Susan Hinton - The Outsiders

He lay breathing heavily for a moment. “I’m pretty bad off, ain’t I, Pony?”

“You’ll be okay,” I said with fake cheerfulness. “You gotta be. We couldn’t get along without you.”

The truth of that last statement hit me. We couldn’t get along without him. We needed Johnny as much as he needed the gang. And for the same reason.

“I won’t be able to walk again,” Johnny started, then faltered. “Not even on crutches. Busted my back.”

“You’ll be okay,” I repeated firmly. Don’t start crying, I commanded myself, don’t start crying, you’ll scare Johnny.

“You want to know something, Ponyboy? I’m scared stiff. I used to talk about killing myself…” He drew a quivering breath. “I don’t want to die now. It ain’t long enough. Sixteen years ain’t long enough. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there wasn’t so much stuff I ain’t done yet and so many things I ain’t seen. It’s not fair. You know what? That time we were in Windrixville was the only time I’ve been away from our neighborhood.”

“You ain’t gonna die,” I said, trying to hold my voice down. “And don’t get juiced up, because the doc won’t let us see you no more if you do.”

Sixteen years on the streets and you can learn a lot. But all the wrong things, not the things you want to learn. Sixteen years on the streets and you see a lot. But all the wrong sights, not the sights you want to see.

Johnny closed his eyes and rested quietly for a minute. Years of living on the East Side teaches you how to shut off your emotions. If you didn’t, you would explode. You learn to cool it.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Johnny,” she said quietly, “your mother’s here to see you.”

Johnny opened his eyes. At first they were wide with surprise, then they darkened. “I don’t want to see her,” he said firmly.

“She’s your mother.”

“I said I don’t want to see her.” His voice was rising. “She’s probably come to tell me about all the trouble I’m causing her and about how glad her and the old man’ll be when I’m dead. Well, tell her to leave me alone. For once”—his voice broke—“for once just to leave me alone.” He was struggling to sit up, but he suddenly gasped, went whiter than the pillowcase, and passed out cold.

The nurse hurried me out the door. “I was afraid of something like this if he saw anyone.”

I ran into Two-Bit, who was coming in.

“You can’t see him now,” the nurse said, so Two-Bit handed her the book. “Make sure he can see it when he comes around.” She took it and closed the door behind her. Two-Bit stood and looked at the door a long time. “I wish it was any one of us except Johnny,” he said, and his voice was serious for once. “We could get along without anyone but Johnny.”

Turning abruptly, he said, “Let’s go see Dallas.”

As we walked out into the hall, we saw Johnny’s mother. I knew her. She was a little woman, with straight black hair and big black eyes like Johnny’s. But that was as far as the resemblance went. Johnnycake’s eyes were fearful and sensitive; hers were cheap and hard. As we passed her she was saying, “But I have a right to see him. He’s my son. After all the trouble his father and I’ve gone to to raise him, this is our reward! He’d rather see those no-count hoodlums than his own folks…” She saw us and gave us such a look of hatred that I almost backed up. “It was your fault. Always running around in the middle of the night getting jailed and heaven knows what else…” I thought she was going to cuss us out. I really did.

Two-Bit’s eyes got narrow and I was afraid he was going to start something. I don’t like to hear women get sworn at, even if they deserve it. “No wonder he hates your guts,” Two-Bit snapped. He was going to tell her off real good, but I shoved him along. I felt sick. No wonder Johnny didn’t want to see her. No wonder he stayed overnight at Two-Bit’s or at our house, and slept in the vacant lot in good weather. I remembered my mother… beautiful and golden, like Soda, and wise and firm, like Darry.

“Oh, lordy!” There was a catch in Two-Bit’s voice and he was closer to tears than I’d ever seen him. “He has to live with that.”

We hurried to the elevator to get to the next floor. I hoped the nurse would have enough sense not to let Johnny’s mother see him. It would kill him.

Dally was arguing with one of the nurses when we came in. He grinned at us. “Man, am I glad to see you! These — hospital people won’t let me smoke, and I want out!”

We sat down, grinning at each other. Dally was his usual mean, ornery self. He was okay.

“Shepard came by to see me a while ago.”

“That’s what Johnny said. What’d he want?”

“Said he saw my picture in the paper and couldn’t believe it didn’t have ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ under it. He mostly came to rub it in about the rumble. Man, I hate not bein’ in that.”

Only last week Tim Shepard had cracked three of Dally’s ribs. But Dally and Tim Shepard had always been buddies; no matter how they fought, they were two of a kind, and they knew it.

Dally was grinning at me. “Kid, you scared the devil outa me the other day. I thought I’d killed you.”

“Me?” I said, puzzled. “Why?”

“When you jumped out of the church. I meant to hit you just hard enough to knock you down and put out the fire, but when you dropped like a ton of lead I thought I’d aimed too high and broke your neck.” He thought for a minute. “I’m glad I didn’t, though.”

“I’ll bet,” I said with a grin. I’d never liked Dally — but then, for the first time, I felt like he was my buddy. And all because he was glad he hadn’t killed me.

Dally looked out the window. “Uh…”—he sounded very casual—“how’s the kid?”

“We just left him,” Two-Bit said, and I could tell that he was debating whether to tell Dally the truth or not. “I don’t know about stuff like this… but… well, he seemed pretty bad to me. He passed out cold before we left him.”

Dally’s jaw line went white as he swore between clenched teeth.

“Two-Bit, you still got that fancy black-handled switch?”

“Yeah.”

“Give it here.”

Two-Bit reached into his back pocket for his prize possession. It was a jet-handled switchblade, ten inches long, that would flash open at a mere breath. It was the reward of two hours of walking aimlessly around a hardware store to divert suspicion. He kept it razor sharp. As far as I knew, he had never pulled it on anyone; he used his plain pocketknife when he needed a blade. But it was his showpiece, his pride and joy — every time he ran into a new hood he pulled it out and showed off with it. Dally knew how much that knife meant to Two-Bit, and if he needed a blade bad enough to ask for it, well, he needed a blade. That was all there was to it. Two-Bit handed it over to Dally without a moment’s hesitation.

“We gotta win that fight tonight,” Dally said. His voice was hard. “We gotta get even with the Socs. For Johnny.”

He put the switch under his pillow and lay back, staring at the ceiling. We left. We knew better than to talk to Dally when his eyes were blazing and he was in a mood like that.

We decided to catch a bus home. I just didn’t feel much like walking or trying to hitch a ride. Two-Bit left me sitting on the bench at the bus stop while he went to a gas station to buy some cigarettes. I was kind of sick to my stomach and sort of groggy. I was nearly asleep when I felt someone’s hand on my forehead. I almost jumped out of my skin. Two-Bit was looking down at me worriedly. “You feel okay? You’re awful hot.”

“I’m all right,” I said, and when he looked at me as if he didn’t believe me, I got a little panicky. “Don’t tell Darry, okay? Come on, Two-Bit, be a buddy. I’ll be well by tonight. I’ll take a bunch of aspirins.”