Chapter 10
I WALKED DOWN THE hall in a daze.
Dally had taken the car and I started the
long walk home in a stupor.
Johnny was dead.
But he wasn't.
That still body back in the
hospital wasn't Johnny.
Johnny was somewhere else--- maybe asleep
in the lot, or playing
the pinball machine in the bowling alley,
or sitting on the back steps of the church
in
Windrixville.
I'd go home and walk by the lot, and Johnny
would be sitting on the curb
smoking a cigarette, and maybe we'd lie on
our backs and watch the stars.
He isn't dead, I
said to myself.
He isn't dead.
And this time my dreaming worked.
I convinced myself that
he wasn't dead.
I must have wandered around for hours; sometimes
even out into the street,
getting honked at and cussed out.
I might have stumbled around all night except
for a
man who asked me if I wanted a ride.
"Huh?
Oh.
Yeah, I guess so," I said.
I got in.
The man, who was in his mid-twenties,
looked at me.
"Are you all right, kid?
You look like you've been in a fight."
"I have been.
A rumble.
I'm okay."
Johnny is not dead, I told myself, and I
believed it.
"Hate to tell you this, kiddo," the guy said
dryly, "but you're bleedin' all over my
car seats."
I blinked.
"I am?"
"Your head."
I reached up to scratch the side of my head
where it'd been itching for a while,
and when I looked at my hand it was smeared
with blood.
"Gosh, mister, I'm sorry," I said, dumbfounded.
"Don't worry about it.
This wreck's been through worse.
What's your address?
I'm
not about to dump a hurt kid out on the streets
this time of night."
I told him.
He drove me to my house, and I got out.
"Thanks a lot."
What was left of our gang was in the living
room.
Steve was stretched out on the
sofa, his shirt unbuttoned and his side bandaged.
His eyes were closed, but when the door
shut behind me he opened them, and I suddenly
wondered if my own eyes looked as
feverish and bewildered as his.
Soda had a wide cut on his lip and a bruise
across his
cheek.
There was a Band-Aid over Darry's forehead
and he had a black eye.
One side of
Two-Bits face was taped up--- I found out
later he had four stitches in his cheek and
seven in his hand where he had busted his
knuckles open over a Soc's head.
They were
lounging around, reading the paper and smoking.
Where's the party?
I thought dully.
Weren't Soda and Steve planning a party after
the rumble?
They all looked up when I walked in.
Dairy leaped to his feet.
"Where have you been?"
Oh, let's don't start that again, I thought.
He stopped suddenly.
"Ponyboy, what's the matter?"
I looked at all of them, a little frightened.
"Johnny... he's dead."
My voice sounded
strange, even to me.
But he's not dead, a voice in my head said.
"We told him about
beatin' the Socs and...
I don't know, he just died."
He told me to stay gold, I remembered.
What was he talking about?
There was a stricken silence.
I don't think any of us had realized how bad
off
Johnny really had been.
Soda made a funny noise and looked like he
was going to start
crying.
Two-Bit's eyes were closed and his teeth were
clenched, and I suddenly
remembered Dally....
Dally pounding on the wall.
"Dallas is gone," I said.
"He ran out like the devil was after him.
He's gonna blow
up.
He couldn't take it."
How can I take it?
I wondered.
Dally is tougher than I am.
Why can I take it when
Dally can't?
And then I knew.
Johnny was the only thing Dally loved.
And now Johnny
was gone.
"So he finally broke."
Two-Bit spoke everyone's feelings.
"So even Dally has a
breaking point."
I started shaking.
Darry said something in a low voice to Soda.
"Ponyboy," Soda said softly, like he was talking
to an injured animal, "you look
sick.
Sit down."
I backed up, just like a frightened animal,
shaking my head.
"I'm okay."
I felt sick.
I felt as if any minute I was going to fall
flat on my face, but I shook my head.
"I don't
want to sit down."
Darry took a step toward me, but I backed
away.
"Don't touch me," I said.
My
heart was pounding in slow thumps, throbbing
at the side of my head, and I wondered if
everyone else could hear it.
Maybe that's why they're all looking at me,
I thought, they
can hear my heart beating...
The phone rang, and after a moment's hesitation,
Darry turned from me to it.
He
said "Hello" and then listened.
He hung up quickly.
"It was Dally.
He phoned from a booth.
He's, just robbed a grocery store and the
cops are after him.
We gotta hide him.
He'll be at the lot in a minute."
We all left the house at a dead run, even
Steve, and I wondered vaguely why no
one was doing somersaults off the steps this
time.
Things were sliding in and out of
focus, and it seemed funny to me that I couldn't
run in a straight line.
WE REACHED THE vacant lot just as Dally came
in, running as hard as he
could, from the opposite direction.
The wail of a siren grew louder and then police
car
pulled up across the street from the lot.
Doors slammed as the policemen leaped out.
Dally had reached the circle of light under
the street lamp, and skidding to a halt, he
turned and jerked a black object from his
waistband.
I remembered his voice: I been
carryin' a heater.
It ain't loaded, but it sure does held a bluff.
It was only yesterday that Dally had told
Johnny and me that.
But yesterday was
years ago.
A lifetime ago.
Dally raised the gun, and I thought: You blasted
fool.
They don't know you're
only bluffing.
And even as the policemen's guns spit fire
into the night I knew that was
what Dally wanted.
He was jerked half around by the impact of
the bullets, then slowly
crumpled with a look of grim triumph on his
face.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
But I knew that was what he wanted, even as
the lot echoed with the cracks of shots, even
as I begged silently--- Please, not him...
not him and Johnny both ---I knew he would
be
dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead
and he always got what he wanted.
Nobody would write editorials praising Dally.
Two friends of mine had died that
night: one a hero, the other a hoodlum.
But I remembered Dally pulling Johnny through
the window of the burning church; Dally giving
us his gun, although it could mean jail
for him; Dally risking his life for us, trying
to keep Johnny out of trouble.
And now he
was a dead juvenile delinquent and there wouldn't
be any editorials in his favor.
Dally
didn't die a hero.
He died violent and young and desperate, just
like we all knew he'd die
someday.
Just like Tim Shepard and Curly Shepard and
the Brumly boys and the other
guys we knew would die someday.
But Johnny was right.
He died gallant.
Steve stumbled forward with a sob, but Soda
caught him by the shoulders.
"Easy, buddy, easy," I heard him say softly,
"there's nothing we can do now."
Nothing we can do... not for Dally or Johnny
or Tim Shepard or any of us...
My
stomach gave a violent start and turned into
a hunk of ice.
The world was spinning
around me, and blobs of faces and visions
of things past were dancing in the red mist
that
covered the lot.
It swirled into a mass of colors and I felt
myself swaying on my feet.
Someone cried, "Glory, look at the kid!"
And the ground rushed up to meet me very suddenly.
WHEN I WOKE UP it was light.
It was awfully quiet.
Too quiet.
I mean, our
house just isn't naturally quiet.
The radio's usually going full blast and the
TV is turned
up loud and people are wrestling and knocking
over lamps and tripping over the coffee
table and yelling at each other.
Something was wrong, but I couldn't quite
figure it out.
Something had happened...
I couldn't remember what.
I blinked at Soda bewilderedly.
He
was sitting on the edge of the bed watching
me.
"Soda..."--- my voice sounded weak and hoarse---
"is somebody sick?"
"Yeah."
His voice was oddly gentle "Go back to sleep
now."
An idea was slowly dawning on me.
"Am I sick?"
He stroked my hair.
"Yeah, you're sick.
Now be quiet."
I had one more question.
I was still kind of mixed up.
"Is Darry sorry I'm sick?"
I
had a funny feeling that Darry was sad because
I was sick.
Everything seemed vague and
hazy.
Soda gave me a funny look.
He was quiet for a moment.
"Yeah, he's sorry you're
sick.
Now please shut up, will ya, honey?
Go back to sleep."
I closed my eyes.
I was awful tired.
WHEN I WOKE UP NEXT, it was daylight and I
was hot under all the blankets
on me.
I was thirsty and hungry, but my stomach was
so uneasy I knew I wouldn't be able
to hold anything down.
Darry had pulled the armchair into the bedroom
and was asleep in
it.
He should be at work, I thought.
Why is he asleep in the armchair?
"Hey, Darry," I said softly, shaking his knee.
"Hey, Darry, wake up."
He opened his eyes.
"Ponyboy, you okay?"
"Yeah," I said, "I think so."
Something had happened... but I still couldn't
remember it, although I was
thinking a lot clearer than I was the last
time I'd waked up.
He sighed in relief and pushed my hair back.
"Gosh, kid, you had us scared to
death."
"What was the matter with me?"
He shook his head.
"I told you you were in no condition for a
rumble.
Exhaustion,
shock, minor concussion--- and Two-Bit came
blubberin' over here with some tale about
how you were running a fever before the rumble
and how it was all his fault you were
sick.
He was pretty torn up that night," Darry said.
He was quiet for a minute.
"We all
were."
And then I remembered.
Dallas and Johnny were dead.
Don't think of them, I thought.
(Don't remember how Johnny was your buddy,
don't remember that he didn't
want to die.
Don't think of Dally breaking up in the hospital,
crumpling under the street
light.
Try to think that Johnny is better off now,
try to remember that Dally would have
ended up like that sooner or later.
Best of all, don't think.
Blank your mind.
Don't
remember.
Don't remember.)
"Where'd I get a concussion?"
I said.
My head itched, but I couldn't scratch it
for
the bandage.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"You got a concussion from getting kicked
in the head--- Soda saw it.
He landed
all over that Soc.
I've never seen him so mad.
I think he could have whipped anyone, in
the state he was in.
Today's Tuesday, and you've been asleep and
delirious since Saturday
night.
Don't you remember?"
"No," I said slowly.
"Darry, I'm not ever going to be able to make
up the school
I've missed.
And I've still got to go to court and talk
to the police about Bob's getting
killed.
And now... with Dally..."
---I took a deep breath--- "Darry, do you
think they'll
split us up?
Put me in a home or something?"
He was silent.
"I don't know, baby.
I just don't know."
I stared at the ceiling.
What would it be like, I wondered, staring
at a different
ceiling?
What would it be like in a different bed,
in a different room?
There was a hard
painful lump in my throat that I couldn't
swallow.
"Don't you even remember being in the hospital?"
Darry asked.
He was trying to
change the subject.
I shook my head.
"I don't remember."
"You kept asking for me and Soda.
Sometimes for Mom and Dad, too.
But mostly
for Soda."
Something in his tone of voice made me look
at him.
Mostly for Soda.
Did I ask
for Darry at all, or was he just saying that?
"Darry..."
I didn't know quite what I wanted to say.
But I had a sick feeling that
maybe I hadn't called for him while I was
delirious, maybe I had only wanted Sodapop
to
be with me.
What all had I said while I was sick?
I couldn't remember.
I didn't want to
remember.
"Johnny left you his copy of Gone with the
Wind.
Told the nurse he wanted you to have it"
I looked at the paperback lying on the table.
I didn't want to finish it.
I'd never get
past the part where the Southern gentlemen
go riding into sure death because they are
gallant.
Southern gentlemen with big black eyes in
blue jeans and T-shirts, Southern
gentlemen crumpling under street lights.
Don't remember.
Don't try to decide which one
died gallant.
Don't remember.
"Where's Soda?"
I asked, and then I could have kicked myself.
Why can't you talk
to Darry, you idiot?
I said to myself.
Why do you feel uncomfortable talking to Darry?
"Asleep, I hope.
I thought he was going to go to sleep shaving
this morning and
cut his throat.
I had to push him to bed, but he was out like
a light in a second."
Darry's hopes that Soda was asleep were immediately
ruined, because he came
running in, clad only in a pair of blue jeans.
"Hey, Ponyboy!" he yelped, and leaped for
me, but Darry caught him.
"No rough stuff, little buddy."
So Soda had to content himself with bouncing
up and down on the bed and
pounding on my shoulder.
"Gosh, but you were sick.
You feel okay now?"
"I'm okay.
Just a little hungry."
"I should think you would be," Darry said.
"You wouldn't eat anything most of
the time you were sick.
How'd you like some mushroom soup?"
I suddenly realized just how empty I was.
"Man, I'd like that just fine."
"I'll go make some.
Sodapop, take it easy with him, okay?"
Soda looked back at him indignantly.
"You'd think I was going to challenge him
to a track meet or something right off the
bat."
"Oh, no," I groaned.
"Track meet.
I guess this just about puts me out of every
race.
I won't be back in condition for the meets.
And the coach was counting on me."
"Golly, there's always next year," Soda said.
Soda never has grasped the
importance Darry and I put on athletics.
Like he never has understood why we went all
out
for studying.
"Don't sweat it about some track meet."
"Soda," I said suddenly.
"What all did I say while I was delirious?"
"Oh, you thought you were in Windrixville
most of the time.
Then you kept
saying that Johnny didn't mean to kill that
Soc.
Hey, I didn't know you didn't like
baloney."
I went cold.
"I don't like it.
I never liked it"
Soda just looked at me.
"You used to eat it.
That's why you wouldn't eat anything
while you were sick.
You kept saying you didn't like baloney, no
matter what it was we
were trying to get you to eat."
"I don't like it," I repeated.
"Soda, did I ask for Darry while I was sick?"
"Yeah, sure," he said, looking at me strangely.
"You asked for him and me both.
Sometimes Mom and Dad.
And for Johnny."
"Oh.
I thought maybe I didn't ask for Darry.
It was bugging me."
Soda grinned.
"Well, you did, so don't worry.
We stayed with you so much that
the doctor told us we were going to end up
in the hospital ourselves if we didn't get
some
sleep.
But we didn't get any anyway."
I took a good look at him.
He looked completely worn out; there were
circles
under his eyes and he had a tense, tired look
to him.
Yet his dark eyes were still laughing
and carefree and reckless.
"You look beat," I said frankly.
"I bet you ain't had three hours sleep since
Saturday night."
He grinned but didn't deny it.
"Scoot over."
He crawled over me and flopped
down and before Darry came back in with the
soup we were both asleep.
