Unbound

Chapter 1

January 1965

As the harsh wind picked up, it sent a chill down his spine, causing the baby hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. His hair was far longer than usual, even for most greasers; that was the style now out at school. Despite this fact, it wasn't enough to shield him from the bitterness of the winter cold. Darry quickly flipped up the collar of his jacket before shoving his hands back into his pockets. Time felt as though it were going in slow motion. The five stairs leading up to the church felt like he'd climbed five flights. For a moment at the door, hand gripping the handle Darry stopped. He was already late a moment's hesitation didn't make much difference. Opening this door made everything real. That reality wasn't something he was ready to face. Darry would spend a lifetime in the cold if it meant everything wasn't about to be completely turned upside down.

Another stiff gust of wind felt as if it was all but pushing the eldest Curtis inside. Reluctantly he pulled the door open, the warmth inside not welcoming one bit. Darry's eyes were laser-focused on the ground ahead, afraid of what he'd see in front of him. He was ready to crawl out of his skin. Partly because he was welling with emotions he wasn't equipped to deal with. In fact, he was trying his damnedest to shove it all down and ignore it. Repression was his go-to, though it was proving to be difficult currently. Partly due to this stuffy outfit, it didn't fit quite right. The slacks were just a hair too short. Not noticeable to anyone looking, but enough for Darry to feel. The shirt was snug at the shoulders. It was itchy to boot. Whether that was because it wasn't worn often, or his own general discomfort he wasn't sure. Darry was more muscular than Harold, his girlfriend's brother, whom he'd borrowed the clothes from. Any nice clothes Darry owned were quite old, hand-me-downs from his father. Nothing in his wardrobe seemed appropriate for the occasion, so he'd sought outside help.

Moments passed before someone offered to take his coat. Gruffly he agreed, shrugging off his outermost layer as if that would make him more comfortable. There wasn't anything comfortable about a funeral. He finally raised his gaze, eyes scanning the room of tear-streaked faces. The vice grip on his heart tightened any more pressure and he might keel over right here. A multitude of people showed up, far more than he'd anticipated. Dying tragically young draws people to a funeral. Twice as many when it's a double funeral, leaving three boys orphaned. It's ironic how everyone showed their support in death but never a helping hand to be found in life.

A whirlwind of condolences and sympathies showered him soon. Many were from people he didn't know or recognize, nor did he care to. This would be the last time he'd ever hear from them again. His responses were mechanical and robotic, autopilot activated. Thank you. Handshake. Nice of you to come. Sympathetic smile. We appreciate that. A forced hug. Good to see you. Repeated over and over as he was passed around the room. In every direction, he was met with another sullen face, commiserative words, and an occasional firm clap to the shoulder. A 30-60 second interaction, the same as the last. He wasn't sure if they were all cut short because it was clear he wasn't up to much conversation or if it was too eerie speaking to the spitting image of the man in the casket at the front of the church.

While the chapel was small, it felt like a never-ending labyrinth trying to reach the front. The very last place he wanted to be. Darry realized now the only thing he felt was numb. This all still felt like a bad dream. Maybe, if he rolled up his sleeve and pinched his forearm nice and hard he'd finally wake up. Back in the bed of his dorm in a cold sweat, heart pounding so hard in his chest it threatened to break through. He'd fly to the phone and dial home as fast as his big clumsy fingers allowed. Of course, Ma would answer. Her warm, soft voice would be enough to ground him back into reality. "Honey, you're just homesick." She'd say with a longing sigh, "Sure do wish you coulda made it home for Christmas. We miss you something fierce." He could stand there twisting his skin until it was black and blue, but this nightmare wasn't one he'd escape.