That's Life for You

Chapter 8

I remember when I was in the reformatory thinking about what my life was going to be like once I got out. Wondering how different things were going to be. Being in there the three months I got felt like three years. I would lay on the thin mattress, trying not to have any illusions about what it would be like when I was out. Tried to tell myself that things would probably be the same, but still the thought of things being different creeped into my mind.

I thought maybe I'd try at school; Mama would show some actual interest in my life and Tim would treat me like his brother and not a dog to order around. I would start dreaming of normalcy, that maybe, just maybe, if I ran fast enough I'd make it too some finish line. I would be free.

But I'd never be free. Not with the life I was born into. I'd always be trapped, I was meant to follow in the footsteps my brother already made.

"Wow," Cassie says, stepping out on the porch. "It actually looks good."

There's a hint of surprise in her voice as she walks over and examines the railing, giving it a little shake I guess to test the sturdiness but it doesn't budge, just like I knew it wouldn't.

Out of all the things I hated about reformatory, there was one thing I loved. Shop. That was the highlight of my week while I was in there. The only bright spot of the whole experience. I found out early on that I was good with my hands, and could build things fairly fast.

Building something was like putting together a puzzle. Making all the pieces fit just right so it turned into something. Also learning I might have a talent outside of fighting and mugging didn't hurt too bad.

I use the tail of my shirt to wipe off the sweat gathering on my face. "Yeah, well you have another problem," I tell her.

"What's wrong?" She asks, her eyebrows furrow and her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

"Some of the steps are starting to rot through," I explain and she leans forward, her arms wrapping loosely around herself.

"That sounds bad," She hugs herself tighter and looks at me with worried eyes.

"It is," I agree. "One wrong step and someone will go crushing through."

"How much do you think it'll be to fix?" She's staring at me like no one else ever had, she staring at me like I have the answers.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, feeling a little self-conscious under her gaze. "That's hard to say."

She drops her hands to her sides and lets out a long sigh. "I guess I'll have to tell Darry when he gets home."

"Or..." I ventured slowly, rocking back on my heels. "I could maybe fix it..." The words are out before I really think them through, but God she looks so lost standing on the porch, and not to thrilled about having to tell Darry.

"You can do that?" She scrutinizes my face.

I shrug. "Probably. Last time I was in the tool shed I saw some wood that I probably could make work."

Her teeth are gnawing at her lower lip again. "If you're doing this so I won't tell Darry about your little chicken games with Pony-"

"I'm not," I cut her off. "I know you wouldn't go running to Darry and I shouldn't of said what I did earlier."

"Then why?" She asks, her eyes flickering to mine.

Because your dad never treated me like shit, your mom was nice to me, my brother screwed you and threw you aside and now I feel a little bad? I obviously couldn't say any of that though.

"Ponyboy's my friend." I wave a hand in the air dismissively. "You're supposed to help out your friends, ain't ya?"

"I guess so..." She says slowly, then a look of confusion crosses her face. "Where is Pony?"