapped me back to earth from where I drifted to space. The game was on and everyone was over to watch it. Darry and Two-Bit were the only ones really watching it though. Sodapop and Steve were sitting across from each other at the coffee table, playing War. They, mostly Soda, had asked me to play with them, but I didn’t really feel like it. I guess cards being the only way to pass your time for a week makes you real bored of them.
I sighed and shut my book. I wasn’t getting anywhere in it. There was no point. I got up and headed into the kitchen. I heard Two-Bit’s call for me to bring him a beer but I pretended I didn’t. He’d been drinking a lot recently and I didn’t like it. I could tell by my brothers’ pinched faces that they didn’t either.
I tugged the fridge open and stared inside. All our money had been going to the hospital bills and I supposed that meant that any ‘unnecessary’ groceries were cut from the budget. I ended up grabbing a glass of water and reclaimed my spot on the couch.
I didn’t feel hungry anyways.
Soda and Steve were bickering over who won when the doorbell rang. All of our heads snapped up. Nobody ever rang our doorbell. The whole neighborhood knew we kept it open if someone needed to crash.
Two-Bit, sensing the tense air, turned the volume dial on the T.V. set to silence it. Darry got up and turned it off completely. Soda and Steve quieted down. When Darry opened the door, I expected maybe a thousand other things. A cop or a soc or even Mama Mathews.
A social worker wasn’t on that list.
Judging Darry’s shocked look, this wasn’t a planned visit or even a delivery of one of those stacks of paperwork Darry seems to get every so often.
The rest of the guys seemed uneasy too. Two-Bit sobered up, it seemed to me. Soda and Steve’s cards were splayed across the table.
The woman cleared her throat before she spoke, “Hello, I’m Margaret Johnson with Child Protective Services. Is there a Darrel Curtis here?”
Darry nodded hastily and opened the door wider. He wiped his hands nervously on his blue-jeans before shaking her hand. “Yeah, that’s me. What do you need?”
Mrs. Johnson eyed him up and down. She clicked her tongue judgementally and I felt myself tense.
“Sodapop and Ponyboy Curtis’s custody has been reconsidered by the courts. They are to be placed in a residential care facility.”
Darry looked more shocked than I’d ever seen. Even maybe more than when he answered the door to the police back in January. His mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times before his brain caught up.
“What? What do you mean reconsidered? The judge said she was confident in my custody!” Darry defended.
The social worker’s nostrils flared. “Don’t fight this. You may schedule a court hearing. For now, pack your bags, boys.”
An uproar came from all of us. All except me and Soda. We just stared at Mrs. Johnson helplessly. Two-Bit and Steve’s shouting wasn’t helping and we all knew it. Mrs. Johnson’s heels clicked as she tapped her foot. She didn’t tell them to be quiet but she didn’t necessarily respond to them. She stood silently, checking her watch.
Sodapop looked at me and we both seemed to sigh in unison as we trudged down the hall. There was no getting out of this. Fighting back could get us in trouble with the fuzz or the judge.
Soda and I stepped into our shared room. It felt like time froze as we stared at it. We wouldn’t have that anymore, I realized, we wouldn’t share a bed or a room or maybe even a house. We’d be separated by the law and we wouldn’t see each other until I’m eighteen, four years away. We wouldn’t have a place to throw our dirty clothes all over the floor or tape posters to the wall or leave old pop cans on the dresser.
Soda stepped inside first, almost in a daze. I followed him and pulled the creaky dresser drawers open. Darry brought us some suitcases, a duffel bag, and two backpacks. None of us had a lot of stuff but we didn’t know how long we’d be gone. We’d need different weathers of clothing. Darry didn’t help us pack; he had to go stop the guys from tearing that lady to shreds.
It took Soda and I longer to start than I’d admit. We opened the bags we were given and stared at the room once again.
“How do we pack our whole lives up?” my voice shook.
Soda, even with how talkative he was, didn’t have anything to say. He grabbed some t-shirts from the closet, rolled them up haphazardly, and shoved them in his suitcase. I sighed and followed suit. We debated on what would go to who, since we shared a lot of items, but they were just t-shirts so neither of us were cutting huge losses.
I took all of my pairs of jeans, since I didn’t have many, and some shorts. I figured I could sleep in the shorts and I’d need them if I wanted to keep running. Then I thought of the Oklahoma summers and I packed a few more pairs.
Soda and I packed all of our socks and underwear. We didn’t see the point in leaving any of them behind. Those were some things you couldn’t have too many of. Soda handed me one of his flannels without a word and I folded it, tucking it against the side of my suitcase.
With the duffel bag, we put our jackets and sweatshirts, as well as a pair of slacks and a button down each. Soda said we’d need that stuff for court and I knew he was right.
I packed my favorite books in my backpack, along with my colored pencils, my sketchbook, my notebook, my pencil case, a coin pouch, and a small photo print of my family and the gang.
I didn’t pay attention to what Soda packed in his personal bag. He didn’t have as many physical hobbies that would be kept like I did. I saw him grab his magazines and a deck of cards but that was all.
The two of us shuffled into the bathroom to grab our hair grease and our toothbrushes. Soda passed me my comb on the way out. We didn’t spend more time in there than we had to. It was cramped and two people in there felt claustrophobic.
Back in our room, we stuck our hygiene products into our bags. Sodapop grabbed his old switch and tucked it between some of my shirts. When I looked at him to ask why, he sighed heavily.
“It’s just in case. I bet we’ll get split up and I want you to be able to handle yourself, dig?”
I nodded. I pressed the letter from him between my notebook pages to keep it pristine.
Soda and I looked at our bare room mournfully. I felt my shoulders tremble as I choked back a sob.
“What do we do, Soda?” I asked.
He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “I dunno, honey, I dunno,” he told me.
The worker called for us and Soda led me out there. I wished I didn’t have to follow but I knew if I didn’t, it’d only be childish of me.
Soda helped me get my bags to the door. The guys seemed tired of shouting at a woman that was nothing more than a brick wall.
I was turned suddenly and pressed against a solid chest. I got a big inhale of fresh cologne and relaxed. Darry. I hugged him back as tight as I could. My shoulders shook as I felt him pull Soda in beside me.
“I’m gonna get you home, baby, I’m gonna get you home,” he vowed to us both.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I held tight. Darry wrapped himself around me and Soda like he was trying to shelter us.
Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat loudly. I sighed shakily as I pulled away. I knew if I kept holding on any longer, I’d never wanna let go. The social worker led us out to the sleek car. I climbed in the backseat and Soda did too. He didn’t even look at the car model, he was feeling so bad. I curled against his side after I dropped my backpack on my feet. Our suitcases and duffel bag were loaded into the back.
I cried into my hands as the only home I’d ever known faded from the view of the back window. Sodapop wasn’t any better, only crying louder next to me than I was.
The car ride was quiet other than our cries. We tried to muffle them as best we could but it was no use. We were too devastated. It was meant to be a normal day, I thought, a regular afternoon with my family.
Mrs. Johnson didn’t seem interested at all in conversing with us. She didn’t even turn the radio on as she tapped her long, pointy nails against the steering wheel. I looked out the window miserably. There wasn’t anything I could do, really. I couldn’t jump out of a moving car or run away or demand to go home. It’d only result in waiting for the court date longer.
I knew Darry would fight with everything he could to get us home but the factor I doubted was the legal system itself.
The car pulled into the path before what looked like a big school, maybe a college of sorts, that had three different buildings. It was made of bricks and stone and seemed gloomy despite the shining sun. I sighed again and Soda mimicked me.
Mrs. Johnson didn’t even seem to feel bad and I felt fury rising in my stomach. My mother always taught me to respect women, especially ones older than me, but I could only feel hatred towards ‘Mrs. Margaret Johnson.’ How could she, I seethed, barging into my house and taking me away without a word of reason.
I felt myself tear up again as I thought of home and quickly wiped my eyes. I couldn’t cry in there. If any word about reformatories from Curly applied to boys homes, I’d be torn to pieces if I cried in front of the guys here.
I squeezed Soda’s hand reassuringly and he squeezed mine back. I steeled myself before opening the car door and sliding out.