The Outsiders Imagines and Short Stories

Whatever the Hell

Growing up in the streets teaches you a lot. You learn how to handle yourself. I wasn't much of a believer in anything, but this junkie told me once that the central message of Buddhism was every man for himself, and if he was right, then you could call me a Buddhist. Life moved fast, I've had to stay sharp ever since I first got locked up. It was right after I ran away from my old man. It's what the cops do in New York with runaways, throw 'em in jail and hope for the best. I guarantee you that 9 times outta 10, the kid ends up in a ditch. And I was headed for a grave in one of 'em.

I knew I wasn't meant to live a long time, maybe to 21 if I was lucky. Doing whatever the hell you want whenever the hell you want isn't a recipe to live 'til 100. I couldn't imagine getting old or getting married, much less having a kid. I liked testing my limits and I went too in over my head in New York. I can't tell you what it was, because thinkin' about it's what gives me nightmares at night and I'm sure it'd give you them too. I hitch-hiked my way across the country, took me a year to get to Tulsa. I wasn't s'posed to stay, but I figured out the town was low-profile enough to get by. They needed a little excitement anyhow. 

The cops were always after me, I bet when they realized it was me robbin' that convenience store, they was happier than all hell. I bet it made them even happier shootin' me dead. Somethin' isn't mentioned a whole lot because lots of people die because of killin' themselves, but I think it's worth saying. You regret it the second whatever you've done to yourself happens. The second the first bullet hit. Mistake.

The second bullet. Dumbass. 

The third. Every bad thing you could think about yourself under the sun. 

My buddy, Darry, warned me that doing whatever whenever was gonna get me killed. And he was right. Impulse decisions. Recklessness. Uncontrollable desire. That's what gets you killed. And I had all of that and more to share around. I liked the danger. I liked the addiction to adrenaline. I can't describe the way I felt the adrenaline coursing through my blood as I ran. If I lived past those gunshots, I'd be able to clearly remember how the gang looked when I died. I'd remember what it felt like to have my friends watch the life escape my body. 

Images blurred through my mind. I thought about my mom. I thought about hearing her get killed. I remember my dad beating the crap outta me. I remember running away from one of his girlfriends, promising myself two things. Never let someone see me cry and to never go back. I remember the first girlfriend I had. It lasted a week and we did everything imaginable during that time. I remember the first taste of alcohol. I remember the cold imaginings of acid. 

I remember what it was like meeting some of the tuffest guys around. I remember the first time Johnnycake came by Buck's 'cause his pop was beatin' on him. I remember the first time Sylvia looked my way. I'd thought about dyin' before. It wasn't until I was really dead that I realized that maybe life was worth a shot. I got told in reform school that I could turn my life around with the right education. I never believed a word those shrinks said, then I realized that they was right. 

The central message of Buddhism was wrong. Can't be every man for himself. I guess e'ry body does need somebody. But if the guy who really showed me that there was some hope in the world was dead. And who could go on without their shred of hope? No one, but that's what I thought. It was when I was crawling towards my gang that I realized, there was more hope out there. I just looked in the wrong places. 

Doing whatever the hell you want whenever the hell you want gets you killed. And if you look my history, you'll know it's true.