This is Today

Chapter Eight

I arrived at Ponyboy's house a little before seven at night. I made my way through the broken gate and up the little pathway which led up to their front door. The screen door was propped open with a stray burgundy-red brick. I shoved my left hand into my jacket pocket before lifting up my right hand and knocking gently, not wanting to be too loud. I had been to the Curtis home before, but it had been only me and Ponyboy that time. The time it was going to be all the Curtis brothers and Matthews and Steve Randle. For a single, demented moment I was glad that Dallas and the other kid Ponyboy told me about were gone. Dealing with anyone else right now would have actually killed me.
"I'll get it!" I heard a voice yell out from inside the house. Heavy footfalls approached the door before it was flung open, revealing a grinning Two-Bit Matthews. His cheeks were flushed and he swayed where he stood, quickly informing me that he was buzzed. "Hey Bryon my boy!" He grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, letting the door slam shut behind us. The noise was loud and it made me cringe. "Douglas is here!" He screamed out into the house, even though it was clear everyone already knew I was there.
Steve was sitting on the couch watching TV, not sparing me a single glance. SodaPop and a large man I've never met before walked into the living room from the kitchen. Soda smiled at me, waving, but the older man just nodded at me in greeting. I looked around for Ponyboy, but didn't spot him anywhere.
"Pony's in our bedroom." Soda said suddenly. He must've noticed me looking around confused. I nodded absentmindedly and the blond came over to me, holding out a hand. "It's nice to see you again Bryon." He was smiling, and it made me want to smile too, but I was in too much pain for smiling. I still shook his hand though. "I'm real sorry about the number Pone did on you last night," he mumbled, staring at my bruises, "he didn't know what he was doing, I guess." I shrugged, putting my hands back in my pockets.
"It's fine. We were arguin' anyway. Not really all that surprisin' it led to a fight. I just didn't expect him to be such a strong fighter." I forced a small chuckle, wincing at the pain it caused to shoot through my face.
The large man from the kitchen approached me as Soda walked back to the kitchen. He shot me a sympathetic smile over his shoulder before disappearing. "I'm Darrel Curtis," the large man spoke in a gruff tone. He stuck out his hand and I shook it warily. "I'm Ponyboy and Soda's older brother." His relation to the brothers did kind of surprise me. He didn't look much like them, and he didn't have a wild name like they both did. I knew they had another brother, but I expected someone handsome, like Soda, or someone soft, like Ponyboy. Darrel, however, was a breed all his own. He stood at probably around six-foot-three or so, a decent bit taller than me. He was super muscular, nothing like scrawny Ponyboy. Darrel had greasy brown hair, like Steve, and ice cold blue eyes, like Dallas had. He didn't seem like a Curtis at all.
"I'm Bryon Douglas," I replied, chewing my lower lip, "the kid Pony beat up." I forced a laugh as I finished my sentence, but the only person who thought it was funny was Two-Bit. He cackled from his position in the couch beside Steve, gripping a beer bottle in each hand.
"Dinner will be ready soon. You can just hang out in here until then." I nodded as Darrel left the living room, retreating back into the kitchen to continue working on dinner.
I sat down in the old recliner that resides in the living room. It was comfortable. Big and worn-in by years of use. It was nice and homey feeling.
"So," Steve suddenly spoke up, not looking away from the TV, "the kid kicked your ass?" A sly smirk played at his lips and I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
"We fought." I growled back.
Finally, he pulled his gaze away from the television to look at me. "Look, Douglas," he spoke as if he was talking to a little kid, "we all know that little Pony all but destroyed you last night. Why can't you just admit it? I mean, after all, there's no shame in being beaten. Especially not by sweet, little, fifteen year old, book-reading, track-running, constantly-crying Ponyboy Michael Curtis." He grinned so widely I thought the skin of his cheeks might rip open.
I scowled. "Didn't your girlfriend cheat on you with a freshman?" I knew it was a low blow, but honestly I had no idea how to defend myself against his words. Ponyboy was all of those things that Steve said he was, but he was also the one who completely beat me into the dirt the night before.
Steve growled at me and began to curse all the colors of the rainbow. He called me every name in the book, and I just watched in amusement. Two-Bit was cackling once again, cheeks even redder than before. He had already downed one of the beers and was working on the second one. I wished briefly for a cigarette.
I was so distracted by Steve's rage and my lust for a cigarette that I didn't even notice when Ponyboy came out of his bedroom. He was staring at us from the doorway, a smirk on his face. When he finally caught my eye, I immediately jerked my head in the other direction, still embarrassed from the night before. I wondered momentarily if Ponyboy was still mad at me, but I doubted it. He didn't seem very upset.
"Hey, Bryon," Ponyboy's voice piped up, catching the attention of both Steve and I, "can I talk to you for a minute, please?" He nodded his head toward his bedroom before turning and vanishing inside. I looked to Two-Bit and Steve before following Pony. Two-Bit winked at me, a smug smile on his face, and Steve just shot me an intense, hateful glare. With that, I stood and sauntered into the shared bedroom of Soda and Ponyboy.
Ponyboy shot me a sad smile when I entered. He didn't look nearly as bad as I did, but he did have a busted lip and a bruised cheek. I felt kind of bad for hurting him, but not too bad since he hit me first.
"I'm sorry for attacking you last night," the younger boy's voice came in almost a whisper, "I know that I attacked you first, and I feel really bad. I can't excuse my actions. I can try to explain, but I don't really have an excuse."
"Explain then."
Ponyboy looked up at me in surprise, confused at my words no doubt. "What?"
"Explain. I want to hear your explanation for attacking me."
He looked down uncomfortably. He bit his lip, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "It's just. . . I don't know. I miss him a lot, Bryon. I wish he was still her a lot of the time. He made my life so exciting. After Johnny and Dally died, I was kind of alone. Sure, the gang was still around, but not like before. Johnny was my best friend, and Dally was practically always with us, always looking out for us. Then, I lost them both in the same night. I was so lost. Then, I guess Tim told Curly was happened and he started hanging around me, and after that Mark started hanging around too. . ." He trailed off, voice sad and quiet as he spoke, not glancing at me.
"Go on."
"Mark kind of filled the gap that Johnny left, and Curly filled the one Dally left. They didn't replace them by any means, but they made it easier to go on." Ponyboy paused for a few moments before continuing. "I knew what Mark was doing."
My eyes widened and I stared at Ponyboy. I was shocked. Almost appalled. Did Ponyboy not know right from wrong either? Did he not know how much that stuff fucked people up?
"What?" I spat, my eyes hard and glaring at the younger greaser.
"I knew Mark was dealing. I tried to get him to stop, but he didn't want to. He said you guys needed the money. He swore that it was fine. That nobody was gettin' hurt and that he had it under control. We used to argue about it a lot. One time, we were at Buck's– Curly, Mark and I– and while Curly was asleep Mark and I were going at it arguing about him dealing. I was freakin' out, going off about how he was going to end up dead. He was going to piss someone off and end up with a bullet in his head. But he just laughed and said he would be fine, said I worry too much. I told him he was going to get in trouble, but he just. . ." His voice trailed off into a bitter silence. I saw his shoulders tremble as he shook. "He kept telling me 'It's fine Pone, it's fine. I'm just doing it until we're back on our feet, ya dig?' He kept assuring me he'd be fine, and that he wouldn't get caught. He said it so much I finally started believing him. Then, just a few days later, he was hauled away in handcuffs. I lost him."
Tears slid down Pony's nose, dripping off its tip and forming a tiny puddle in his lap. I sighed, wrapping an arm around the smaller boy and laying my head on top of his. I guess sometimes doing the right thing isn't the right thing to do.