Helpless

Pony

(Pony)
It was still dark when I woke up. I lay in bed for awhile, my back pressed against Soda's chest, listening to his quiet breathing, remembering what he'd told me the night before.

I'm safe now, I told myself, I'm okay right now. I've got time. Soda and Darry will get me through this, although they can't come with me. Just think about now. Concentrate on now.

I slid carefully out of bed, taking care not to wake Soda. I changed into sweats and wrapped myself in the robe I'd been wearing while I was home. It kept me warm, although I had to tie it twice around my waist because I'd lost so much weight. When I was dressed I slipped out of our room, through the living room and out onto the porch to watch the sunrise.

The air was clear; summer was coming, although I felt cold all the time. The sky was a deep blue, navy, just beginning to lighten. I sat on our front steps and looked out over our small but messy-when was the last time anybody mowed?-lawn. I thought of the last sunrise I'd seen; the one in Windrixville. With Johnny.

Johnny...

It'd been awhile since I thought of Johnny and Dallas; I'd felt much more at ease with their deaths after I'd finished my English theme. I'd never told Darry and Soda what I'd written about, because they'd probably want to read it, and not everything in there was exactly great stuff about them. Soda, sure, but I'd hurt Darry enough and didn't feel like dragging that whole episode up again. Things weren't perfect between us, but they were a lot better. Besides, they were both already hurting from this cancer thing.

Anyway, I started thinking about Johnny again as the sky turned a paler shade of blue and began to add some pink. I was supposed to be the deep one, but Johnny'd understood Robert Frost a million times better than I ever had. I'd promised myself that I'd stay gold, because that's the last thing Johnny wanted from me. But I wouldn't get that chance now, I thought miserably. I'm not going to grow up.

A lump formed in my throat and my eyes stung, but I didn't want to cry. I watched the sky lighten and the sun come up and turn everything bright, then slipped back inside. It was still early; Darry and Soda were still fast asleep. Normally it would have been my job to cook breakfast, but food made me sick, although my last chemo was several days ago. At least that's over.

"Hey," a voice said from behind me, and I nearly jumped out of skin. Steve was sprawled on the couch; I hadn't seen him when I'd slipped outside. But he sat up now and rubbed his head. "Got aspirin? I've got a hell of a hangover."

"Sure," I backed away from him into the bathroom and found the bottle behind Darry's aftershave. Steve mumbled a thanks and swallowed four pills without water. I watched, impressed. I'd always thought I was the aspirin fiend.

Steve looked me over. "You look like shit," he said amicably. Good ol' Steve.

"Thanks."

He flipped the kitchen light on; it was still pretty dark. "Two-Bit and I got drunk as hell last night. I needed a place to stay."

"We don't mind."

"What time did y'all get in anyhow? Two-Bit was waitin' for awhile."

I thought, but I couldn't remember. It hadn't seemed important. I'd been a wreck at the doctor's office, and nearly fell asleep in the car on the ride home. I hadn't looked a clock all night; ironic, considering time was now the most important thing in my life.

"I don't know," I mumbled. We lapsed into silence. Steve lit a cigarette and shifted nervously, almost like he wanted to say something. I got a glass of water and perched on the counter, wishing I could go back to bed, not wanting to sleep. I felt like I needed to do something, anything, but I couldn't think of what.

Steve took a deep breath. "Look, Ponyboy...I know we haven't been great friends or anything, but I never should have said what I did. You know, a while back, that thing with Soda."

I was dumbfounded. Steve, apologizing? To ME?

"It's okay," I said once I'd gotten over my shock. I wondered if I should tell him what happened last night; that he wouldn't have me around to hate for too much longer. But watching him then, I realized that Steve didn't hate me; he may not like me, but he didn't hate me. And he was trying to say that. I'd never liked Steve, but then I'd never understood him either. And he was loyal to my brother. I looked at the floor. "Look...Soda really likes you, and he's gonna need some help...when I'm not around.."

Steve's head jerked up. His eyes widened and his face paled. He swallowed, hard. "It's that bad?" he nearly whispered.

"Yeah," I said softly.

Steve began slamming his cigarette pack into the palm of his hand. He paced slowly around the kitchen. "I'm sorry, kid."

I just nodded. There really was nothing else we could do for each other.