You're Dead To Me || ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇʀꜱ

Sixteen Years

[AUTHOR's NOTE: this is the only chapter before Johnny's death]
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Johnny Cade...
I'm a bit torn. I'm never, ever going to walk alone at night again. At least I have Ponyboy, and The Gang. And shucks, I'm gonna try to avoid going home at all costs. My folks either ignore me or beat me. Sometimes I actually prefer the beating--because then at least they acknowledge me.
   
Although I'm 16--turning 17 in 3 months. I'm 5'3. Not the ideal height for a greaser, that's for sure. Some people tell me I look 14, and I don't believe that. PB is 14, but he doesn't really look 14. Maybe 15-and-a-half or so. Anyways, I'm surviving.
  
Season's changing, the days are getting longer. It's certainly less depressing, but winter is the ideal season. Especially for our kind--greasers. But at night it's more dangerous, you can't ever walk alone. At least not if you're someone like me. I bet Dally could walk alone, that's the thing about Dallas Winston. I know I can be tough when I wanna be tough though.
   
Ponyboy and I were walking home from a drive-in movie one night. We were walking down to the vacant lot, neither of us didn't wanna go home just yet. We had our reasons. Ponyboy is trying to avoid his eldest brother Darry, I think they have some sort of conflict going on.
   
Ponyboy always doubts the idea of Darry caring about him.
   
I guess he has his reasons. And I'd rather be out here than at home. I don't even think I can call that place home anymore. It sure doesn't feel like it. I remember the other night I was out, when I got back home my mother was there. Most times she's absent. I got home that night and she started to holler at me about how I'd rather be out with those "hoods" and out in a lot than at home with my family. The way she puts it makes me sound like one of those Greasers. You know, the real ghetto type.
   
I could go on about what followed up that night, but I'd rather not.
   
Ponyboy lit up a cigarette, it ain't hard to get addicted and although anyone who's anyone smokes them--I don't doubt he'll get addicted soon enough. "Hey Johnny," he starts, "have you ever thought about the future?"

"Like what?"
"Like, our futures. Do you think things will always be this way?"

I sigh, "I dunno, maybe." I say as if I'm not thinking about how I'm probably not gonna live a long life. I'd be surprised if I even make it another three years, even if I do, I have no idea where I'll be then.
   
I wonder why Ponyboy suddenly brought this up. Maybe he has something on his mind, maybe deep down he cares about his future 'cause unlike the majority of us, he has good grades. He has a brain and he's smart enough to have a bright future, bright enough to live. I doubt he sees that though. I doubt that he doesn't consider the fact he has a real shot at making a good living, maybe one day he'll even have a family of his own. But I doubt he ever thinks about that.
   
I glance at him, his face is tilted down at the moon and night lights shine down on his complexion. I suddenly get this jealous-feeling. He's so clueless about what he has. I look away and sigh bitterly.

"You alright, Johnny?"
"Sure," I try to keep the sarcasm outta my voice but I'm a terrible liar. When Ponyboy notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Let's stop talking about the future." I state, in a tone harsher than I intended. Which catches Pony's attention, like now he knows he said something. Stop looking at me like that, I think. It just makes me feel foolish.

"You alright?" He asks. You can tell me anything, he has that look on his face that says exactly that. I can't even be mad at him, I'm frustrated at myself. I think he already knows what's up.

"Honest? I don't really have a plan for the future, you know what I mean," I say. Ponyboy is still for a moment, trying to process it. It's written all over his face when he realized what I meant.

"Ohh,"

His expression falters to a look of disappointment, that's when I knew I messed up. "But, whatever happens happens, right?" I say as if it's gonna brighten the subject. A beat passes before Pony speaks up.

"Was it something I said?" He asks ruefully.
"No," I say.
"16 years ain't long enough, Johnny."

I glance back at his face, trying to understand or figure out what type means. Not long enough, hm? Is he insinuating that I'm too young to die? Well, I guess I'm only 16, I may be young but at the same time I'm old as ever. It feels like I've been on this planet for decades, my body is just slowly decaying.

"I don't think anything is, you know? Your age ain't relevant to your death because everyone dies at some point, it happens to everyone," I try to tell Ponyboy. "Well," he pauses, like if he's gonna say another word he might just cry.

"The Gang wouldn't be the same without you, you're kinda like our glue, Johnny." I think about his words for a moment. Darn, would it really make that much of a difference? Is my role in our friendship vital? I never thought about it. I've just thought of myself as The Gang's lousy pet, not their foundation of sticking together.

I let out a dry chuckle, "ain't that a fact, Pony?"

"It is, it really is, Johnny," he laughs along with me. When the laughter dies down I take a deep breath, composing myself. "Ah, I guess a couple more thousand years of living wouldn't hurt. I mean, it would, I take that back. But certainly worth it--that's a fact." I smile light heartedly, whereas Pony smiles bittersweetly.

"Don't worry, it's only a few more thousand years."