Chapter Text
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Dallas Winston, and Johnny Cade. They weren't dead— that thought haunted me— but they sure did almost die. ‘Cause of a chain reaction of events that happened in one night, everything fell apart. The thoughts plagued me daily, the what ifs. What if I had made it back home on time? What if I hadn't ran after Darry hit me? (Which, to be fair, I kind of deserved.) What if I hadn't dragged Johnny with me to the park?
One thought that struck me the most was: what if they both had died? Dally and Johnny?
I could remember that day like it was yesterday. How we won the rumble. How me and Dally visited Johnny in the hospital afterwards. How guilty I felt— and still feel— seeing the sixteen year old with all of those burn marks. How pale he looked, especially when I saw that pillow of his sink a little. Thankfully, the doctors somehow managed to resuscitate the boy shortly after Dally took off.
Dally was real upset that night. I could see it in his face, the way his icy eyes had that blazing glare to them. The rest of it was a blur, besides when Dally was being jerked ‘round from the sheer impact of those police officers' bullets. All I could think was how much of a damn fool he was. I knew Dallas couldn't live in a world without Johnny. So, it was only natural that he blew up, deceiving those policemen with a gun that wasn't even loaded. It was an act of suicide. And before I passed out in that moment, I genuinely thought he was dead. Dally Winston wanted to be dead, and he always got what he wanted.
But, for once, Dally didn't get what he wanted. He wanted death, but was, and is, still alive. I’m sure Dally would never say it aloud, but I think he’s glad he didn't die. He didn't know Johnny didn't die at the time, and he almost died thinking he did.
I don't know all of the details, but Darry managed to haul Dally’s ass to the hospital after he got shot. That’s only what Soda told me, at least. I was completely delirious during that time when the two were recovering. Sodapop went on and on about how I wouldn't stop talking about how they were dead, when in reality, they weren't. It was a funny thing, ‘cause I didn't remember saying any of that nonsense. I barely even remember being sick.
I was doin’ that thing Darry was always talking about. Thinking too much. And never using my head. I was smart, book smart, but when it came to the streets, I felt real stupid. I never did use my head then; I never thought about what I was doing. I just did what I felt was right. But I can think. I do it all the time, about all sorts of things. Mainly things that interest me. I find it hard to focus on things I don't like.
I was trying, though. Trying to think more about my surroundings, about my actions. Most of all, I was trying to please my brothers. I knew they had great expectations for me, and I was more than determined to live up to them. Besides, they had given up everything for me to have a chance at life. That was something I could never pay back. The least I could do is live up to what they want me to be.
Speaking of my surroundings, I finally managed to get my head outta the clouds, and look at where I was at. I was mindlessly walking home, after watching that movie at the movie house. It was some new Paul Newman movie, and he looked pretty tuff in it. I still wished I looked like him. He was tuff, and I wasn't, especially with this haircut and the fading bleach in my hair. Word of advice: never let Johnny Cade be a barber. In fact, I would never let him touch my hair again. He got the lucky end of the deal! He just got his hair cut a little short! Sure, he wouldn't pull off the blonde look, but I was petty. The only good part that came out of that was the fact I was the one cutting his hair.
I was walking past the lot at that point— I wondered when I had gotten there. It was like one moment I was at the movie house, next I was almost home. I saw Johnny sitting on the grass, and I waved at him, though I'm not too sure he saw it. He looked out of it, similar to how I seem. I tried not to dwell on it. He’d probably be around at the house later, it was supposed to be cold tonight.
After turning a corner, the house came into view. It was only a few more minutes before I was walking up the porch steps and opening the door. The scent of dust and sweat and smoke greeted me. It was common, and it didn't bother me too much anymore. The house was unsurprisingly empty. Darry and Steve and Soda were at work. Johnny was at the lot, Dally was maybe at Buck’s, and only god knows where Twobit was. That man was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. No one could predict where he would wind up at.
That familiar sense of loneliness filled my chest. It was empty, cold, and aching. I had gotten used to being alone, but it didn't mean I liked it any more. I really hated being alone. I couldn't stand it. The silence was never welcoming, and honestly, it made me a bit anxious. The fact that I had no way of knowing when anyone would come back was what made me afraid. Irrational, sure, but it wasn't like I could help it! If I had any say, I would've chosen to fix whatever was wrong with me.
I knew I wasn't normal. I was different, so different compared to my brothers. Compared to everyone else, really. I wasn't as tuff as them, I was way more sensitive. I felt things differently than they did. I was good, but not good enough. It hurt more than I thought it would. It made me feel so out of place, like I didn't belong. Sometimes, I wondered if I did. Belong, that is. Would I ever fit in with them, the way everyone else did? Or would I always have this lingering feeling of inadequacy?
I wasn't sure if I could ever shake that feeling.
I went back to me and Sodapop’s room, sitting on the bed. I dug through my jacket pocket, finding my pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I put the 'cancer stick,’ as Dally calls them, up to my lips, struggling with the small flame, before eventually lighting it. Taking a small drag, I leaned my head back against the wall. Darry would've skinned me then and there if he found out I was smoking inside, but I couldn't find it in me to care. I had better things on my mind to worry about.
I thought about the time when me and Curly had played chicken with our cigarettes. How Tim Shepard and Darry were so mad. I had never seen either of them so angry before. And for what? It was just a game! I still had the scar on my finger. It was small, but still noticeable. Thinking back on it, I kind of enjoyed the pain that came with it. The smell, a completely different story. But that sting? I didn't know how to explain it. I probably sound masochistic. But I craved that burning sensation again. It was grounding, in a way. Something else to focus on besides all the stuff going on in my head.
I took another drag of my cigarette. Then it dawned on me. Man, I am dumb! Without much thought, I placed the burning end of it on my finger, the one with no scar. I struggled a bit— I was left handed, and the scar was on my right. In other words, I had to use my right hand. I held it there for a long while, that burning flesh smell filling the room.
It hurt a lot less than I remember it being. I lost track of how long it was on my finger for, but I took it off eventually. It left this red circle on my skin, slightly raised. It still stinged. I knew I shouldn't have liked it, but I did. It was like a breath of fresh air, after being locked in a smoke-filled church! (Which, I knew what it was like.) I felt calmer, now, more at ease. And I tried to relish that feeling as long as I could— it was one of the more positive things I’d felt.