Like Dominoes

We greasers already knew we got the short end of the stick. The Socs got money, respect, and bright futures. Greasers got no money, broken families, and we fight to survive. We had all the tough luck, but we had each other, and we thought we would always have each other. Future's always uncertain, but we thought that was for sure.

Then Johnny died.

Ponyboy said it himself, we couldn't get along without him. After Johnny died, it was only a matter of time.

Dally snapped first, immediately. He pretended to care only about himself to act tough. He cared about the gang, but Johnny was the only thing he loved. Even Dally had a breaking point. He wanted to die with him, and Dallas Winston always gets what he wants.

For a time, we were fooled into thinking that maybe–just maybe–we could go on without them. Now, I'm not a believer in fate or destiny, but it felt like something was out there laughing at us. The same thing that dealt greasers the bad card wanted to prove Ponyboy right. The kid said it was like the Fates from Greek myths snipping our cord or something. I don't know what that means. I don't have the brains for school like he does. Dominoes was a simpler picture for me. Johnny was the first domino to be knocked over, then Dally, and the rest of us followed.

Ponyboy was the first to go. The poor kid went through so much and came out of it tougher than ever. For a moment, I was worried he came out too tough until he picked up the pieces of the Pepsi bottle he broke so no one's tires would get slashed. He was so sweet and innocent and young, younger than Johnny even. Johnny said sixteen years wasn't long enough and I screamed that seventeen-year-old Dally was just a kid when the fuzz filled him with holes. We were both right, but fourteen-going-on-fifteen is nothing in comparison.

The rumble was supposed to end everything, but we all knew nothing was gonna change after a skin-on-skin brawl. Socs were still gonna jump greasers, especially when drunk and forgetful, forgetting the terms of the rumble and the trial verdict. What they did remember was Bob's murder, and that's what got Ponyboy Curtis in trouble.

Despite his high IQ, the boy still didn't use his head. Greasers aren't supposed to walk alone in case they get jumped. Steve and I did our best to watch him at school, but since the deaths of Johnny and Dally, he always managed to slip away to be alone. That's how he's always been, but more now than before.

One of those times, he got jumped by Bob's drunk friends. Probably wanted revenge on the survivor since Johnny died from saving those kids. We thought they might come for him. He didn't even last a year.

Ponyboy had gotten out of school long before me. Steve went to the DX with Sodapop while I was stuck in detention again. It was late afternoon when I got out, and Darry, Soda, and Steve clocked out from work. Somehow, like when Johnny got jumped, the gang sensed it happen. We found the poor kid in the same spot Johnny killed Bob, bleeding like a stuck pig. They pulled a blade on him. His brothers ran to him faster than I could swear. Sodapop gathered him into his arms while Darry pressed his flannel shirt against the stab wound, shouting at us to call an ambulance.

Sodapop wept openly, running his hands through Pony's once again dark, long hair and whispering in his ear. Darry remained dry-eyed, but I could tell by his face that he was scared–no, terrified. I heard Steve gag next to me. I was shocked to see his face was pale and his eyes were huge. I never thought him to be queasy, but I think it's because it was Ponyboy; young, golden Pony. I opened my mouth to tell him to call an ambulance so he won't have to see, but he ran off anyways before I could.

I stepped closer. My hands were itching to do something. I wanted to help, but his brothers were already smothering him enough. I jammed my hands into my pockets, missing the feel of my switchblade so I could go murder the Soc that would dare hurt Pony. I wanted to find them so bad, but I couldn't bring myself to leave.