Helpless

Ponyboy

(Pony)
"Hey," Cherry poked her head into my room where Soda had moved me after coming home from the DX early. "Do you need anything?"

I tested my chest, but the pain killers were holding strong. "No."

"You want to eat something? Darry said you should."

"No. Is Soda gone?"

"Yeah. The boss said he wouldn't fire him if he came back and worked a double shift." She shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I think he understands," she said softly, artfully avoiding saying any real words like sickness or disease-

-or death.

I swallowed, hard.

"Darry will be home really soon."

I just nodded and wished for a cigarette. Cherry must have noticed how tense I was suddenly getting.

"Do you wanna come and watch TV or something?" Cherry asked gently.

"No," I mumbled. "Could you get me my notebook please? And a pen?"

"Sure."

She brought them both a few minutes later, and I sat on my bed thinking. I wanted to write, but I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to say.

It was so easy before, I thought. I just told our story. The Greasers and the Socials. Should I tell this one, tell mine?

My name is Ponyboy Curtis, I wrote, my hand beginning to tremble. And I'm...

The pen slid across the page. I struggled to keep it in my shaking fingers.

Write it, I told myself. You've already said it. Just write it. It's the truth. I'm-

dying.

I stared at the word for a minute, my hands shaking. It looked so much more final on paper. I tried not to think. I tried only to write.

I act like I'm not scared, but I am, I wrote on. I know that people do this every day. My parents did. And Dally. And Johnny...

I faltered again, missing my best friend. I closed my eyes, tight.

(Nature's first green is gold...)

Johnny, how did you do it?

(Her hardest hew to hold...)

What did you think of lying in that bed alone?

(As dawn goes down to day...)

Johnny...

(Nothing gold can stay.)

I'm scared.

I burst into tears, flinging the paper and pen to the ground and falling across my bed, my hat slipping off and leaving my head bare. It didn't matter. I didn't care. I forgot about being tough and let myself cry, sob, bawl, pain ripping through my chest. I was tired of being sick, tired of not sleeping, tired of not eating, tired of coughing and wheezing, tired of waking up to an endless, hopeless day.

I want to die, I thought miserably. I'm terrified but I want to die. This isn't living.

I want to die.

"Pony?" Darry's voice interrupted my thoughts. I didn't care that I was bawling in front of him. I didn't care who saw me. It didn't matter anymore. "I'm sorry..." Darry murmured.

I just sat up and reached for him, and he came slowly into the room, sat beside me and held me tight, a little awkwardly, but as tight as he could. Our bodies were so different; he was still tall and firm, muscular and strong, while I had wasted away to withered sticks of arms and legs.

"I'm sorry, Darry," I sobbed against my oldest brother's shoulder.

"For what?" he murmured.

"Everything," I wept. "You've done so much for me and I never appreciated it. I thought...after Windrixville and all...that we were okay, but then the state guy came and I thought you were trying to hurt me again..."

Darry rubbed my back. He was quiet for a minute.

"You know what I think?" he said softly. I shook my head. "I think you don't realize how important you are to us...especially me. And so you scare easily, because you keep thinking that...that I don't," he sighed heavily, "care about you enough to want to keep you here. That's why you ran out of the house when I...hit you."

I'd calmed down a little, but kep my head on Darry's shoulder. I knew how hard this was for him; he wasn't the type to just say his emotions, and, in his own complicated way, he'd done all he could to tell me how he really felt.

"I love you too," I finally whispered, knowing that's what he wanted to say and couldn't get out.

We both relaxed; we'd said it, in our own ways. We were okay now. Really okay.

And we did it without Soda, I thought absently, we did it on our own.

I was falling asleep, and Darry started rubbing my back to calm me down; otherwise I'd end up having nightmares. But I wasn't ready to sleep yet.

"Darry?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you and Soda be okay when I'm gone?"

He sighed again. "Not at first. But one day we will. Like when we lost Mom and Dad, Pon. It'll be hard, and we'll always miss you, but we won't quit."

I nodded, relieved. "Soda'll need help."

"I know. But we'll be okay. And so will you."

It is, I realized. People die all the time. My parents died, Johnny died, Dally died. This isn't the end. They'll be waiting for me.

I closed my eyes, my body relaxed, an emotion like happiness and peace filling me slowly. "Do me a favor?" I mumbled as Darry eased me back on the bed and covered me with a blanket. It may have seemed odd, but suddenly, desperately, I wanted it.

"Sure, little buddy."

"Don't cry at my funeral."