Big Boys Don't Cry - The Outsiders

Six

September 1964,

Tulsa,

Bright flashing lights that once lit up my eyes and ignited a flame somewhere in my chest were suddenly duller now that Dallas had gone. My remaining week in New York was spent slumping around the apartment, running errands for my ma to and from the local farmer's market that was spread out a few blocks away from her apartment every couple of days a week. By the time my departure arrived, I couldn't wait to get back to Tulsa, to slip back into my old ways and bury my head in between the social's again and keep quiet - like I should've in the first place. 

Just like old times, my father picked me up; he wasn't in his uniform and Diane was sitting in the front of the vehicle with him, painting her pink claws, adjusting the blonde hive upon her head - generally being vain. He looked happy to see me. He was grinning as he scratched the stubble around his jaw and then pulled me into a overwhelming embrace. I laughed awkwardly and tried to pull away from his tightening clasp. With a hard pat on the back, he shut me in the car. 

I looked out the window as we drove to the West, hoping that I'd see any sign of his brown mop as we skidded through the East-side: but I didn't. My house was just the same: large, dripping with money with the American Flag blowing in the wind. Diane left the car without a word to me, my father helped me lug my bag inside. 

He shut the door behind the pair of us and turned to face me with a worried expression. "You're mother said that you seemed down while you visited her - what's going on with you bud?" 

I shrugged and dropped into the wing chair that my mother used to pose in when she lived here with us, she used to make my dad take pictures of her doing long, extravagant poses over the chair. Often looking gawky instead of the beautiful exoctic women she aimed to be. 

"I wasn't down - I was bored. I wanted to come home." I replied and slumped into the chair further - trying to escape my father's relentless questioning that I expected to follow. 

Placing his hands on his hips and looking at me in the eyes, his worried expression faded and reverted back to his tired expression that he often had on his face when he attempted to reason with me. "Why didn't you call? I would've got you on a train earlier!" 

Again, I shrugged.

"Your friend Cindy keeps calling here, can you get rid of her and get off the line quickly? I've got people to call." Diane shouted from the depths of the kitchen and I grabbed the chord of the phone that sat on the wall beside me. 

"Hello?" 

She squealed down the line and then some ruffled sounds fed into my ear like she was fighting with the phone's cord. "How was New York?" She'd calmed herself down, but the elation was still clear in her voice. 

"Boring. I never thought I'd say it but... I'm glad to be back here." I smiled to myself quietly and in the corner of my eye saw my father leaving the room. We spoke for a few minutes before she invited me to a party that a kid from the football team had decided to hold before we all went back to school - this was in a couple of weeks time. His name was Todd and although he was about the most popular soc, he always invited Greasers to his parties. I think he enjoyed being the one who often 'crossed the line' it did things for his reputation that it wouldn't do to anyone else's.  I was uneasy about the faces I could see at this party, but I asked my father anyway. 

"Might perk you up a bit, I don't want anymore trouble with Frank again though." Was his reply. This was how my father worked - he was real generous about letting me out on the weekends and was easy about curfews, but his 'yes' would always have a negative attached to the end of it. "I was probably the same as the kid when I was his age thinking about it. At least it's not that Dallas Winston is all I gotta' keep telling myself ay?" He chuckled at his remark and my eyes widened, I stammered and felt my ears burn.