Save Me From Myself.

Your Pain and My Pain.

Ponyboy's POV:

When I first met Dallas it was dark. I'd been out at the movies alone, as I'd usually go to be undisturbed, and I was heading home. It was late and I'd stayed out passed my curfew so I knew I had to come home quick before dad sent out the search party that I knew as my older brothers. On my run home it began to rain. It rained and then it poured. Eventually, I saw him. Walking and alone, he just stepped forward through the rain. I'd seen him around before but never spoke to him. My brothers and our friends warned me and each other to avoid this guy. They thought he could be dangerous. I did too. The stories we heard about him were unbelievable. You'd never know what to think after hearing some of the things people say about this guy. But my parents raised me right and I just couldn't run by without offering to let him come with me. It was freezing rain out. It took some work but I got him to come back with me. He was so quiet and distant. He was almost emotionless it seemed. So cold. And yet somehow he was still so polite to my parents. He wasn't a jerk, as far as I could tell. Maybe a little ignorant, but he wasn't intentionally looking for a fight when I'd met him. After that day when I'd see him around town, he'd nod at me. He'd nod or I'd wave and soon enough I'd come to a stop and say hi to him. My hello's turned into small talk and little conversations. Sometimes I'd invite him for dinner. On a rare Monday night, he'd come and join our little family. He'd do the dishes with my mother.

I didn't know him very well but I felt as though I knew him better than the rest of the gang. Everyone was just fine with Dally. They were maybe a little intimidated, but everyone liked him more or less. They respected him. And he was slowly becoming a solid buddy of ours. He didn't talk much unless it was wisecracking or looking for trouble. The most he spoke was when he was cussing someone out or talking smack about someone. Usually his buddies Tim or Buck. He got along with those guys just as much as he fought with them. They were always at each others throats. Always. Now, I don't say I felt like I knew Dally better for any other reason than the fact that he talks to me sometimes. What I mean by that is, he doesn't speak much to anyone. He doesn't talk about anything that means anything. But when we're alone or we run into each other in town or he's coming over to nap on our couch and I'm the only one home— he talks. Sometimes he says a little, and sometimes he says much more.

I don't know why he talks to me or why's he's comfortable telling me about his life before he came to Tulsa, but he does. I know more than the gang at least. I know his mom died when he was born, his father is a drunk and an abusive asshole, and I know he was arrested at the age of 10 for stealing a box of cereal from the local market in his neighbourhood as a kid. I know he hates gangs. He was in a gang. He's not anymore and that gang wants him dead. I don't exactly know why. I know he hates drugs and people who do them. Again, I don't exactly know why. I know he isn't very sexual. He says sex isn't all it's put out to be. For some reason he isn't big on relationships either. Or even friendships. He's very guarded. I don't know why he tells me these things. I only know that I'm the only one he tells, and I feel grateful for that.

I tell Dal things too. We barely know each other since he's only lived in Tulsa just about 6 months, and only been friends with me for 3 of  em'. Despite that, I tell him things about me too. Mostly harmless things. I talk about my dreams sometimes, and mostly my nightmares. I talk about school some days. I talk about my brothers. He just listens usually and doesn't say much. He never tells anyone what I've said or repeats any of it. He keeps his mouth shut good and so do I. Maybe that's why he talks to me. I trust him not to run his mouth and I bet he trusts me the same. Maybe it's because I'm 16 and that's kind of like a kid to him. I'm almost 17. Just 6 more months.

You never know how bad things can get until they get real bad. Last week, I finally experienced what life is like when it gets real bad. It was a normal Sunday evening and the gang was all over at my place watching Mickey on TV. Darry was making chocolate cake and Soda was arm wrestling Steve at the kitchen table. Mom and Dad went out for a picnic in the park out of town like they sometimes did. They liked their little date nights. Everything was fine. Johnny was with me on the porch playing Jack's when the police cruiser rolled up. At first, I thought maybe they were looking for Dally. He wasn't at the house that day. We don't know him too well so he doesn't usually come over without giving himself a verbal invitation over the phone or in person beforehand. I think it's because he's worried my parents would be offended. They wouldn't have been. When the cops came walking up the front steps and asked for Darry; I knew something was off. That was when I started to feel a panic rising in me.

My parents are dead. I sat with Johnny as Soda stepped out onto the porch after Darry. The officers explained that there had been an accident. Two-bit came outside in time to hear what happened. Every detail. They'd been having a picnic, packed up to come home, and on the drive back everything was fine. My father, who was a jokester, thought he could 'beat' the train. He'd done it a hundred times before— rushing down the street and across the tracks just seconds before the train ran by. This time it was different. The car sped up and then stalled; right on the train tracks the car just died. With that, so did my parents. A T-Bone or a head-on, call it whatever you want. It nearly tore their bodies in half and the car was in shambles. They had to be ID'ed by their health-cards and drivers licenses in their wallets.  It felt like I'd lost all of the air in my lungs. I was burning from the inside out.

The next few days were a blur. Literally. I could hardly see from how much I cried these passed few days. Two came by to check on me— he ended up crying on my bedroom floor beside me. Johnny's stopped by every day and tried to help by cleaning the house or making easy meals for us. Darry is a bag of stress getting things in order to file for custody of me and Soda. And Sodapop was a ghost. He just went to work and came home. Some nights he didn't come home, he just went back to Steve's house. He's broken. We all are. I haven't seen Dallas. He hasn't came around at all, which isn't that odd. He's probably been busy getting into some kind of trouble.

Then the day of the funeral came. I couldn't talk to anyone. I couldn't think. I just sat in the grass away from everyone when their coffins were being lowered into the ground. I sat and I let tears streak my cheeks and Soda sat beside me squeezing my hand so hard I thought it might come off. Johnny stood with Steve and two-bit stood with Darry. We were all stiff and sick. I barely remember anything from that day except spotting Dallas at the top of a hill watching the funeral play out. He didn't come down and say anything. He didn't even make himself known. He stayed and watched until it was over and then he was gone.

Whenever I'm stressed out or sad or I feel like my life has started to fall apart, I could always talk to my parents. I could always look for guidance from them. I could always look for comfort. Now I'm sure my brothers would try; they don't need my stress on top of their own right now though. And my friends, they'd help as best as they could. But honestly I know they're hurting too and no offence against them, but I wouldn't want to talk to them about my feelings about this with them anyways. My parents are dead. I feel dead.

Darry filed and got full custody of us easy. He's 22 and has an okay job, it wasn't a hard case. But now he has so much more to worry about. He's gotta raise me and Soda and pay bills and do groceries and do dinners and set rules and all kinds of crap he didn't have to before. Hence why we've gotten into an argument today over me wanting to go for a walk at 9 pm on a Saturday. I know he's frustrated...but so am I. So when he yelled at me, I just bolted. I didn't know where to go since I didn't really want to talk to anyone. The first person that popped into my head when I thought of a safe place was that brown messy haired guy with the shadowed personality. The friendship that I haven't quite broken in yet. I headed to Bucks. Somewhere even my parents told me I wasn't allowed to go but I don't have a choice. That's where Dallas will be, or at least where I can find him eventually. He practically lives there. So I go to Bucks and I tell him I need to see Dal. He wasn't going to let me in. He wasn't, but I pestered him until I think I almost got my ass kicked. The next thing I knew, I'm up the stairs and knocking on an old battered door and I hear his voice from the other side.

"Dally, it's me.."

"Ponyboy?"

The door creaks open and he's standing shirtless and lazily dressed in plaid pj pants. His hair is pointing in every direction. His eyes are iced over and somehow shallow. He furrows his eyebrows and opens up to let me step into the room.

"What are you doing here at this time of night? Ain't your brothers worried about you..?"

I take a step into the room and he shuts the door. As he turns to face me, I break. Dripping— that's what my face is doing. Dripping tears.

"I don't want to talk. I just need somewhere to stay for the night."

"I ain't looking to get my head kicked in by your brothers... I'll call them and let them know you're here. Lay down and get some sleep.."

"Dallas?"

"Yeah Pony?"

"Why is life so cruel?"

"Why not."