The Outsiders: Before My Time Part III

Right Place... Wrong Time

Goldie's POV
April 21, 1965

After my shift, Candy and I agreed that I would pick her up from babysitting before we got back to the Curtis house.

I felt like a parent leaving their kid alone for the first time. I was nervous as hell, and half expecting the house to be on fire when we got back. I was afraid that Red would get confused and accidentally break something, so he needed a babysitter. Hell, I feel like I need a babysitter. None of the past few weeks had been duck soup. I still hoped all this was some sort of elaborate gas.

Speaking of babysitters, my folks had an entire army of babysitters to choose from when I was growing up. All of the older gang members had kids or grandkids who loved to watch us. Even some of Dally's own children and grandchildren who did not speak to him loved my family, and we always welcomed them. It always made me wonder what kind of hell he'd put them through. From my understanding, he chose booze and the boxing gym over his own blood. And being in and out of jail made him a pretty absent father.

Dally looked at underprivileged kids and saw mirrors of his own teenage self. He knew how to talk to them, how to discipline them, and how to teach them to fight; mentoring those kids allowed him to fulfill a deep-seated need to protect people without the terrifying vulnerability of being a domestic family man. He only knows how to protect people from the outside world, not from himself. He was a man so tragically trapped by a childhood of neglect and abandonment that the mere concept of a traditional home suffocated him. He hit the self-destruct button with booze because he genuinely believed he was too broken, too angry, and too toxic to raise a "good" kid in a normal home. He probably thought that he was protecting his kids from his own darkness by pushing them away. He poured whatever redemptive energy he had left into the gym.

To Dally, running away to the gym or drowning his anxieties in a bottle of booze was a defense mechanism. The very place he built to save street kids from destroying themselves was simultaneously the place he used to self-destruct and hide from the family he didn't know how to love.

Anyways, my first shift back was entertaining. Dad and Steve showed me the ropes again, walking me through how to do everything from restocking the grease-stained shelves to running the old-school cash register. I got the hang of it pretty quickly, flashing a bright, customer-friendly grin every time someone walked through the door. When the station was empty, the three of us just leaned against the counter, shooting the breeze about cars, girls, and everything in between.

It was agonizing to witness the way neighborhood girls kept coming in just to cast bedroom eyes at my old man. I tried not to get too poked up about it, though I probably would have lost my mind if they actually knew I was his son. A few of them asked if I was Soda's brother because of how much we looked alike, and I didn't hesitate to lean into it, offering a charming wink and a smooth, "must run in the family." I took it as a massive compliment. Dad has always been a looker, but seeing him in his prime proved he wasn't exaggerating when he told us he used to dodge girls left and right in his youth.

My shift ended at seven. Steve and Soda were sticking around until they closing time, whenever the hell that was. It felt good to finally have my hours sorted out. I felt a massive wave of relief knowing I could actually earn my own keep now. At least I wouldn't have to keep digging mustard off of Uncle Darry and feeling like a total parasite.

Candy and I walked through the front door of the Curtis house to find Dally and Red sitting at the dining table. A toothpick was wedged firmly in the corner of Red's mouth, perfectly mimicking the cigarette dangling from Dally's lips. A messy stack of cards and a pile of colorful poker chips sat between them. He was teaching my little brother how to gamble.