sore ribs || the outsiders imagines

reminiscences // p.c.

(UNEDITED)

1:43 PM, MAY 22ND

He remembered sitting there - completely enveloped by the darkness of the movie house. The dimly lit screen in front of him showed scenes of laughter, love, and trauma. It was a fascinating story - one of his favorites. But one he had seen before. Each time he went and saw it, he found himself in awe of something new - the contents of the film spoke to him in ways no one else could.

No one else but you.

He turned to face you, watching the side of your face as the lines traced into different emotions - anger, joy, remorse, awe. You were bathed in the light of the screen, and he found himself watching the film through your eyes alone. He'd been staring for a whole thirty minutes. The movie would be over soon - and he hadn't batted an eye toward the screen - not even once. No, he could not take his eyes of you. You seemed much more enticing, the way you held focus like no one else did; the way you enjoyed things the way he did. Fully. Completely. Lovingly.

He thought he was the only one.

But now he knew he was wrong.

3:17 PM, AUGUST 19TH

He re-traced his memory, recalling the steps he took to walk you home from school. It was chilly outside, the wind whipping your hair about and biting your cheeks till they turned pink. He was cold - but he never wanted the walk to end.

He watched silently as you ran your hands up and down your sides, in an attempt to warm yourself. And he smiled. He smiled at the idea of being able to help you - the idea of being able to keep you warm.

Warm.

The movie house, back in May - that was warm. He'd been warm that day - and he froze that night. In the weeks to follow, he knew he shouldn't have isolated himself from you. But what was he supposed to do? For the first time in his life he wouldn't have someone to guide him the way a parent could. What was a thirteen year old boy supposed to do after learning of his parents' death?

Nothing.

And that's what you did with him now. Walking home from school, talking, rambling, smiling in his direction: nothing. At least, that's what you'd call it. If he wanted to do nothing, you'd do nothing with him. You'd be nothing with him. As long as he knew you were there. As long as he knew.

He'd stripped off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. And you smiled. You smiled because he wanted to help you - he wanted to keep you warm.

5:44 AM, AUGUST 21ST

He thought of you constantly. Only two days prior had he walked you home from school. Only two days prior had been home, he had felt safe. Now he felt like a dead man walking. He hated it all. He hated himself for running out like he did, for not calling you, for leaving you and his brothers to worry.

He wondered if he'd ever see you again.

Johnny told him he would. Johnny told him lots of things - and he always believed him. But this time, he had a feeling; something much worse than what had already happened was going to occur.

The barren and thinly grotesque walls of the old church didn't help none at all. They made him feel lost, like a prisoner. They laughed in his face and mocked he and Johnny's pain.

He hated every inch of that place.

6:32 PM, AUGUST 27TH

He recalled the feeling - for being a greaser, he'd never felt so unclean, so greasy. Black streaks ran up from his neck and all the way through his newly dyed blond hair. Clear paths that showed a bit of his skin were forged by tears, his soft green eyes reddened and sullen.