Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 14

The cracked, yellowed blinds diffused the sunlight, enveloping the small space in a soft, golden glow. The effect on the rumpled room was magical, casting it into a otherworldly place where daydreams and promise lurked in the darkened corners.

Ponyboy, however, didn't notice. His attention was focused solely on the blank sheet of lined paper in front of him. Well, not completely blank. There were several crossed-out sentences littering the top of the page. He had to resist the wasteful urge to tear out a sheet after each failed attempt and start fresh with a clean slate - Darry definitely wouldn't have appreciated that. He'd probably calculate how much each piece of paper cost and then give a lecture about throwing away money.

Pony tried a new approach. "I was five when my parents took me for my first trip to the zoo. I don't really remember much about it." So why are you writing about it, stupid? Should make for a riveting paper, Pony thought as he slashed his pencil through the words.

"My brother Sodapop had a pet horse named Mickey Mouse. He loved that horse more than anything." Ponyboy stopped for a moment and studied the words. Not a bad beginning - but how on earth am I gonna get more than one, even two pages out of Soda and Mickey? Pretty sure Mr. Syme wants more than two pages.

His pencil was tapping out the beat of some unknown tune on the scarred desk, a metronome counting the beats of his scattered, unfocused thoughts. At this rate, he thought, I'll have it written by the time I graduate. Of course, if I don't write it, I might be graduating around the same time as Two-Bit.

Frustrated, he began looking around his room for inspiration. A couple of Elvis posters decorated one wall and he had tacked up some cool pictures of Paul Newman and Steve McQueen a few months ago. Soda had made fun of him, instead choosing to decorate his space with random blonde actresses.

Pony had shrugged him off, trying to explain to him that those guys reminded him of Dally or Tim Shepard, that they were tuff. He had started to tell him about what Johnny had said about Dally being gallant, but he stopped himself, not sure how to explain. Even he had a hard time understanding what Johnny had meant at first, but he could see it now. Dally was fearless, living his life by his own set of rules. Rules he never wavered from, never compromised. Of course, Pony mused, Dal's rules usually don't mesh well with those of everyone else -'specially the cops.

A picture he had tacked above the desk caught his eye. It was the gang, taken about a year ago. Not everyone was smiling, Darry looked stern as usual, but the mood was obviously light. His mom, realizing everyone was at the house at once - a small feat that didn't happen that often - had run to grab the camera and capture the moment. Dally tried to protest; he was a tough guy, after all and had a rep to protect and posing for a picture was for sissies. Pony's mom, however, knew his arguments were for show and it didn't take her much effort to get him in the shot.

A year ago, the only thing Pony had to worry about was getting his homework done in time to play a game of football in the lot. A year ago, Soda was struggling in school, but toughing it out with his good humor. A year ago, Darry was saving for college. The scholarship he'd won wasn't enough, but he figured he would have enough saved to start the following year.

Pony realized that if everything had gone as planned, Darry would be away at college right now, studying and working toward his future. Instead, he was growing older by the second, sacrificing his dreams to at least give Ponyboy a chance to reach for his.

He continued to look at the photograph, his chest tightening. A month after it was taken, his parents were dead. So much had changed. Those guys in that picture had no idea what fate had in store for them.

Still at a loss at what to write about in his theme, he picked up Johnny's copy of Gone With the Wind. He'd brought it home with him the last time he'd been to the hospital, realizing Johnny wasn't going to get around to reading it. He started to aimlessly page through the book, the words a blur. A piece of folded paper dropped onto his desk, startling him.

Confused, he picked it up and unfolded it, surprised to see Johnny's handwriting filling the page. He started to read and it took him a couple of sentences before he realized that Johnny must have written it the night of the rumble. Reading the words brought that night careening back into Ponyboy's memory.

Without closing his eyes, Ponyboy could see Johnny lying before him, weak, struggling for every breath. He watched in mute horror as he slipped away, seemingly dead. For a brief, horrible moment, Pony panicked. Had he imagined the last few months? Was Johnny really still alive or was his mind playing tricks on him?

He took a few deep, unsteady breaths, trying to calm down. Johnny's okay, he told himself. He had to repeat it three more times before he gathered the courage to continue reading, to keep the panic at bay. It was times like this that Pony really wished his imagination was a little less intense.

Listen, I don't mind dying now. It's worth it. It's worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for.

Ponyboy's gut clenched at that. All his life, people had been telling Johnny he didn't matter, that he wasn't important. Johnny deserved so much, and he got so little. He wanted to tell Johnny that he was important, that he had a lot to live for. He just wasn't sure how to go about it.

All through the letter, Johnny asked Ponyboy to talk to Dally, to show him a sunset, to tell him there was good in the world. He was pretty sure Dally would've laughed in his face. Although, Pony thought with a smile, maybe one day Dally would have accidentally found himself watching a sunset and he would realize what Johnny meant.

He looked down at the paper in front of him, still blank. He wondered what Mr. Syme and the other teachers thought of students like Johnny. Did they ever give them a second thought? Would Mr. Syme have given Johnny a second chance like he'd given to Pony? Probably not, Ponyboy thought. Johnny just kept getting shoved aside, held back, and put into the remedial classes. No one even seemed to care whether he came to school or not.

He read what Johnny wrote about the Robert Frost poem. Pony had carried that poem in his head for forever, trying to figure out what it meant. He realized he'd been making it too complicated. Johnny had it all figured out in a few simple sentences and it made perfect sense. Johnny wasn't stupid and he deserved a shot at a future.

Everyone looked down upon greasers, assumed they were hoodlums and criminals. Maybe telling their story could change that. Maybe he could help someone like Johnny or Dally, help make someone look beyond the grease and the attitude and see the person.

Everything clicked into place and Ponyboy felt a rush of excitement. He couldn't wait to start writing. He had his theme, but first there was something else he had to do, someone he had to get through to. Grabbing a fresh piece of paper and his pencil, he started to write.

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Dally was stretched out on his bunk, legs crossed at his ankles, arms folded behind his head, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He was staring up at the mattress above him, but he wasn't really seeing it. Instead, he was replaying the conversation with Shepard over and over again in his head, trying to sort out what he was going to do. More than anything, he was trying to figure out why he hadn't jumped at the offer as soon as Tim had finished making it.

Maybe Shepard's right, maybe I am goin' soft or something, Dallas thought with a grimace.

A guard was walking the halls, softly whistling as he delivered the mail. Dally wasn't shocked to hear him stop outside his cell.

Probably something for Tony from his mommy, Dally rolled his eyes. Everyday, the kid got something from his mom - usually a letter, but sometimes she sent a care package with some books or candy tucked inside.

If only the damn woman would bake a file into a cake, then we'd be set, Dally grinned.

"Winston," the guard said as he tapped an envelope against the bars. Surprised to hear his name, Dally sat up, running his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Got a letter here for you."