Susan Hinton - The Outsiders

At the word “murder,” Johnny made a small noise in his throat and shuddered.

Dally walked us back to the door, turning off the porch light before we stepped out. “Git goin’!” He messed up Johnny’s hair. “Take care, kid,” he said softly.

“Sure, Dally, thanks.” And we ran into the darkness.

We crouched in the weeds beside the railroad tracks, listening to the whistle grow louder. The train slowed to a screaming halt. “Now,” whispered Johnny. We ran and pulled ourselves into an open boxcar. We pressed against the side, trying to hold our breath while we listened to the railroad workers walk up and down outside. One poked his head inside, and we froze. But he didn’t see us, and the boxcar rattled as the train started up.

“The first stop’ll be Windrixville,” Johnny said, laying the gun down gingerly. He shook his head. “I don’t see why he gave me this. I couldn’t shoot anybody.”

Then for the first time, really, I realized what we were in for. Johnny had killed someone. Quiet, soft-spoken little Johnny, who wouldn’t hurt a living thing on purpose, had taken a human life. We were really running away, with the police after us for murder and a loaded gun by our side. I wished we’d asked Dally for a pack of cigarettes….

I stretched out and used Johnny’s legs for a pillow. Curling up, I was thankful for Dally’s jacket. It was too big, but it was warm. Not even the rattling of the train could keep me awake, and I went to sleep in a hoodlum’s jacket, with a gun lying next to my hand.

I was hardly awake when Johnny and I leaped off the train into a meadow. Not until I landed in the dew and got a wet shock did I realize what I was doing. Johnny must have woke me up and told me to jump, but I didn’t remember it. We lay in the tall weeds and damp grass, breathing heavily. The dawn was coming. It was lightening the sky in the east and a ray of gold touched the hills. The clouds were pink and meadow larks were singing. This is the country, I thought, half asleep. My dream’s come true and I’m in the country.

“Blast it, Ponyboy”—Johnny was rubbing his legs—“you must have put my legs to sleep. I can’t even stand up. I barely got off that train.”

“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“That’s okay. I didn’t want to wake you up until I had to.”

“Now how do we find Jay Mountain?” I asked Johnny. I was still groggy with sleep and wanted to sleep forever right there in the dew and the dawn.

“Go ask someone. The story won’t be in the paper yet. Make like a farm boy taking a walk or something.”

“I don’t look like a farm boy,” I said. I suddenly thought of my long hair, combed back, and the slouching stride I used from habit. I looked at Johnny. He didn’t look like any farm boy to me. He still reminded me of a lost puppy who had been kicked too often, but for the first time I saw him as a stranger might see him. He looked hard and tough, because of his black T-shirt and his blue jeans and jacket, and because his hair was heavily greased and so long. I saw how his hair curled behind his ears and I thought: We both need a haircut and some decent clothes. I looked down at my worn, faded blue jeans, my too-big shirt, and Dally’s worn-out jacket. They’ll know we’re hoods the minute they see us, I thought.

“I’ll have to stay here,” Johnny said, rubbing his legs. “You go down the road and ask the first person you see where Jay Mountain is.” He winced at the pain in his legs. “Then come back. And for Pete’s sake, run a comb through your hair and quit slouching down like a thug.”

So Johnny had noticed it too. I pulled a comb from my back pocket and combed my hair carefully. “I guess I look okay now, huh, Johnny?”

He was studying me. “You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop, the way you’ve got your hair and everything. I mean, except your eyes are green.”

“They ain’t green, they’re gray,” I said, reddening. “And I look about as much like Soda as you do.” I got to my feet. “He’s good-looking.”

“Shoot,” Johnny said with a grin, “you are, too.”

I climbed over the barbed-wire fence without saying anything else. I could hear Johnny laughing at me, but I didn’t care. I went strolling down the red dirt road, hoping my natural color would come back before I met anyone. I wonder what Darry and Sodapop are doing now, I thought, yawning. Soda had the whole bed to himself for once. I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me. He’ll really get worried when he finds out Johnny and I killed that Soc. Then, for a moment, I pictured Sodapop’s face when he heard about it. I wish I was home, I thought absently, I wish I was home and still in bed. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just dreaming…

It was only last night that Dally and I had sat down behind those girls at the Nightly Double. Glory, I thought with a bewildering feeling of being rushed, things are happening too quick. Too fast. I figured I couldn’t get into any worse trouble than murder. Johnny and I would be hiding for the rest of our lives. Nobody but Dally would know where we were, and he couldn’t tell anyone because he’d get jailed again for giving us that gun. If Johnny got caught, they’d give him the electric chair, and if they caught me, I’d be sent to a reformatory. I’d heard about reformatories from Curly Shepard and I didn’t want to go to one at all. So we’d have to be hermits for the rest of our lives, and never see anyone but Dally. Maybe I’d never see Darry or Sodapop again. Or even Two-Bit or Steve. I was in the country, but I knew I wasn’t going to like it as much as I’d thought I would. There are things worse than being a greaser.

I met a sunburned farmer driving a tractor down the road. I waved at him and he stopped.

“Could you tell me where Jay Mountain is?” I asked as politely as I could.

He pointed on down the road. “Follow this road to that big hill over there. That’s it. Taking a walk?”

“Yessir.” I managed to look sheepish. “We’re playing army and I’m supposed to report to headquarters there.”

I can lie so easily that it spooks me sometimes — Soda says it comes from reading so much. But then, Two-Bit lies all the time too, and he never opens a book.

“Boys will be boys,” the farmer said with a grin, and I thought dully that he sounded as corn-poney as Hank Williams. He went on and I walked back to where Johnny was waiting.

We climbed up the road to the church, although it was a lot farther away than it looked. The road got steeper with every step. I was feeling kind of drunk — I always do when I get too sleepy — and my legs got heavier and heavier. I guess Johnny was sleepier than I was — he had stayed awake on the train to make sure we got off at the right place. It took us about forty-five minutes to get there. We climbed in a back window. It was a small church, real old and spooky and spiderwebby. It gave me the creeps.

I’d been in church before. I used to go all the time, even after Mom and Dad were gone. Then one Sunday I talked Soda into coming with Johnny and me. He didn’t want to come unless Steve did, and Two-Bit decided he might as well come too. Dally was sleeping off a hangover, and Darry was working. When Johnny and I went, we sat in the back, trying to get something out of the sermon and avoiding the people, because we weren’t dressed so sharp most of the time. Nobody seemed to mind, and Johnny and I really liked to go. But that day… well, Soda can’t sit still long enough to enjoy a movie, much less a sermon. It wasn’t long before he and Steve and Two-Bit were throwing paper wads at each other and clowning around, and finally Steve dropped a hymn book with a bang — accidentally, of course. Everyone in the place turned around to look at us, and Johnny and I nearly crawled under the pews. And then Two-Bit waved at them.