THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU // JOHNNYBOY

FOUR | You Ain't no Soc, Johnny.

JOHNNY CADE
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Fourteen missed calls. Eight new texts. And that is just this week.
It is hard to keep someone out of your mind when they are constantly trying to communicate.
Especially when that someone is Ponyboy Curtis.

I sit out on my porch and have a smoke in the pale moonlight. The neighborhood has gone quiet, the only things I hear are my breathing and the crickets hopping down the fields. Occasionally, a car will drive by and there will be some disturbance of the peaceful bliss of silence. The silence is disturbed when a car drives by, and an open can of beer goes crashing against the pavement leading up to the steps of my home. "Get the fuck out of this town, Soc!" the mystery person snarls from the vehicle. The voice sounds masculine, so I assume it's a man. As the car drives away, I walk down the steps and pick up the beer can, examining the very little amount of content that is still in the can, the rest of its contents is splattered all over the cement. I take a sip from the can, and an explosion of bitter flavor pops from the container, making me feel ill. Yet, at the same time, it's addictive so I take another sip.
"Jonathan!" I hear someone disappointedly yelp at me from behind. I turn and am met with an unbearable table horror. There my mother stands, that unbeatable angry face etched against her wrinkles. I'm caught red handed, a cigarette drooling from my mouth and my scronny hands tightly grasped around the half empty can of beer. She stomps towards me and thwacks the can out of my hand, the can falls and makes a loud screech, and my hand stings, left pink from the impact. I hiss in pain, standing up and backing away from my mother. "This is not what we do, Jonathan! Cigarettes? Beer?! Is this some sort of joke?" My mom growls her hands bunched up in fists at her sides. Suddenly, like a python, she strikes me across the face. My face feels hot as I stumble to the floor. My hands shaking, I cover the side of my face who got the most of the punch. My lip quivers. "Mom . . ." I spitter. "You're drunk!" She smells of alcohol deeply, and she has a certain slur to her voice. She smiles. "Stupid child." She laughs, wobbling back inside. Suddenly, my mind feels wobbled, and everything starts to go dark. I peacefully drift into comfortable unconsciousness.

When I awake, I have this fuzzy feeling icing over my mind. But I feel my back aching and cold, and I hear a yellin', so I assume I am still at the place I was last time I was conscious: my porch. Coming back to the yelling, I can't quite understand who or what they are yelling about, but then I see a fuzzy figure hovering over my face and then a "You're awake!", everything becomes much more clear. My vision winds back to normal and there before my eyes I see Ponyboy. I sort of panic. I can't be seen with Pony. I sit up, and start skooching backward, I hit a wall and huft out air. "Woah, woah Johnny you're okay." Ponyboy says, walking towards me slowly. I begin to panic some more. "I'm sorry — I'm sorry Pony I'm—" "it's okay Johnny." Ponyboy reassures me, and I feel a little much better than I had before. There's a faint ringing in the air, and I can't tell if the ringing is only something I'm hearing or if Pony could hear it too, but I assume it's just me. I wince as I feel bursting pain again. "Shhh, you're okay." Ponyboy reassures, and offers to take me to his place. In the undying desperation I held in that moment, I accept and he leads me to his home, an arm wrapped around my shoulder for support. I feel my face begin to heat up.

As we walk, I dig in my pockets for a cigarette. Once I find one I realize that I don't have a lighter. "You got a lighter, Ponyboy?" I ask, groggily as I hold my cigarette up. "Not one for you" he remarks, swiftly swiping the cigarette from my fingers and using it, flicking his own lighter into bursting flames as it embers the stick. "Come on, Pone, just a drag!" I plead. "Fine, I guess." Ponyboy sighs, finally giving in. He passes the lit cigarette to me and I graps it with my middle and pointer finger. Placing it to my mouth, I inhale, and immediately am met with a coughing fit. Ponyboy laughs at my struggle, taking the cigarette from me. "See? A smoke is the one thing you don't need right now." I know hes not wrong. Ponyboy begins to take drags from the cigarette. "Well, we're here." Ponyboy says helping me up to his front door. When I enter the home, the warm lights give off a stinging affect on my body. I groan. "You're okay, Johnny." Ponyboy reassures, rubbing my shoulder gently. "Woah there, Ponyboy, what the hell happened here?!" Someone unknown said as he came around the corner. "Uh, hey Darry. Mind if my friend crashes here for a bit?" "Yeah. Don't mind." Darry replies, leaving the room as if this is something regular of the Curtis house routine — I assume it is.
Like a trade off, here now is Soda, gasping at the sight of me. "Geez, Johnny! You look like death!" Sodapop joked. "I'm gonna go take care of . . ." Ponyboy paused. " . . . This." He finished, pointing at me as he helped me up the stairs. Right before we walked up the stairs, Ponyboy and Sodapop shared a smile, as if they had a secret that they were unwilling to share. I brush it off as I stumble up the carpeted steps.

Ponyboy sits me down on his bed, and leaves me momentarily to grab a wet rag to clean me up with. When he comes back, he sits infront of me. "This may hurt, okay?" Ponyboy warns. I nod my head. "Okay." When the rag makes contact with my beaten face, I whine. I hear Ponyboy mutter "Sorry", and I respond with: "It's . . . Okay." The pain is unbearable, I grasp onto Ponyboys freehand without even thinking about it. I see Ponyboy smile, so I try pulling my hand away as I whisper an apology. But his hand is tight on mine, so I let this happen as I feel my cheeks redden.

When Ponyboy is all done cleaning my face up, he sets a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie on my lap. "You can change into these in the bathroom. It's right down the hall." Ponyboy smiles, I nod and thank him and stand up, walking down the hall. I see Sodapop in the hallway, and when I walk past him, he gives me a pitying smile.
I slip the clothing on and admire my figure in the mirror. I notice how the clothing fits me, a bit larger than the size I wear. The sleeves of the hoodie very slightly brush past my fingertips and the pant legs drag on the floor just barely. This clothing, it smells like Ponyboy. I blush as I realize what is happening, and then I smile. I step out of the bathroom and mess with my hair before I walk back into Ponyboy's bedroom. Ponyboy is now sitting ontop of the bed, his hands intertwined inbetween his legs. He looks up, and then smiles. His face too a bit red. "Erm . . . Sorry that the clothes are a bit big. I gave away all my old clothes. Plus I don't think you would wanna wear shirts with trucks and trains on them, would ya'?" Ponyboy asks, chuckling. "Haha, no this is great." I respond "Thank you." I say, smiling. Ponyboy gives me this toothy-smile that melts my heart, before patting a place on the bed to sit next to him on. I sit right next to him and smile, but then his smile fades, and it's a bit more of a sad expression now. A frown. "So, can we talk about what happened out there?" I sigh. "Um . . ." "Hey, you know what? It's fine you dont need to tell me anything." Ponyboy reassures. "No, no, I want to." I reply. Ponyboy puts his hand on my knee. "Take your time." I pause, and even just thinking about what happened, my eyes water. I can feel the grasp Ponyboy has on my knee tighten, and I can sense his frown. "My mom hits me." I blurt. "But only sometimes. Only when shes drunk." "Why . . . ?" Ponyboy questions, his voice sounds heartbroken. "She caught me smoking and drinking." "But thats what everyone does?" Ponyboy questions. It was extremely common for us kids to be smoking and drinking at such a young age. I started when I was eleven, and so did Ponyboy. "It's different for me. Mom wants me to be some sort of medic. A nurse, a doctor, a surgeon, anything to carry on the tradition of our family. But I don't want to be a surgeon! I just want to be me, you know?" "Mhm" Ponyboy agrees. "And my mom thinks me smoking and drinking will ruin my chances. She thinks I'll end up like Greasers. But honestly, if it meant I could get out of this shit show — I'd do anything to be a Greaser." I started to say more, but was interrupted by a tight embrace around my body. Ponyboy holds me around the waist, and his chin digs into my shoulder. His eyes close, and he mutters: "I'm sorry." I feel butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I wrap my hands around his back, resting my cheek on his shoulder. "It's okay." I mumble.
"You ain't no Soc, Johnny." Ponyboy whispers, and I'm not sure what he means by that, because I am a Soc. But, that's the last thing we say to eachother before falling asleep hand in hand.

I'm awoken by bright sunlight seaping through the window. I yawn, groaning at the light thats blaring down at Ponyboy and I. I look down at my side and Ponyboy is resting beautifully, his hair straying left and right all over the place. I gently take my hand and move the hair out of his face. I smile at his unconscious self.
I carefully slide off the bed, ensuring Ponyboy doesn't wake up. I stretch my body and walk over to Ponyboy's desk to grab a pen and paper. 'I need to go.' I tell myself as I etch a message down on a loose paper on the desk, leaving it there for him to read.

"Why leaving so early, Johnny?" Sodapop asks me as I stand by the front door, my hand grasped around the doorknob. Sodapop looks me up and down and smirks, and this is where I realize I forgot to change back to my clothes. I smile. "Just in a rush, have a lot to do today!" I fib. "Can't stay for breakfast?" "Not all too hungry." "Well, thanks for stopping by, Johnny! Ponyboy was very happy to see you."
Was he?
I leave with my eyes closed so I can't rethink this choice.

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Words: 1898