Golden Days // The Outsiders

Chapter One:

I looked past the sunset outside of my house.
It was a little past seven o'clock when I heard my brother calling my name from the porch, knocking me out of my daze.
"Pony, come in the house. Its getting cold out," Darry yelled, as if he suddenly cared about me.
"I'll be in soon," I replied.

I've always been really fond of sunsets. The colors, the shortness of it, it all has always meant a lot to me. I never realized just how much sunsets mean to me until a good friend of mine told me how much he admired my love for sunsets. I haven't seen that friend in about six months.

A sudden cool breeze hit my face, knocking me out of another daze. It's like these days, I don't even know what reality is anymore. The sudden cool breeze helped me to realize that I should probably go in the house before I get yelled at by Darry.

I walked into the living room only to see Darry sitting in his recliner, reading the newspaper, and my other brother Sodapop falling asleep while watching TV on the couch. I really wasn't in any mood to talk to anyone, as I usually am not anymore.

I walked down the hallway, going into mine and Soda's bedroom, when I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I couldn't help but to go look in the mirror at my face, not in a narcissistic way, just because my eyes looked so lifeless.
I've heard a lot of stupid jokes from Two-Bit and Steve about how dead my eyes have looked recently. I used to hear a lot from Soda about how concerned he has been. It seems like recently, everyone has been concerned about me.
I try to convince everyone that I'm fine, everyone including myself.

I looked carefully at the mirror, hating what I was seeing. Purple and red around my eyes. My lifeless eyes. I don't know how else to describe them besides lifeless.
That's what pain and heartache can do to you. It's been six months of nothing but pain and heartache.

After studying my eyes, I then looked at my hair. My slowly fading blonde hair. Six months ago, I bleached my hair to disguise myself. Now, it's slowly fading back to brown. I hate looking at my hair because it reminds me of the worst and best week of my life. August of '65 is a month that I will never forget.

I suddenly grew sick of looking at my reflection, so I walked out of the bathroom and down the hall into mine and Soda's bedroom. I sat at the desk that we have in our room. I started writing something that I have been working on for months. It's about that week in August. I'm writing it to give to my English teacher. I've been flunking in school recently, so Mr. Syme agreed to pass me with a C if I wrote about a personal experience and turned it in.
I have been working on the essay since August, which is a really long time. It's taking so long because there is just so much to talk about that happened in that week.

It's a story that I feel has to be told. And maybe I am the only person who can tell this story.