Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

18. Twist And Shout

"OH WHAT A NIGHT, LATE DECEMBER BACK IN SIXTY-THREE." - Frankie Valli (December, 1963)

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Whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was something oddly nostalgic about the bar. Even after my entire life managed to fall apart in two weeks, Buck's was still standing. A staple of life on the eastside, like its own landmark, with some wanna-be cowboy behind the counter. The sickly stench of tobacco, beer, and sweat all mingled into one as I pushed the door open with my shoulder and sent a silent nod to the blank faces I passed. My backpack swung back and forth against my shoulder as I made my way across the floor, still invisible to Buck standing behind the bar and polishing some glasses.

By the time I made it within ear-shot of the bar and the man behind it, his customers finally began to recognize who I was. To most, I was just some little girl wandering into a place she didn't belong. To a few others, like Henry Carver, they recognized me as the same girl who'd been wiping down tables and washing their glasses since I was old enough to fool the young cops sent over here to "investigate." Tucked back in the corner of the bar by the door, the jukebox rang out loud as ever. The only difference was that of the artist. Patsy Cline sang out alongside her guitar and whatever else. "-Then I know what you'll do, you'll find yourself a new love and keep me a secret, too!"

Water sloshed around in the cup before Buck finally slammed it down and turned around to face me and his patrons. For a moment, his eyes glazed over me completely as I leaned against the bar with my arms crossed and hair fastened back in a ponytail.

I could only imagine how much I'd changed since the last time I'd stepped in here, but Buck remained as timeless as the honky-tonk music he stuck on repeat.

"Now what in God's name are you doin' here, Marley?"

"Makin' sure you haven't replaced me," I fire back. He's got his arms crossed over his chest in a sorry attempt to look tuff. The grin pulling at his lips -- and the fact that his wrists are just as boney as mine -- don't help his case much. He looks around the bar again, but no one seems to care. They're all too busy drowning their worries and burning holes in their pockets to notice their barkeep chatting away with some little girl. The counter squeals and creaks as he leans across it, close enough that I can smell his cologne and make note of the faded freckles dotting his nose. "An' who'd I be replacin' you with, huh? Dally?"

Yeah, right. Dally won't even wipe down the windows in this joint for a buck. Pun not intended.

Still, I roll my eyes cooly and push my nails into my palms as I bite back a smile of my own. "Well, Lord knows children are the only employees your cheap ass can afford."

I was thirteen when I walked in here for the first time without Dally leading the way. I already knew a little bit about the infamous Buck Merril, saw him around rodeos a couple times, Daddy even volunteered to help his old man fix the roof. But I was thirteen, Sodapop got real sick, and Momma was too far gone in her own mind to care. But I walked in here two years ago, nearly choking on the smoke, and asked for a job. No more than fifty cents an hour, I told him. I'd wash dishes and tables, sweep and scrub, I'd even clean the windows or his car if need be. I had barely finished my sentence before he pushed a sopping wet rag and glass into my hand and ushered me into place behind the bar, but the rest was history.

Maybe he was just afraid of what my brother would do if anything happened to me on his watch, but Buck had always kept a close eye on me. Whether it was here, or even driving me home after work, when I was still weighed down with textbooks, the same ones his eyes were focused on now. "You going to school?"

After two weeks of going MIA, social services would start getting suspicious if we got any more phone calls about one of us skipping class. Sodapop and Ponyboy liked it no better than I did, but having the gang beside us made it a bit more bearable. It wasn't so much the work that was difficult -- even if I had to remind myself I couldn't go asking Daddy for help with it anymore -- but rather the constant comments flowing from Socs' lips now that Darry wasn't walking the halls with us.