TRY AND REMEMBER

It's just Pony and me at home tonight, typical for a Saturday. I hate to admit I enjoy the peace and quiet that settles on our house the very moment Sodapop walks out that slamming door. Ponyboy's never causing the ruckus that defines our middle brother, and so, in the stillness, I'm finally able to concentrate on things that need to be sorted out, tied up from the last week, planned ahead for the one upcoming. And despite the deep breaths I'm able to enjoy in these calmer hours, when the clock chimes curfew, I'm always ready for Soda's return, the endless rush he carries with him, that when absent, makes the house a little bit lonelier.

Right now I've got our work schedules and the wall calendar spread before me at the freshly cleaned kitchen table, trying to figure out who's gonna be able to get Pony to and from track, to get him to his dentist appointment on Wednesday, to figure out where everyone's gonna be at every moment of every day, so we can keep this complex machine moving. After several months, I've almost got this down, and the task isn't as daunting as it was right after the accident. Now, I'd say I'm near seamless as Mom in running a household. I'm a skilled operator who expertly manages our top priority. Keep Pony living. It's like some life or death project Soda and I took on the day Mom and Dad disappeared from the earth and left us with a thirteen year old.

Pony's physically never far from me on nights like this, though there's no mistaking our distance since we hardly talk. I can see him sprawled on the couch, mindlessly watching My Three Sons, the tv volume so low I know he's not caring about the program. Knowing him he's lost in thought. And though I worry about those thoughts of his, his silence does make my night a little easier, smoother. I feel guilty for this and look up from my papers briefly, study him for a second. I wonder what goes on in his head, and I worry how he draws in to himself. I try not to put myself in his shoes; I don't even want to try and imagine not having parents at that age. Twenty is young enough. I erase the thought by going back to work, circling the nights next week that I won't be home for supper.

I hang up the calendar, now heavily marked with all kinds of slashes, penned abbreviations, codes that would appear incoherent to anyone outside of our family. But one quick glance in the morning lets the three of us know exactly how the day ahead will flow. It's taken many forgotten appointments, missed school functions, failed pickups to lead us to this intricate system, and the stability this has provided us, especially Ponyboy, has made all the difference.

I head to my bedroom now to work on the bills. I don't like either brother seeing my reactions to them. So I turn on my lamp and sit on my bed in privacy, punching a calculator, writing my checks for the most important things, taking the ones we can be late for and putting them in a folder I've labeled "Fucking Late" in bold red ink. This folder sits right in my sock drawer, shouting its warning at me every morning I get ready for work.

I can see through my cracked door that Pony's moved from the couch to his bed, his door wide open, and once again he's following me around in his subtle way. I'm reminded how young he is as I think back several months, to the time he told us how scared he felt, a few nights after Mom and Dad's funeral.

Two-Bit and I are outside having a couple of beers, to wind down after the most grueling week of my life. The January wind is relentless, gusting through our little porch, littering the dark yard with the scraps it's collected on its journey through our trashy neighborhood. But Two-Bit's a true friend, ignoring the temperature, staying quiet as I tell him about Social Services, the things we need to do to keep the boys. Two-Bit knows exactly when to be serious, and quite frankly, beneath all his antics, his serious side is always on, never far from the surface. I also relay some of the advice Shepard gave when he stopped by earlier, imparting his wisdom to me, since he's essentially been Curly's and Angela's guardian for awhile now.

I thought Pony was long asleep, but Soda swings out of the door announcing, "Darry, Pony's havin' a tough time." Both Two-Bit and I raise up as Soda's running a hand through his wild hair, explaining, "I don't know, he just keeps goin' on about being really scared. I think he's gonna have a panic attack or somethin'."

Two-Bit takes this as his cue to leave, and he stands up and pulls me in for a quick hug and a slap on the back. "I gotta go Darry. Tell Pony I'll take him out tomorrow, anywhere he wants." And I watch him leave, while I try to brace myself for the millionth crisis that awaits me now in Ponyboy's bedroom. I take one long drag from my smoke and throw it as hard as I can into the wind, wishing I could soar right on out with it.

I hear their conversation as I come up the hall. Pony sounds small and worried when he says, "I just feel like somethin' bad's gonna happen." The tears behind his voice are heartbreaking. Soda answers soothingly, "Pony, do you think we'd ever let anything bad happen to you? Have you seen how big Darry is?"

As I slowly push Pony's door the rest of the way open, the looming shadow of my big frame fills up his tiny room, darkening the bed that was once lighted somewhat by the hallway. Both of my brothers look up at me, Pony's eyes nervous and wide and Soda who jerks his thumb in my direction. "See, look at him. You think anyone's gonna take that on?" The floor creaks as I walk across to the bed and lean over Pony, wrap my hand around his skinny arm. "Why are you so scared Pony? I ain't gonna let nothin' happen, " I try to convince him.

"I'm gonna go lock the door, okay Pony? Maybe that'll help," Soda says and shoots off for the living room.

Pony puts both hands over his face, trying to hide the fact he's crumbling. I sit beside him and reach up to pull them off, firmly, but gently. "No, talk to me," I instruct him, hoping I'm not coming across too rough.

Before me sits a child who's been through absolute hell. My reaction to his pain is mostly anger, an anger toward all the loss that's been dealt us, and I'm afraid Pony's sensing my tension when what I want is for him to be calmed. Thankfully Soda returns. "Ain't nothin' comin' up in here Pony. And nobody'd be dumb enough to try this house anyway."

I know he feels unprotected, vulnerable without Dad, hell I feel it too a little, and I'm not thirteen. I don't know if this will only frighten him even more, but I decide to show him I mean business. And I most certainly do, when it comes to him. "Pony, hey, listen to me." I give him two quick pats to his leg for his attention, then I say softly but with clarity and strength, "I have all of Dad's guns. I know how they work and I know exactly how to shoot, just like Dad. And Pony," I pause until I move his face to look me dead on, "I ain't afraid to use 'em ." Soda's nodding beside me and I can tell he approves of my speech.

Pony pulls a hand free and wipes his eyes. He's nodding soon enough, though still unsure, and he shakily says. "Okay." And I guess that's all we can get for this moment. Maybe one night of him being able to sleep, knowing both of his brothers would rip anybody up that wanted to take us down.

And for good measure as we leave him to roll over and shut his eyes, I pull Soda into a headlock and smile when I say, "And God help the soul who tries to get through this brother right here. He's the meanest of us all."

I always try and remember that night when I've had enough of Pony's smart mouth, when I'm exhausted from work and want to explode on him for his dumb mistakes. He's such a tough kid in so many ways I forget about how scared he was then. Most times I'm shouting at him before I even think, when life gets tough, forgetting that night all too easy.

I shake off the guilt and stow away my file of bills. Now that I've got a handle on the business for tonight, I head to the darkened kitchen to pour myself the shot I always need after I sit down to our sad state of finances.

As soon as I turn from the liquor cabinet, I see Pony is back to the couch, upside down, his legs thrown over the back, his head hanging almost to the floor. These are the nights both of our ages isolate us from the gang. I think back to what I'd be doing on a Saturday night at thirteen and it sure wouldn't be this. My heart is reaching for him and I find myself putting away the bottle and standing in front of him. "Get up," I order and he flips himself over to the floor, then hops up to a standing position, waiting for me to tell him what to do. While the gang roams all over town, painting it red, there's no reason why we, the oldest and the youngest members, can't go for a ride every now and then. I smirk at his questioning eyes and bring my fist up to affectionately graze his chin. "Get your jacket. Let's go."

Darry and I have little in common, so I'm not sure why he asked me, but I ain't turning down no offer to get out of the house. I'm in the truck before he can even grab his wallet and shut the front door. I watch him come down the porch steps with his cup, tucking in his shirt, and I rub my hands up and down my arms as a cold shiver takes over. "Man it's cold," I say as he climbs in and starts up the engine, turning the knobs to jack up the heat. I have no idea where we're going and I don't need to know, as we take off into the cold spring night, and I watch Darry's scuffed up hands control the gears and wonder if I'll ever be that big.

"Find us a good one, Pony," he tells me and I work the radio dial while he brings his cup right up to his mouth like he's drinking, but he spits his tobacco into it instead. I land on KAKC, the Big 97 station, and tell him with disgust, "Darry, that dippin' is the grossest thing you do."

"Oh really?" he looks over at me mid-spit, the streetlights twinkling in his eyes. "What's the second grossest?"

I don't miss a beat when I answer, "Mix all the food together on your plate." I smile when he busts out laughing. "Ends up lookin' like slop," I add, remembering Dad did the same.

He grins and speeds up, merging us into the traffic while he looks briefly over his shoulder. "Well, you've got me all figured out dontcha?" and his face tells me he seems to love that fact.

The brilliance of the shop and restaurant signs as we drive past all the hot spots are pulling me out of my mood. Earlier tonight I'd been struggling with the loneliness that creeps in every now and then. That feeling of being homesick when you're already at home. Now it's replaced with an energy that's come and saved me at just the right time. I'm pumped when Darry pulls up and parks in the thick of things, knowing we're gonna get out and walk among the masses.

Darry goes through his process of being dip free, rinsing, spitting a whole mouthful of water on the ground, putting in a stick of gum. I roll my eyes while waiting on him, wondering why he'd go through all this for a shot of nicotine as I light my fifth cigarette of the night. And now we're off, side by side, dodging crowds, hands in our pockets, checking out the scene. It's weird being with Darry in this type of situation. I only see him at home or on rare occasions with the gang around our neighborhood haunts. But to see Darry in this element makes me feel kinda proud to be walking right next to him. Cause I can tell people are eyeing him, but all his attention is on me.

He asks me what I want and we settle on ice cream, then I hear someone calling out, "What's up Darry Curtis?" Darry directs my shoulder towards the group that's hanging in front of the movie theater and he throws his gum, making the trash can easily. I hang back away from the crowd and out of the white, flashing cinema lights, finish my cigarette and watch Darry actually socialize. They all look so huge and seem really glad to see him. I hear things like "So you ain't going back?", "Sorry about your parents man", and "Wanna hang out tonight?". Just then Darry beckons me over and they all watch my approach. I smile when he introduces me and one guy asks me what it's like to have Darry as a parent, cause he can't believe Darry would ever be strict. "Kid I could tell you a story or two 'bout your big brother here," and I'm wishing he kinda would, but I guess he doesn't have time cause we all say see ya, but not before Darry takes the number off the cute brunette who I noticed was staring at his mouth the whole conversation.

We're snaking through the crowded sidewalks again, and I look up at Darry, wondering if he feels lousy he's with his little brother instead of his old friends. But his face shows no signs of that and I feel better. Before I know it, he's opening the glass door of Glencliff's and shuffling me in, taking my order, heading to the counter and I plop in a seat, coughing from all the night air. He shoves a water in front of me and I gratefully take a couple of gulps, then we dive into our ice cream, not really talking, just eavesdropping on the few tables around us. The place is pretty empty since nobody seems to want ice cream in this chilly weather.

"That was good," Darry says satisfied, then leans back in the booth and tosses me a napkin, pointing at the corner of his mouth to let me know I've got something on mine. I don't use the napkin and lick it off instead. "So," he says and I know he's gonna try and start small talk. "What's been going on at school these days?" He doesn't have to do this, but I appreciate the effort, so I go ahead and tell him about how sorry I felt for Nancy Lopez when she threw up on stage at the talent show. "Yeah, that's gonna be tough for that poor girl to live down," Darry agrees.

Just then an explosion erupts from a fist outside, pounding against the huge glass window. We look over to find Steve trying to get our attention, then yelling at the others to get their asses over here. "Uh oh," I look to Darry, "Here come the hobos." Darry chuckles and works at finishing my ice cream.

The peace in this establishment has shattered all to hell when the door flies open and five unruly, foul mouthed greasers spill in, talking loudly about something that just went down, blowing their smoke all over. Soda's yelling out "Why wasn't I informed of this family meeting?"

Dallas doesn't even stop at our table. He says only one thing to Darry as he passes by, "Curtis, man, you need to get a handle on that asshole brother of yours," and then stalks the table full of girls at the other end near the jukebox.

I'm glad to see Johnny and I scoot over so he can sit next to me, while Two-Bit announces "I ain't your brother's keeper no more, Darry." He pulls a couple of chairs over and explains they'd been kicked out of two places already for Soda's fighting. Steve's shaking his head pissed cause their girls left them for the night on account of them being too rough. Soda slides in next to Darry looking no worse for the wear. We wait to hear his side of the story, and are used to his blow ups, since he fights twice as often as the rest of us to prove he's no pussy. His looks are always his hot button and all of his enemies know just how to get under his skin, calling him names like pretty boy, or saying he must bat for the other team. He's told me he likes to get real ugly real quick on 'em, so they never think of him pretty again.

Tonight though, as he goes ahead and submerges his entire busted up fist in my glass of ice water without asking, he tells us, "Jerry Thompson said somethin' bout me being an orphan. So I decked him." Darry and I look at each other confused. "But you are an orphan," I inform him.

"No I ain't," he argues. "Am I sitting in an orphanage right now? We got Darry." He's pointing at Darry with his good hand and shaking his wet hand out, flinging water all over the table.

"Soda, we're orphans. We don't have parents." Darry says the final word and hands him a napkin.

"See, I told you," Steve hisses and slaps his hand on the back of Soda's head. "Jerry was just askin' ya about your situation, feelin' sorry for your ass."

Soda breaks into a smile and his chuckle turns into hysterical laughing. "You're shittin' me?" He looks between all of us cracking up. "No wonder Jerry looked at me like I was fuckin' crazy."

"Well I hate that prick anyway," Two-Bit throws in his support as he grinds his cigarette out in Darry's empty bowl.

Steve is now pissed at Two-Bit. "Man, you're just in a huff cause Thompson now practically owns Bee fuckin' Stevens. You're the idiot that egged this hothead on," he complains, pointing to Soda who's still laughing and wrapping his hand in the napkin. Two-Bit, who doesn't give the same shit Steve does that their group of girls ditched them, has tuned him out.

"Now we're gonna have the whole football team all over our asses," Johnny adds, but he's got a half grin so I can tell he doesn't really care. I can't wait to get up to the high school so I can be with Johnny and be a part of all these wild antics that I miss out on. I'm hanging onto their every word.

"Man, did y'all hear Johnny quietly givin' all kinds of shit to Neil Davis behind me?" Soda asks, reliving the moment, and all three of them start giving their version of Johnny's calmly delivered trash talk after Davis gave him a shoulder swipe. "Johnnycake was dishin' it out, man," and Soda leans over to give him a complimenting high five. Johnny acts like it's no big deal but keeps his grin.

I guess Dally struck out with the ladies cause he's sauntering back over. "Johnny let's blow this joint, leave these yahoos and find some real action." Johnny hops up and tells me he'll come by tomorrow. Dally gives Darry a strong pat on the back and I don't miss the squeeze on his shoulder, which Darry answers by looking up and nodding. That's about as real as you're gonna get with Dallas Winston. The two unlikely pair disappear into the electric circus of the strip, and their departure seems to fuel everyone else's.

"Let's go circle Creekside," Two-Bit suggests and Steve is in. Soda stands and tells Darry, "Why don't you let Pony come Darry, we ain't gonna get into no more shit. We'll be home in less than an hour."

Darry says "Sure," and looks to me to give his permission.

But, I look into Darry's eyes and then up into Soda's. "Naw, I think I'm gonna just hang with Darry."

Soda looks at me confused, then to Darry and shrugs, gives us both friendly punches on our shoulders and heads off with his rowdy crew. "Back by one," Darry shouts. Soda answers with "You know it," and he sucks all the energy out of the room with him when he leaves.

In the truck, we laugh about how crazy our brother and our friends are, and it feels good to be on Darry's side for the moment, like we share the same views on something. Maybe we aren't all that different if you get us away from all the wars we have to fight at home. The homework, the rules, and all the fires Darry's constantly working to put out. I watch him as he drives us through the hard streets of Tulsa, and sitting beside him now things don't hurt as bad. I even have to stop myself from leaning against him like I want to.

I'll always try and remember this night, before I mouth off to Darry, when he's exhausted from work and explodes on me for my dumb mistakes, when he's shouting at me, and I'm feeling like he doesn't care. But somehow I know I won't remember, when life gets tough, I'll be forgetting this night all too easy.

A/N: The Outsiders by SE Hinton

Jerry Thompson and Bee Stevens- characters who decided to drop in from another Outsiders fanfiction series, created by AndThatWasEnough.

I decided to make Johnny have some confidence in this story, since this is pre-jumping for him.

Thanks for reading!