A Girl in New York (Pre/Sequel to The Outsiders: A Girl in the Gang)

Chapter 15- Homesick...?

        I wandered around town for the rest of the afternoon, and no one looked twice at the girl who looked like a boy.  I passed by the bar every forty-five minutes or so, checking to make sure the motorcycle was still parked outside and I could get out of here on it as soon as night fell.

        Around six or seven at night, when the sky was going from deep blue to black and stars were peeping their shining faces out of the field of darkness, I passed by the bar again.  The bike was still there, the drunkard was nowhere in sight, and I was in the clear because the street was almost entirely deserted.  The bright eyes of shop windows fell asleep as they were closed down, and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk before darting across the street to where the machine of steel and leather sat waiting to take me out of state.

        Don’t ask me how I knew how to start or drive a motorcycle, seeing as how I didn’t even have a license, but I was roaring down the street, not looking back, within thirty second of climbing on.  The wind was whipping through my short hair, tousling it around on top of my head, and I vaguely hoped I wouldn’t get arrested for not having a helmet.

        I drove into the night, the loud purr of the engine cutting through the still, clear, cool air.  I didn’t have a care in the world as I sped along the state highway, but it’s not like I had a care in the world most of the time anyways.

        Around ten-thirty I crossed the Oklahoma-Arkansas border and by eleven I had entered the small city of Fort Smith.  I drove around for a while until I found a back alley, where I parked the stolen motorbike. Sure I knew it was wrong to steal stuff, especially something as big as a motorcycle, but from the looks of the man Buck had been talking to early that afternoon, he was probably into some very illegal but highly profitable endeavors and could no doubt afford another one.

        I threw some trash around it to hide it from someone else who might maybe be trying to get out of Arkansas and go to Oklahoma or something, and then I climbed the fire escape of a seven story building on one side of the alley, opting to sleep on the roof.  It was a nice night, clear and not too chilly.

        I stretched out on the flat concrete roof that was still warm from the day’s sunlight, using my arm behind my head as a pillow as I stared up at the stars.  I was reminded of when I used to live in New York, after Dally left for good, and I would sleep on the roof of the apartment building, or back in Tulsa when we’d lay in the lot and try to make new constellations out of the stars.  

        I felt a slight twinge of homesickness in my gut.  Being with the gang all the time in Tulsa was the only place where I felt like I really belonged, and now I was gone.  And I wasn’t sure if I would ever go back, though a part deep inside of me reminded me that I wanted to, no matter how much I didn’t want to admit it.  I shook the confusing thoughts swirling around in my mind away before they could make me feel guilty, lying to myself and dismissing the strange twinge in my gut as hunger cause I hadn’t swiped anything from a gas station for supper before I drifted off under the twinkling white polka-dotted black blanket of sky.

        The next morning I woke and for a second I couldn’t remember where I was as I got to my feet and looked around the rooftop, rubbing my arm, which was numb and tingling from falling asleep on it.  The slight thrill I got from riding the stolen motorcycle last night came back in a flash and I made my way down the fire escape, glad to see that the aforementioned bike was still where I had stashed it, and I set off to get some breakfast to shut up my growling stomach.

        I spent the whole day cruising around the city on my—well, not sure if you could call it mine since it was stolen, but it’s not like I was planning on returning it anytime soon—motorcycle, wondering if I should keep going or hide out in Fort Smith for a while.  It was bigger than Tulsa so it wouldn’t have been too hard, and I figured I had time to do pretty much whatever I wanted now anyways and decided to save that life-altering decision for tomorrow, seeing as how there was enough stuff to see and do around here to keep me entertained for a few days, at least.

        First off though, I decided that despite the new haircut, I could probably use some new clothes, or at least a shower.  I found a free gym nearby and though I had no intention of working out, I went in anyways, occupying the girl’s locker room.  A free shower and a nickel to wash my clothes and I didn’t smell, or look, too bad anymore.  Except for that haircut that made me look like Dallas Winston and not Tara Winston, but I don’t suppose there was much I could do about that.

        I fussed with it a while, pondering if I should go for the wild girly-girl look or stick with being a tomboy. I scoffed to myself, no way would I turn into your typical greaser girl who wore tight clothes and too much make-up and pined over every guy with a record.

        I grabbed my stuff and headed out, getting back on my bike and trying to find a good place to fill up on gas for the bike and food for me.