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Chapter 36

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"How was your day today?" Darry asked at dinner. Soda played with his food, moving the peas around on his plate. I sat silently.

"My boss may add an expansion to the restaurant," I told Darry.

"Good, good," Darry nodded with a mouthful of food.

"Did y'all see Steve today?"

"Uh, no," I said.

"Well, I got a call today from H-"

"I killed someone, Darry," Soda said.

"What?!"

"I killed a woman today," Soda said.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What do you mean you killed a woman?" Darry said.

"No, Darry, not like that. He didn't intently or violently kill this woman," I said.

"What happened?"

"He switched the medicines of two different patients on accident," I said.

"Oh...I'm really sorry, So," Darry said.

"She could've lived. She could've gone on, and because of my careless mistake, she's dead. I murdered her," he said, a tear rolling down his face.

"Soda-"

"The nurse said that she was gonna die anyway," I cut Darry off.

"Yeah, well, we're all gonna die anyway so what's the fuckin' point? Mom and Dad are dead, Steve's gonna be dead soon, Mrs. Rodriguez's dead. What's the damage now? Why don't we shoot everyone up with deadly poison because guess what? We're gonna die anyway!"

"Soda, I didn't mean it like that!"

"Working in this hospital has fucked you up!" Darry snapped.

"Yeah, Darry, it has. I thought because i had some sort of experience of the death of my parents, I would be able to handle death better, but No! You're right, it's fucked me up. Because life just leaves the body quicker than it entered. I mean, if we're all going to die anyway, why don't we just talk about the robbing of the spirit? Death is the absence of life isn't it? If that's the definition, then I died years ago, and all I am now is an exhausted, hollow corpse!" Soda screamed. I didn't have a word to say. And neither did Darry.

"And if that's the definition...then Steve's been a rotting corpse for eighteen years," Soda got up and slammed the door to the bedroom.

"We gotta get him a punching bag."

********

Couple days later, Soda finally apologized after all of us being on edge to say anything for a couple days. He ate breakfast with a smile on his face while Darry drank his coffee and read the paper.

"You know Ponyboy, we got some dough coming in. We could get you a madras," Darry teased.

"Shut the fuck up, Darry or I'll fling these fuckin' eggs on ya face," I said.

"Look, guys, I got a call from the Houston Oncology Center, and they said that the Tulsa hospital decided that Steve's care would need to be really private and professional and extremely focused upon. So they, uh, want to transfer him to the Houston Oncology Center," Darry said. I was quiet. The egg yolk was crackling.

"To live there?" I gulped.

"Yes, to potentially live there. But he would be getting the care he needs! You know, all private and live there, and all..." Darry ran out of things to say.

"Does Steve know?" Soda said.

"Steve already signed the papers," Darry said.

"Ponyboy, you free at lunch? We need to talk to Steve."