The Outsiders
Day Three
CHAPTER 3.
After the movie was over it suddenly came to us
that Cherry and Marcia didn't have a way to get
home. Two-Bit gallantly offered to walk them home,
the west side of town was only about twenty miles
away, but they wanted to call their parents and have
them come and get them. Two-Bit finally talked them
into letting us drive them home in his car. I think
they were still half-scared of us. They were getting
over it, though, as we walked to Two-Bit's house to
pick up the car. It seemed funny to me that Socs, if
these girls were any example, were just like us. They
liked the Beatles and thought Elvis Presley was out,
and we thought the Beatles were rank and that Elvis
was tuff, but that seemed the only difference to me. Of
course greasy girls would have acted a lot tougher, but
there was a basic sameness. I thought maybe it was
money that separated us.
"NO," Cherry said slowly when I said this. "It's not
just money. Part of it is, but not all. You greasers have
a different set of values. You're more emotional. We're
sophisticated, cool to the point of not feeling any-
thing. Nothing is for real with us. You know, some-
times I'll catch myself talking to a girl-friend, and re-
alize I don't mean half of what I'm saying. I don't
really think a beer blast on the river bottom is super-
cool, but I'll rave about one to a girl-friend just to be
saying something." She smiled at me. "I never told
anyone that. I think you're the first person I've ever
really gotten through to."
She was coming through to me all right, probably
because I was a greaser, and younger; she didn't have
to keep her guard up with me.
"Rat race is a perfect name for it," she said. "We're
always going and going and going, and never asking
where. Did you ever hear of having more than you
wanted? So that you couldn't want anything else and
then started looking for something else to want? It
seems like we're always searching for something to sat-
isfy us, and never finding it. Maybe if we could lose
our cool we could."
That was the truth. Socs were always behind a wall
of aloofness, careful not to let their real selves show
through. I had seen a social-club rumble once. The
Socs even fought coldly and practically and
impersonally.
"That's why we're separated," I said. "It's not mon-
ey, it's feeling, you don't feel anything and we feel
too violently."
"And" she was trying to hide a smile, "that's prob-
ably why we take turns getting our names in the
paper."
Two-Bit and Marcia weren't even listening to us.
They were engaged in some wild conversation that
made no sense to anyone but themselves.
I have quite a rep for being quiet, almost as quiet as
Johnny. Two-Bit always said he wondered why
Johnny and I were such good buddies. "You must
make such interestin' conversation," he'd say, cocking
one eyebrow, "you keepin' your mouth shut and
Johnny not sayin' anything." But Johnny and I under-
stood each other without saying anything. Nobody
but Soda could really get me talking. Till I met Cher-
ry Valance.
I don't know why I could talk to her; maybe for the
same reason she could talk to me. The first thing I
knew I was telling her about Mickey Mouse, Soda's
horse. I had never told anyone about Soda's horse. It
was personal.
Soda had this buckskin horse, only it wasn't his. It
belonged to a guy who kept it at the stables where
Soda used to work. Mickey Mouse was Soda's horse,
though. The first day Soda saw him he said, "There's
my horse," and I never doubted it. I was about ten
then. Sodapop is horsecrazy. I mean it. He's always
hanging around stables and rodeos, hopping on a
horse every time he gets a chance. when I was ten I
thought that Mickey Mouse and Soda looked alike
and were alike. Mickey Mouse was a dark-gold buck-
skin, sassy and ornery, not much more than a colt.
He'd come when Soda called him. He wouldn't come
for anyone else. That horse loved Soda. He'd stand
there and chew on Soda's sleeve or collar. Gosh, but
Sodapop was crazy about that horse. He went down to
see him every day. Mickey Mouse was a mean horse.
He kicked other horses and was always getting into
trouble. "I've got me a ornery pony," Soda'd tell him,
rubbing his neck "How come you're so mean, Mickey
Mouse?" Mickey Mouse would just chew on his sleeve
and sometimes nip him. But not hard. He may have
belonged to another guy, but he was Soda's horse.
"Does Soda still have him?" Cherry asked.
"He got sold," I said. "They came and got him one
day and took him off. He was a real valuable horse.
Pure quarter."
She didn't say anything else and I was glad. I
couldn't tell her that Soda had bawled all night long
after they came and got Mickey Mouse. I had cried,
too, if you want to know the truth, because Soda nev-
er really wanted anything except a horse, and he'd lost
his. Soda had been twelve then, going-on-thirteen. He
never let on to Mom and Dad how he felt, though, be-
cause we never had enough money and usually we had
a hard time making ends meet. When you're thirteen
in our neighborhood you know the score. I kept sav-
ing my money for a year, thinking that someday I
could buy Mickey Mouse back for Soda. You're not so
smart at- ten.
"You read a lot, don't you, Ponyboy?" Cherry
asked.
I was startled "Yeah Why?"
She kind of shrugged. "I could just tell. I'll bet you
watch sunsets, too." She was quiet for a minute after
I nodded. "I used to watch them, too, before I got so
busy."
I pictured that, or tried to. Maybe Cherry stood still
and watched the sun set while she was supposed to be
taking the garbage out. Stood there and watched and
forgot everything else until her big brother screamed
at her to hurry up. I shook my head. It seemed funny
to me that the sunset she saw from her patio and the
one I saw from the back steps was the same one.
Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so
different. We saw the same sunset.
Marcia suddenly gasped. "Cherry, look what's
coming."
We all looked and saw a blue Mustang coming
down the street. Johnny made a small noise in his
throat and when I looked at him he was white.
Marcia was shifting nerviously. "What are we going
to do?"
Cherry bit a fingernail. "Stand here," she said.
"There isn't much else we can do."
"Who is it?" Two-Bit asked. "The F.B.I.?"
"No," Cherry said bleakly, "it's Randy and Bob."
"And," Two-Bit added grimly, "a few other of the
socially elite checkered-shirt set."
"Your boyfriends?" Johnny's voice was steady, but
standing as close to him as I was, I could see he was
trembling. I wondered why-Johnny was a nervous
wreck, but he never was that jumpy.
Cherry started walking down the street. "Maybe
they won't see us. Act normal."
"Who's acting?" Two-Bit grinned. "I'm a natural
normal."
"Wish it was the other way around," I muttered,
and Two-Bit said, "Don't get mouthy, Ponyboy."
The Mustang passed us slowly and went right on
by. Marcia sighed in relief. "That was close."
Cherry turned to me. "Tell me about your oldest
brother. You don't talk much about him.
I tried to think of something to say about Darry,
and shrugged. "What's to talk about? He's big and
handsome and likes to play football"
"I mean, what's he like? I feel like I know Soda
from the way you talk about him; tell me about Dar-
ry." And when I was silent she urged me on. "Is he
wild and reckless like Soda? Dreamy, like you?"
My face got hot as l bit my lip. Darry, what was
Darry like? "He's, "I started to say he was a good
ol' guy but I couldn't. I burst out bitterly: "He's not
like Sodapop at all and he sure ain't like me. He's
hard as a rock and about as human. He's got eyes ex-
actly like frozen ice. He thinks I'm a pain in the neck.
He likes Soda, everybody likes Soda, but he can't
stand me. I bet he wishes he could stick me in a home
somewhere, and he'd do it, too, if Soda'd let him."
Two-Bit and Johnny were staring at me now. "No,
" Two-Bit said, dumbfounded. "No, Ponyboy, that
ain't right, you got it wrong.
"Gee," Johnny said softly, "I thought you and Dar-
ry and Soda got along real well.
"Well, we don't," I snapped, feeling silly. I knew
my ears were red by the way they were burning, and I
was thankful for the darkness. I felt stupid. Compared
to Johnny's home, mine was heaven. At least Darry
didn't get drunk and beat me up or run out of the
house, and I had Sodapop to talk things over with.
That made me mad, I mean making a fool of myself
in front of everyone. "And you can shut you trap,
Johnny Cade, cause we all know you ain't wanted at
home, either. And you can't blame them."
Johnny's eyes went round and he winced as though
I'd belted him. Two-Bit slapped me a good one across
the side of the head, and hard.
"Shut your mouth, kid. If you wasn't Soda's kid
brother I'd beat the tar out of you. You know better
than to talk to Johnny like that." He put his hand on
Johnny's shoulder. "He didn't mean it, Johnny."
"I'm sorry," I said miserably. Johnny was my bud-
dy. "I was just mad."
"It's the truth," Johnny said with a bleak grin. "I
don't care."
"Shut up talkin' like that," Two-Bit said fiercely,
messing up Johnny's hair. "We couldn't get along
without you, so you can just shut up!"
"It ain't fair" I cried passionately. "It ain't fair
that we have all the rough breaks!" I didn't know ex-
actly what I meant, but I was thinking about Johnny's
father being a drunk and his mother a selfish slob,
and Two-Bit's mother being a barmaid to support
him and his kid sister after their father ran out on
them, and Dally-wild, cunning Dally-turning into
a hoodlum because he'd die if he didn't, and Steve-
his hatred for his father coming out in his soft, bitter
voice and the violence of his temper. Sodapop, a
dropout so he could get a job and keep me in school,
and Darry, getting old before his time trying to run a
family and hang on to two jobs, and never having any
fun-while the Socs had so much spare time and mon-
ey that they jumped us and each other for kicks, had
beer blasts and river-bottom parties because they
didn't know what else to do. Things were rough all
over, all right. All over the East Side. It just didn't
seem right to me.
"I know," Two-Bit said with a good-natured grin,
"the chips are always down when it's our turn, but
that's the way things are. Like it or lump it."
Cherry and Macia didn't say anything. I guess they
didn't know what to say. We had forgotten they were
there. Then the blue Mustang was coming down the
street again, more slowly.
"Well," Cherry said resignedly, "they've spotted us."
The Mustang came to a halt beside us, and the two
boys in the front seat got out. They were Socs all
right. One had on a white shirt and a madras ski jack-
et, and the other a light-yellow shirt and a wine-col-
ored sweater. I looked at their clothes and realized for
the first time that evening that all I had was a pair of
jeans and Soda's old navy sweat shirt with the sleeves
cut short. I swallowed. Two-Bit started to tuck in his
shirttail, but stopped himself in time; he just flipped
up the collar of his black leather jacket and lit a ciga-
rette. The Socs didn't even seem to see us.
"Cherry, Marcia, listen to us. the handsome
black-haired Soc with the dark sweater began.
Johnny was breathing heavily and I noticed he was
staring at the Soc's hand. He was wearing three heavy
rings. I looked quickly at Johnny, an idea dawning on
me. I remembered that it was a blue Mustang that
had pulled up beside the vacant lot and that Johnny's
face had been cut up by someone wearing rings.
The Soc's voice broke into my thoughts: "just
because we got a little drunk last time."
Cherry looked mad. "A little? You call reeling and
passing out in the streets a little'? Bob, I told you, I'm
never going out with you while you're drinking, and
I mean it. Too many things could happen while
you're drunk. It's me or the booze."
The other Soc, a tall guy with a semi-Beatle haircut,
turned to Marcia. "Baby, you know we don't get
drunk very often." When she only gave him a cold
stare he got angry. "And even if you are mad at us,
that's no reason to go walking the streets with these
bums."
Two-Bit took a long drag on his cigarette, Johnny
slouched and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and I
stiffened. We can look meaner than anything when we
want to-looking tough comes in handy. Two-Bit put
his elbow on Johnny's shoulder. "Who you callin'
bums?"
"Listen, greasers, we got four more of us in the back
seat."
"Then pity the back seat," Two-Bit said to the sky.
"If you're looking for a fight."
Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow, but it only made him
look more cool. "You mean if I'm looking for a good
jumping, you outnumber us, So you'll give it to us?
Well," He snatched up an empty bottle, busted
off the end, and gave it to me, then reached in his back
pocket and flipped out his switchblade. "Try it, pal."
"No!" Cherry cried. "Stop it!" She looked at Bob.
"We'll ride home with you. Just wait a minute."
"My?" Two-Bit demanded. "We ain't scared of
them."
Cherry shuddered. "I can't stand fights. I can't
stand them."
I pulled her to one side. "I couldn't use this," I said,
dropping the pop bottle. "I couldn't ever cut anyone.
I had to tell her that, because I'd seen her eyes
when Two-Bit flicked out his switch.
"I know," she said quietly, "but we'd better go with
them. Ponyboy-I mean, if I see you in the
hall at school or someplace and don't say hi, well, it's
not personal or anything, but."
"I know," I said.
"We couldn't let our parents see us with you all.
You're a nice boy and everything.
"It's okay," I said, wishing I was dead and buried
somewhere. Or at least that I had on a decent shirt.
"We aren't in the same class. Just don't forget that
some of us watch the sunset too."
She looked at me quickly. "I could fall in love with
Dallas Winston," she said. "I hope I never see him
again, or I will."
She left me standing there with my mouth dropped
open, and the blue Mustang vroomed off.
We walked on home, mostly in silence. I wanted to
ask Johnny if those were the same Socs that had
beaten him up, but I didn't mention it. Johnny never
talked about it and we never said anything.
"Well, those were two good-lookin' girls if I ever
saw any." Two-Bit yawned as we sat down on the curb
at the vacant lot. He took a piece of paper out of his
pocket and tore it up.
"What was that?"
"Marcia's number. Probably a phony one, too. I
must have been outa my mind to ask for it. I think
I'm a little soused."
So he had been drinking. Two-Bit was smart. He
knew the score. "Y'all goin' home?" he asked.
"Not right now," I said. I wanted to have another
smoke and to watch the stars. I had to be in by twelve,
but I thought I had plenty of time.
"I don't know why I handed you that busted
bottle," Two-Bit said, getting to his feet. "You'd never
use it."
"Maybe I would have," I said. "Where you headed?"
"Gonna go play a little snooker and hunt up a po-
ker game. Maybe get rip-roarin' drunk. I dunno. See
y'all tomorrow.
Johnny and I stretched out on our backs and looked
at the stars. I was freezing, it was a cold night and all
I had was that sweat shirt, but I could watch stars
in sub-zero weather. I saw Johnny's cigarette glowing
in the dark and wondered vaguely what it was like in-
side a burning ember.
"It was because we're greasers," Johnny said, and I
knew he was talking about Cherry. "We could have
hurt her reputation."
"I reckon," I said, wondering if I ought to tell
Johnny what she had said about Dallas.
"Man, that was a tuff car. Mustangs are tuff."
"Big-time Socs, all right," I said, a nervous bitter-
ness growing inside me. It wasn't fair for the Socs to
have everything. We were as good as they were; it
wasn't our fault we were greasers. I couldn't just take
it or leave it, like Two-Bit, or ignore it and love life
anyway, like Sodapop, or harden myself beyond car-
ing, like Dally, or actually enjoy it, like Tim Shepard.
I felt the tension growing inside of me and I knew
something had to happen or I would explode.
"I can't take much more." Johnny spoke my own
feelings. "I'll kill myself or something.
"Don't," I said, sitting up in alarm. "You can't kill
yourself, Johnny."
"Well, I won't But I gotta do something. It seems
like there's gotta be someplace without greasers or
Socs, with just people. Plain ordinary people."
"Out of the big towns," I said, lying back down. "In
the country."
In the country, I loved the country. I wanted to
be out of towns and away from excitement. I only
wanted to lie on my back under a tree and read a
book or draw a picture, and not worry about being
jumped or carrying a blade or ending up married to
some scatterbrained broad with no sense. The country
would be like that, I thought dreamily. I would have
a yeller cur dog, like I used to, and Sodapop could get
Mickey Mouse back and ride in all the rodeos he
wanted to, and Darry would lose that cold, hard look
and be like he used to be, eight months ago, before
Mom and Dad were killed. Since I was dreaming I
brought Mom and Dad back to life. Mom could
bake some more chocolate cakes and Dad would drive
the pickup out early to feed the cattle. He would slap
Darry on the back and tell him he was getting to be a
man, a regular chip off the block, and they would be
as close as they used to be. Maybe Johnny could come
and live with us, and the gang could come out on
weekends, and maybe Dallas would see that there was
some good in the world after all, and Mom would talk
to him and make him grin in spite of himself. "You've
got quiet a mom," Dally used to say. "She knows the
score. She could talk to Dallas and kept him from
getting into a lot of trouble. My mother was golden
and beautiful.
"Ponyboy," Johnny was shaking me. "Hey, Pony,
wake up.
I sat up, shivering. The stars had moved. "Glory,
what time is it?"
"I don't know. I went to sleep, too, listening to you
rattle on and on. You'd better get home. I think I'll
stay all night out here." Johnny's parents didn't care
if he came home or not.
"Okay." I yawned. Gosh, but it was cold. "If you get
cold or something come on over to our house."
"Okay."
I ran home, trembling at the thought of facing Dar-
ry. The porch light was on. Maybe they were asleep
and I could sneak in, I thought. I peeked in the win-
dow. Sodapop was stretched out on the sofa, sound
asleep, but Darry was in the armchair under the lamp,
reading the newspaper. I gulped, and opened the door
softly. Darry looked up from his paper. He was on his
feet in a second. I stood there, chewing on my
fingernail.
"Where the heck have you been? Do you know what
time it is?" He was madder than I'd seen him in a
long time. I shook my head wordlessly.
"Well, it's two in the morning, kiddo. Another hour
and I would have had the police out after you. Where
were you, Ponyboy?" his voice was rising, "where
in the almighty universe were you?"
It sounded dumb, even to me, when I stammered,
"I, I went to sleep in the lot."
"You what?" He was shouting, and Sodapop sat up
and rubbed his eyes.
"Hey, Ponyboy," he said sleepily, "Where ya been?"
"I didn't mean to." I pleaded with Darry. "I was
talking to Johnny and we both dropped off."
"I reckon it never occurred to you that your broth-
ers might be worrying their heads off and afraid to
call the police because something like that could get
you two thrown in a boys' home so quick it'd make
your head spin. And you were asleep in the lot? Pony-
boy, what on earth is the matter with you? Can't you
use your head? You haven't even got a coat on."
I felt hot tears of anger and frustration rising. "I
said I didn't mean to."
"I didn't mean to!" Dairy shouted, and I almost
shook. "I didn't think! I forgot! That's all I hear out
of you! Can't you think of anything?"
"Dairy." Sodapop began, but Darry turned on
him. "You keep your trap shut! I'm sick and tired of
hearing you stick up for him."
He should never yell at Soda. Nobody should ever
holler at my brother. I exploded. "You don't yell at
him!" I shouted. Dairy wheeled around and slapped
me so hard that it knocked me against the door.
Suddenly it was deathly quiet. We had all frozen.
Nobody in my family had ever hit me. Nobody. Soda
was wide-eyed. Dairy looked at the palm of his hand
where it had turned red and then looked back at me.
His eyes were huge. "Ponyboy."
I turned and ran out the door and down the street
as fast as I could. Dairy screamed, "Pony, I didn't
mean to!" but I was at the lot by then and pretended
I couldn't hear. I was running away. It was plain to
me that Dairy didn't want me around. And I
wouldn't stay if he did. He wasn't ever going to hit me
again.
"Johnny?" I called, and started when he rolled over
and jumped up almost under my feet. "Come on,
Johnny, we're running away."
Johnny asked no questions. We ran for several
blocks until we were out of breath. Then we walked.
I was crying by then. I finally just sat down on the
curb and cried, burying my face in my arms. Johnny
sat down beside me, one hand on my shoulder. "Easy,
Ponyboy," he said softly, "we'll be okay."
I finally calmed down and wiped my eyes on my
bare arm. My breath was coming in quivering sobs.
"Gotta cigarette?"
He handed me one and struck a match.
"Johnny, I'm scared."
"Well, don't be. You're scarin' me. What happened?
I never seen you bawl like that."
"I don't very often. It was Dairy. He hit me. I don't
know what happened, but I couldn't take him holler-
ing at me and hitting me too. I don't know, some-
times we get along okay, then all of a sudden he blows
up on me or else is naggin' at me all the time. He
didn't use to be like that we used to get along
okay, before Mom and Dad died. Now he just
can't stand me."
"I think I like it better when the old man's hittin'
me." Johnny sighed. "At least then I know he knows
who I am. I walk in that house, and nobody says any-
thing. I walk out, and nobody says anything. I stay
away all night, and nobody notices. At least you got
Soda. I ain't got nobody.
"Shoot," I said, startled out of my misery, "you got
the whole gang. Dally didn't slug you tonight cause
you're the pet. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the
whole gang."
"It ain't the same as having your own folks care
about you," Johnny said simply. "It just ain't the
same."
I was beginning to relax and wonder if running
away was such a great idea. I was sleepy and freezing
to death and I wanted to be home in bed, safe and
warm under the covers with Soda's arm across me. I
decided I would go home and just not speak to Darry.
It was my house as much as Darry's, and if he wanted
to pretend I wasn't alive, that was just fine with me.
He couldn't stop me from living in my own house.
"Let's walk to the Park and back. Then maybe I'll
be Cooled off enough to go home."
"Okay," Johnny said easily. "Okay."
Things gotta get better, I figured. They couldn't get
worse. I was wrong.