Till You Tell Me to Leave // CurlyBoy

Chapter Three

Jolene Curtis
1925 - 1965
Mother, Wife, Devout Jewish Woman

Jolene Curtis, or Jolie Charpak as she had been born.

In western France of 1925, a baby girl was born, a head full of vibrant red hair and green eyes she had gotten from her father. She was just fifteen years of age when the Nazi's had invaded and conquered France.

Everything she knew had crumbled in just over a month, her mother had been deported, her father and two older brothers executed by the Gestapo right in front of Jolene, the third running off to who knows where – all she could hope was that he lived. All she can remember was fear, terror, she watched as the kids she grew up with got rounded up and sent to death camps.

Jolene was a smart young woman, something that had been prominent since the moment she learned to read. She spoke three languages, Hebrew, French, and Yiddish. She had managed to evade capture for just over a year, hiding in a catholic families' barn, they had been reported by their neighbors and she was sent to a ghetto.

Despite her rapid weight loss, the long, cold nights and the deaths all around her, her fighting spirit didn't die. She escaped and for months wandered, wandered until she was discovered by British soldiers, one who spoke a bit of French. He promised she would be safe, she was timid but believed him, she was fed, clothed and her wounds tended. The valiant soldier smuggled her into the United Kingdom, then onto a ship leading to the United States, a place he was sure would take her.

1942 was the year she arrived, seventeen years old and in a country where she didn't speak the language, all she could hope for was a Jew, somewhere, and a Jew she found. Her name was Golda Burnstein, a Jew who emigrated to the U.S. from Ireland, she spoke English – albeit with a heavy accent, but she also spoke Hebrew. Overjoyed, Jolene took to her immediately, she lived with Golda for two years, learning English and customs of America.

Eventually Golda decided it was time for her to leave, she wished her well and sent her on her way. Jolene ended up in Oklahoma, quite literally running into her future husband. He was a man with deep brown skin, his hair was cut shaggy and he had bruises up his arms, she suspected there was more hidden beneath his clothes. His name was Darrel Shayann Curtis, whom everyone called 'Big Shane'. He was an eighteen year old member of the Kiikapoi (Kickapoo) Tribe, he had escaped the residential school that had taken him when he was just six years of age, the place that had effectively 'Killed the Indian in him' as it was intended to.

Nineteen year old Jolene and eighteen year old Darrel. Both two people with deeply troubled lives, running from the horrors that chased their souls. They started dating almost immediately, first getting a small ground floor apartment within the hustle and bustle of Tulsa. Darrel quickly earned a reputation, he may have been a kind hearted man but his favorite pastime was beating on anyone who viewed people as inferior for being different to themself.
By the end of 1944 they were married and were expecting a child. 1945 was when Darrel Shayann Curtis Jr. – a name at the insistence of Jolene – was born. He was fair compared to his father, yet tan compared to his mother, right in the middle. Three years later they bore a second son, light hair and brown eyes, Sodapop – named by Darrel Sr. and again, three years after him they bore their final son just as they finally got a house, his name was Ponyboy.

He was that in between the same as Darrel Jr. or 'Darry' was, he was born with a head full of hair, hair not quite red and not quite dark brown or black. He took after his mother, although his biggest role model was his older brother Sodapop, he was always tailing him.

—

Ponyboy always thought it wasn't fair – his mother and father who had both survived the impossible and delivered their legacy through him and his brothers, along with every life they touched, had been taken by a car crash.

It was stupid, he thought as he rubbed his finger over his necklace that had once belonged to his mother, something given to her by her father when she turned thirteen and celebrated her bat mitzvah, a necklace was one of the only things left that connected him to his mother and the only thing to his grandfather whom he knew nothing about. The Star of David.

He rubbed it between his fingers while he held a cigarette in his opposite hand, he sat with his legs crossed on his parents graves. He always felt as if he was responsible for his parents death, they had been going to pick him up from the lake where Dallas Winston had been attempting to teach him how to swim. The keyword was attempted – he was an awful swimmer, and it didn't help it was late december either, Dally had seen the lake wasn't frozen and decided that was where to go, idiotic – Ponyboy let go of the chain, tucking it back under his shirt. He shoved himself up, brushing the dirt off of his jeans, jeans that had once been Darry's.

—

Ponyboy did always like walking, one thing he didn't like was passing the Cade household, he hated even driving past it. He still didn't like thinking about Johnny and Dally, after he turned in the essay to Mr. Syme he acted if that's all it was, a story.

Johnny Cade had been his first crush – the first crush that was actually a crush. Ponyboy remembered the nights he would spend using Johnny as a model for his drawings. He remembered being told at thirteen he was just a late bloomer and that's why he didn't like any girls yet. He tried, he really did, he made out with some girls but it wasn't right. He had realized he was a homosexual because of Johnny, which made him hate himself for a long period of time.

When they were in the church in Windrixville he had broke down and confessed his feelings to Johnny. Johnny didn't like him back, not like that anyways, but he kissed Ponyboy to get him to stop crying. Johnny told him he wasn't a pansy but he didn't mind them.
That was enough for Pony. Not even a week after he lost not only Johnny but Dally, both passing right in front of him. Ponyboy had shut down for awhile, he didn't like leaving his bed and he missed school and got hollered at by Darry because of it. He pushed Sodapop to move back into his own bedroom. He started smoking reefer he had bought from a member of Tim Shepard's gang – Janis was her name.

He'd become friends with Bryon Douglas, Bryon was an interesting person. And Ponyboy's second crush. Bryon was aware of this, and used it to mess with him. He kissed Pony and then the next day he was dating Angela Shepard. Ponyboy knew he couldn't tell anyone but the bindings of his diary, just earlier that day he had heard Steve talking about 'Faggots'. The thought that his brothers more than likely thought of people like him as subhuman hurt a lot. He spent his time crying in the dead of night instead of sleeping. He didn't know anything else to do, so he punished himself. He would slit his thighs and watch the blood bead up, only breaking down when it poured down his thighs leaving him a sticky mess.

Marcia honked from her car as she saw Ponyboy coming back, she always took him to the cemetery, whether it be to visit his parents, Dally and Johnny, or both. Marcia gave him a look of nothing but empathy and support as he got in the car, she held out her hand, clasping his hand within hers as they drove back to the Curtis household to watch Paul Newman movies. Paul Newman was a man they could both agree was hot.