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𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢. life is beautiful ❝part of my life was buried there, too.❞
IT SEEMED AS IF THINGS WERE FINALLY STARTING TO TURN AROUND. I couldn't help but think to myself, What now? What's the next thing that will happen that'll mess everything up? I hadn't been as happy as I was in a long time. So really, I couldn't help but believe that the relief I felt was a temporary thing. But, don't get me wrong, I really hoped it wasn't.
I'd turned seventeen years old. The warm, summer months had finally arrived, and June rolled around in the soft summer breeze. You'd think by now I'd done something to mess things up with Ponyboy, but no. We'd been together almost five months, going out and spending every waking second of our summers by each other's side. It was all I ever wanted. Eight year old me would have had a heart attack if she knew one day, Ponyboy would be my boyfriend. And neither of us cared what other people thought when we kissed on sidewalks. It didn't matter if they were looking at us. Because I was looking at him.
Things were finally going my way. I was right. 1967 really was my year. That was the year Ponyboy managed to publish his own book about everything that happened. The Outsiders, he called it. It was no smash hit, at least not then, but I'd read it about a thousand times over. Maybe calling it my favorite book was a little biased, but I didn't care. My own book was still a work in progress. It seemed more like an autobiography than anything.
Ponyboy urged me to publish it too, I told him I'd think about it once I was done. What happened with Daniel Gordon in New York left a sour taste in my mouth. It made me hesitant to show anyone my work. The only person I ever let read it was Ponyboy, and that was a step up for me because usually I never let anybody read what I write. It felt like someone was looking into my soul from a window in the shape of a book page. I wasn't really thinking too much about my book. Summer was still there, and I looked forward to making sure it didn't go before I wanted it to. And for once, I wasn't alone. Ponyboy's company was never lost on me.
Think this, too. Bart started drinking less. The house seemed a lot cleaner. And by no means was he the typical dad figure— that place in my life was already occupied by Darry— but he was better. Even asked me what I was reading and told me to tell him about it. It made me uncomfortable, but I saw him trying and that made it harder than anything to shut him down. Really, that was never who I was. Too empathetic for my own good. I can't stand being mad at somebody for too long. There's always a place for my father in my heart no matter how much I wanted to evict him.
