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The Outsiders

Day Six

I tapped

the nearest grownup. "What's going on?"

  "Well, we don't know for sure," the man said with a

good-natured grin. "We were having a school picnic up

here and the first thing we knew, the place is burning

up. Thank goodness this is a wet season and the old

thing is worthless anyway."   Then, to the kids, he

shouted, "Stand back, children. The firemen will be

coming soon."

  "I bet we started it," I said to Johnny. "We must

have dropped a lighted cigarette or something."

  About that time a lady came running up. "Jerry,

some of the kids are missing."

  "They're probably around here somewhere. You

can't tell with all this excitement where they might

be."

  "No." She shook her head. "They've been missing

for at least a half an hour. I thought they were

climbing the hill. 

  Then we all froze. Faintly, just faintly, you could

hear someone yelling. And it sounded like it was

coming from inside the church.

  The woman went white. "I told them not to play in

the church. I told them."  She looked like she

was going to start screaming, so Jerry shook her.

  "I'll get them, don't worry!" I started at a dead run

for the church, and the man caught my arm. "I'll get

them. You kids stay out!"

  I jerked loose and ran on. All I could think was: We

started it. We started it. We started it!

  I wasn't about to go through that flaming door, so I

slammed a big rock through a window and pulled

myself in. It was a wonder I didn't cut myself to death,

now that I think about it.

  "Hey, Ponyboy."

  I looked around, startled. I hadn't realized Johnny

had been right behind me all the way. I took a deep

breath, and started coughing. The smoke filled my eyes

and they started watering. "Is that guy coming?"

  Johnny shook his head. "The window stopped him."

  "Too scared?"

  "Naw."  Johnny gave me a grin. "Too fat."

I couldn't laugh because I was scared I'd drown in

the smoke. The roar and crackling was getting louder,

and Johnny shouted the next question.

  "Where's the kids?"

  "In the back, I guess," I hollered, and we started

stumbling through the church. I should be scared, I

thought with an odd detached feeling, but I'm not.

The cinders and embers began falling on us, stinging

and smarting like ants. Suddenly, in the red glow and

the haze, I remembered wondering what it was like in

a burning ember, and I thought: Now I know, it's a

red hell. Why aren't I scared?

  We pushed open the door to the back room and

found four or five little kids, about eight years old or

younger, huddled in a corner. One was screaming his

head off, and Johnny yelled, "Shut up! We're goin' to

get you out!" The kid looked surprised and quit

hollering. I blinked myself-Johnny wasn't behaving

at all like his old self. He looked over his shoulder and

saw that the door was blocked by flames, then pushed

open the window and tossed out the nearest kid. I

caught one quick look at his face; it was red-marked

from falling embers and sweat-streaked, but he grinned

at me. He wasn't scared either. That was the only time

I can think of when I saw him without that defeated,

suspicious look in his eyes. He looked like he was

having the time of his life.

   I picked up a kid, and he promptly bit me, but I

leaned out the window and dropped him as gently as I

could, being in a hurry like that. A crowd was there by

that time. Dally was standing there, and when he saw

me he screamed, "For Pete's sake, get outa there! That

roof's gonna cave in any minute. Forget those blasted

kids!"

  I didn't pay any attention, although pieces of the old

roof were crashing down too close for comfort. I

snatched up another kid, hoping he didn't bite, and

dropped him without waiting to see if he landed okay

or not I was coughing so hard I could hardly stand up,

and I wished I had time to take off Dally's jacket. It

was hot. We dropped the last of the kids out as the

front of the church started to crumble. Johnny shoved

me toward the window. "Get out!"

  I leaped out the window and heard timber crashing

and the flames roaring right behind me. I staggered,

almost falling, coughing and sobbing for breath. Then

I heard Johnny scream, and as I turned to go back for

him, Dally swore at me and clubbed me across the back

as hard as he could, and I went down into a peaceful

darkness.

  When I came to, I was being bounced around, and I

ached and smarted, and wondered dimly where I was. I

tried to think, but there was a high-pitched screaming

going on, and I couldn't tell whether it was inside my

head or out. Then I realized it was a siren. The fuzz, I

thought dully. The cops have come for us. I tried to

swallow a groan and wished wildly for Soda. Someone

with a cold wet rag was gently sponging off my face,

and a voice said, "I think he's coming around."

  I opened my eyes. It was dark. I'm moving, I

thought. Are they taking me to jail?

  "Where?"  I said hoarsely, not able to get any-

thing else out of my mouth. My throat was sore. I

blinked at the stranger sitting beside me. But he wasn't

a stranger.  I'd seen him before. 

  "Take it easy, kid. You're in an ambulance."

  "Where's Johnny?" I cried, frightened at being in

this car with strangers. "And Dallas?"

  "They're in the other ambulance, right behind us.

Just calm down. You're going to be okay. You just

passed out."

  "I didn't either," I said in the bored, tough voice we

reserved for strangers and cops. "Dallas hit me. How

come?"

  "Because your back was in flames, that's why."

I was surprised. "It was? Golly, I didn't feel it. It

don't hurt."

  "We put it out before you got burned. That jacket

saved you from a bad burning, maybe saved your life.

You just keeled over from smoke inhalation and a little

shock-of course, that slap on the back didn't help

much."

  I remembered who he was then-Jerry somebody-or

other who was too heavy to get in the window. He

must be a school teacher, I thought. "Are you taking us

to the police station?" I was still a little mixed up as to

what was coming off.

  "The police station?" It was his turn to be surprised.

"What would we want to take you to the police

station for? We're taking all three of you to the

hospital."

  I let his first remark slide by. "Are Johnny and Dally

all right?"

  "Which one's which?"

  "Johnny has black hair. Dally's the mean-looking

one.

  He studied his wedding ring. Maybe he's thinking

about his wife, I thought. I wished he'd say something.

  "We think the towheaded kid is going to be all

right. He burned one arm pretty badly, though, trying

to drag the other kid out the window. Johnny, well, I

don't know about him. A piece of timber caught him

across the back-he might have a broken back, and he

was burned pretty severely. He passed out before he

got out the window. They're giving him plasma now."

He must have seen the look on my face because he

hurriedly changed the subject. "I swear, you three are

the bravest kids I've seen in a long time. First you and

the black-haired kid climbing in that window, and

then the tough-looking kid going back in to save him.

Mrs. O'Briant and I think you were sent straight from

heaven. Or are you just professional heroes or some-

thing?"

Sent from heaven? Had he gotten a good look at

Dallas? "No, we're greasers," I said. I was too worried

and scared to appredate the fact that he was trying to

be funny.

   "You're what?"

   "Greasers. You know, like hoods, J D's. Johnny is

wanted for murder, and Dallas has a record with the

fuzz a mile long."

   "Are you kidding me?" Jerry stared at me as if he

thought I was still in shock or something.

   "I am not. Take me to town and you'll find out

pretty quick."

   "We're taking you to a hospital there anyway. The

address card in your billfold said that was where you

lived. Your name's really Ponyboy?"

   "Yeah. Even on my birth certificate. And don't bug

me about it. "I felt weak, are the little

kids okay?"         

   "Just fine. A little frightened maybe. There were

some short explosions right after you all got out.

Sounded just exactly like gunfire.

   Gunfire. There went our gun. And Gone with the

Wind. Were we sent from heaven? I started to laugh

weakly. I guess that guy knew how close to hysterics I

really was, for he talked to me in a low soothing voice

all the way to the hospital.

  I was sitting in the waiting room, waiting to hear

how Dally and Johnny were. I had been checked over,

and except for a few burns and a big bruise across my

back, I was all right. I had watched them bring Dally

and Johnny in on stretchers. Dally's eyes were closed,

but when I spoke he had tried to grin and had told me

that if I ever did a stupid thing like that again he'd

beat the tar out of me. He was still swearing at me

when they took him on in. Johnny was unconscious. I

had been afraid to look at him, but I was relieved to

see that his face wasn't burned. He just looked very

pale and still and sort of sick. I would have cried at the

sight of him so still except I couldn't in front of

people.

  Jerry Wood had stayed with me all the time. He

kept thanking me for getting the kids out. He didn't

seem to mind our being hoods. I told him the whole

story-starting when Dallas and Johnny and I had met

at the corner of Pickett and Sutton. I left out the part

about the gun and our hitching a ride in the freight

car. He was real nice about it and said that being

heroes would help get us out of trouble, especially

since it was self-defense and all.

  I was sitting there, smoking a cigarette, when Jerry

came back in from making a phone call. He stared at

me for a second. "You shouldn't be smoking."

  I was startled. "How come?" I looked at my ciga-

rette. It looked okay to me. I looked around for a "No

Smoking" sign and couldn't find one. "How come?"

  "Why, uh," Jerry stammered, "uh, you're too

young.

  "I am?"  I had  never thought about it. Everyone in

our neighborhood, even the girls, smoked. Except for

Darry, who was too proud of his athletic health to risk

a cigarette, we had all started smoking at an early age.

Johnny had been smoking since he was nine; Steve

started at eleven. So no one thought it unusual when I

started. I was the weed-fiend in my family, Soda

smokes only to steady his nerves or when he wants to

look tough.

  Jerry simply sighed, then grinned. "There are some

people here to see you. Claim to be your brothers or

something."

  I leaped up and ran for the door, but it was already

open and Soda had me in a bear hug and was

swinging me around. I was so glad to see him I could

have bawled. Finally he set me down and looked at me.

He pushed my hair back. "Oh, Ponyboy, your hair,

your tuff, tuff hair."

Then I saw Dairy. He was leaning in the doorway,

wearing his olive jeans and black T shirt. He was still

tall, broad-shouldered Darry; but his fists were jammed

in his pockets and his eyes were pleading. I simply

looked at him. He swallowed and said in a husky voice,

"Ponyboy."

  I let go of Soda and stood there for a minute. Darry

didn't like me, he had driven me away that night

he had hit me.  Darry hollered at me all the

time,  he didn't give a hang about me.   Sud-

denly I realized, horrified, that Dairy was crying. He

didn't make a sound, but tears were running down his

cheeks. I hadn't seen him cry in years, not even when

Mom and Dad had been killed. (I remembered the

funeral. I had sobbed in spite of myself; Soda had

broken down and bawled like a baby; but Dairy had

only stood there, his fists in his pockets and that look

On his face, the same helpless, pleading look that he

was wearing now.)

  In that second what Soda and Dally and Two-Bit

had been trying to tell me came through. Dairy did

care about me, maybe as much as he cared about Soda,

and because he cared he was trying too hard to make

something of me. When he yelled "Pony, where have

you been all this time?" he meant "Pony, you've scared

me to death.  Please be careful, because I couldn't stand

it if anything happened to you.

  Dairy looked down and turned away silently. Sud-

denly I broke out of my daze.

  "Darry" I screamed, and the next thing I knew I

had him around the waist and was squeezing the

daylights out of him.

  "Darry," I said, "I'm sorry."

  He was stroking my hair and I could hear the sobs

racking him as he fought to keep back the tears. "Oh,

Pony, I thought we'd lost you like we did Mom  

and Dad."

  That was his silent fear then, of losing another

person he loved. I remembered how close he and Dad

had been, and I wondered how I could ever have

thought him hard and unfeeling I listened to his heart

Pounding through his T shirt and knew everything

was going to be okay now. I had taken the long way

around, but I Was finally home. To stay.

                         CHAPTER 7.

Now there were three of us sitting in the waiting

room waiting to hear how Dally and Johnny were.

Then the reporters and the police came. They asked

too many questions too fast, and got me mixed up. If

you want to know the truth, I wasn't feeling real good

in the first place. Kind of sick, really. And I'm scared

of policemen anyway. The reporters fired one question

right after another at me and got me so confused I

didn't know what was coming off. Darry finally told

them I wasn't in any shape to be yelled at so much and

they slowed down a little. Darry's kinda big.

  Sodapop kept them in stitches. He'd grab one guy's

press hat and another's camera and walk around inter-

viewing the nurses and mimicking TV reporters. He

tried to lift a policeman's gun and grinned so crazily

when he was caught that the policeman had to grin

too. Soda can make anyone grin. I managed to get hold

of some hair grease and comb my hair back so that it

looked a little better before they got any pictures. I'd

die if I got my picture in the paper with my hair

looking so lousy. Darry and Sodapop were in the

pictures too; Jerry Wood told me that if Sodapop and

Darry hadn't been so good-looking, they wouldn't have

taken so many. That was public appeal, he said.

  Soda was really getting a kick out of all this. I guess

he would have enjoyed it more if it hadn't been so

serious, but he couldn't resist anything that caused that

much excitement. I swear, sometimes he reminds me of

a colt. A long-legged palomino colt that has to get his

nose into everything. The reporters stared at him

admiringly; I told you he looks like a movie star, and

he kind of radiates.

  Finally, even Sodapop got tired of the reporters-he

gets bored with the same old thing after a time-and

stretching out on the long bench, he put his head in

Darry's lap and went to sleep. I guess both of them

were tired-it was late at night and I knew they hadn't

had much sleep during the week. Even while I was

answering questions I remembered that it had been

only a few hours since I was sleeping off a smoke in the

corner of the church. Already it was an unreal dream

and yet, at the time I couldn't have imagined any

other world. Finally, the reporters started to leave,

along with the police. One of them turned and asked,

"What would you do right now if you could do

anything you wanted?"

  I looked at him tiredly. "Take a bath."

  They thought that was pretty funny, but I meant it.

I felt lousy. The hospital got real quiet after they left,

The only noise was the nurse's soft footsteps and Soda's

light breathing. Darry looked down at him and

grinned half-heartedly. "He didn't get much sleep this

week," he said softly. "He hardly slept at all."

  "Hum,"  Soda said drowsily, "you didn't ei-

ther.

  The nurses wouldn't tell us anything about Johnny

and Dally, so Darry got hold of the doctor. The doctor

told us that he would talk only to the family, but

Darry finally got it through the guy's head that we

were about as much family as Dally and Johnny had.

  Dally would be okay after two or three days in the

hospital, he said. One arm was badly burned and

would be scarred for the rest of his life, but he would

have full use of it in a couple of weeks. Dally'll be

okay, I thought. Dallas is always okay. He could take

anything. It was Johnny I was worried about.

  He was in critical condition. His back had been

broken when that piece of timber fell on him. He was

in severe shock and suffering from third-degree burns.

They were doing everything they could to ease the

pain, although since his back was broken he couldn't

even feel the burns below his waist. He kept calling for

Dallas and Ponyboy. If he lived.  If? Please,

no, I thought. Please not "if." The blood was draining

from my face and Darry put an arm across my shoulder

and squeezed hard.     Even if he lived he'd be

crippled for the rest of his life. "You wanted it straight

and you got it straight," the doctor said. "Now go

home and get some rest."

  I was trembling. A pain was growing in my throat

and I wanted to cry, but greasers don't cry in front of

strangers. Some of us never cry at all. Like Dally and

Two-Bit and Tim Shepard, they forgot how at an

early age. Johnny crippled for life? I'm dreaming, I

thought in panic, I'm dreaming. I'll wake up at home

or in the church and everything'll be like it used to be.

But I didn't believe myself. Even if Johnny did live

he'd be crippled and never play football or help us out

in a rumble again. He'd have to stay in that house he

hated, where he wasn't wanted, and things could never

be like they used to be. I didn't trust myself to speak.

If I said one word, the hard knot in my throat would

swell and I'd be crying in spite of myself.

  I took a deep breath and kept my mouth shut. Soda

was awake by then, and although he looked stony-

faced, as if he hadn't heard a word the doctor had said,

his eyes were bleak and stunned. Serious reality has a

hard time coming through to Soda, but when it does, it

hits him hard. He looked like I felt when I had seen

that black-haired Soc lying doubled up and still in the

moonlight.

  Darry was rubbing the back of my head softly.

"We'd better go home. We can't do anything here.

  In our Ford I was suddenly overcome by sleepiness. I

leaned back and closed my eyes and we were home

before I knew it. Soda was shaking me gently. "Hey,

Ponyboy, wake up. You still got to get to the house."

  "Hum," I said sleepily, and lay down in the

seat. I couldn't have gotten up to save my life. I could

hear Soda and Darry, but as if from a great distance.

  "Oh, come on, Ponyboy," Soda pleaded, shaking me a

little harder, we're sleepy, too.

  I guess Darry was tired of fooling around, because he

picked me up and carried me in.

  "He's getting mighty big to be carried," Soda said. I

wanted to tell him to shut up and let me sleep but I

only yawned.

  He's sure lost a lot of weight," Darry said.

  I thought sleepily that I should at least pull off my

shoes, but I didn't. I went to sleep the minute Darry

tossed me on the bed. I'd forgotten how soft a bed

really was.

  I was the first one up the next morning. Soda must

have pulled my shoes and shirt off for me; I was still

wearing my jeans. He must have been too sleepy to

undress himself, though; he lay stretched out beside me

fully clothed. I wiggled out from under his arm and

pulled the blanket up over him, then went to take a

shower. Asleep, he looked a lot younger than going-on-

seventeen, but I had noticed that Johnny looked youn-

ger when he was asleep, too, so I figured everyone did.

Maybe people are younger when they are asleep.

  After my shower, I put on some clean clothes and

spent five minutes or so hunting for a hint of beard on

my face and mourning over my hair. That bum hair-

cut made my ears stick out.

  Darry was still asleep when I went into the kitchen

to fix breakfast. The first one up has to fix breakfast

and the other two do the dishes. That's the rule around

our house, and usually it's Darry who fixes breakfast

and me and Soda who are left with the dishes. I hunted

through the icebox and found some eggs. We all like

our eggs done differently. I like them hard, Darry likes

them in a bacon-and-tomato sandwich, and Sodapop

eats his with grape jelly. All three of us like chocolate

cake for breakfast. Mom had never allowed it with

ham and eggs, but Darry let Soda and me talk him into

it. We really didn't have to twist his arm; Darry loves

chocolate cake as much as we do. Sodapop always

makes sure there's some in the icebox every night and

if there isn't he cooks one up real quick. I like Darry's

cakes better; Sodapop always puts too much sugar in

the icing. I don't see how he stands jelly and eggs and

chocolate cake all at once, but he seems to like it.

Darry drinks black coffee, and Sodapop and I drink

chocolate milk, We could have coffee if we wanted it,

but we like chocolate milk. All three of us are crazy

about chocolate stuff. Soda says if they ever make a

chocolate cigarette I'll have it made.

  "Anybody home?" a familiar voice called through the

front screen, and Two-Bit and Steve came in. We

always just stick our heads into each other's houses and

holler "Hey" and walk in. Our front door is always

unlocked in case one of the boys is hacked off at his

parents and needs a place to lay over and cool off. We

never could tell who we'd find stretched out on the

sofa in the morning. It was usually Steve, whose father

told him about once a week to get out and never come

back. It kind of bugs Steve, even if his old man does

give him five or six bucks the next day to make up for

it. Or it might be Dally, who lived anywhere he could.

Once we even found Tim Shepard, leader of the

Shepard gang and far from his own turf, reading the

morning paper in the armchair. He merely looked up,

said "Hi," and strolled out without staying for break-

fast. Two-Bit's mother warned us about burglars, but

Darry, flexing his muscles so that they bulged like

oversized baseballs, drawled that he wasn't afraid of

any burglars, and that we didn't really have anything

worth taking. He'd risk a robbery, he said, if it meant

keeping one of the boys from blowing up and robbing

a gas station or something. So the door was never

locked. 

  "In here!" I yelled, forgetting that Darry and Soda-

pop were still asleep. "Don't slam the door.

  They slammed the door, of course, and Two-Bit

came running into the kitchen. He caught me by the

upper arms and swung me around, ignoring the fact

that I had two uncooked eggs in my hand.

  "Hey, Pony boy," he cried gleefully, "long time no

see.

  You would have thought it had been five years

instead of five days since I'd seen him last, but I didn't

mind. I like ol' Two-Bit; he's a good buddy to have.

He spun me into Steve, who gave me a playful slap on

my bruised back and shoved me across the room. One

of the eggs went flying. It landed on the clock and I

tightened my grip on the other one so that it crushed

and ran all over my hand.

  "Now look what you did," I griped. "There went

our breakfast. Can't you two wait till I set the eggs

down before you go shovin' me all over the country?" I

really was a little mad, because I had just realized how

long it had been since I'd eaten anything. The last

thing I'd eaten was a hot-fudge sundae at the Dairy

Queen in Windrixville, and I was hungry.

  Two-Bit was walking in a slow circle around me,

and I sighed because I knew what was coming.

  "Man, dig baldy here!" He was staring at my head as

he circled me. "I wouldn't have believed it. I thought

all the wild Indians in Oklahoma had been tamed.

What little squaw's got that tuff-lookin' mop of yours,

Ponyboy?"

  "Aw, lay off," I said. I wasn't feeling too good in the

first place, kind of like I was coming down with

some thing. Two-Bit winked at Steve, and Steve said,

"Why, he had to get a haircut to get his picture in the

paper. They'd never believe a little greasey-lookin'

mug could be a hero. How do you like bein' a hero, big

shot?"

  "How do I like what?"

  "Being a hero. You know " he shoved the morning

paper at me impatiently, "like a big shot, even."

  I stared at the newspaper. On the front page of the

second section was the headline: JUVENILE DELINQUENTS

TURN HEROES.

  "What I like is the turn  bit," Two-Bit said, clean-

ing the egg up off the floor. "Y'all were heroes from

the beginning. You just didn't turn all of a sudden."

  I hardly heard him. I was reading the paper. That

whole page was covered with stories about us-the

fight, the murder, the church burning, the Socs being

drunk, everything. My picture was there, with Darry

and Sodapop. The article told how Johnny and I had

risked our lives saving those little kids, and there was a

comment from one of the parents, who said that they

would all have burned to death if it hadn't been for us.

It told the whole story of our fight with the Socs-only

they didn't say "Socs," because most glownups don't

know about the battles that go on between us. They

had interviewed Cherry Valance, and she said Bob had

been drunk and that the boys had been looking for a

fight when they took her home. Bob had told her he'd

fix us for picking up his girl. His buddy Randy

Adderson, who had helped jump us, also said it was

their fault and that we'd only fought back in self-de-

fense. But they were charging Johnny with manslaugh-

ter. Then I discovered that I was supposed to appear at

juvenile court for running away, and Johnny was too, if

he recovered. (Not if, I thought again. Why do they

keep saying if?) For once, there weren't any charges

against Dally, and I knew he'd be mad because the

paper made him out a hero for saving Johnny and

didn't say much about his police record, which he was

kind of proud of. He'd kill those reporters if he got

hold of them. There was another column about just

Darry and Soda and me: how Darry worked on two

jobs at once and made good at both of them, and

about his outstanding record at school; it mentioned

Sodapop dropping out of school so we could stay

together, and that I made the honor roll at school all

the time and might be a future track star. (Oh, yeah, I

forgot, I'm on the A squad track team, the youngest

one. I'm a good runner.) Then it said we shouldn't be

separated after we had worked so hard to stay together.

  The meaning of that last line finally hit me. "You

mean,"  I swallowed hard, "that they're thinking

about putting me and Soda in a boys' home or some-

thing?"

  Steve was carefully combing back his hair in compli-

cated swirls. "Somethin' like that."