Susan Hinton - The Outsiders

He said a lot more stuff, but I didn’t get it all. I had a stupid feeling that Dally was out of his mind, the way he kept raving on and on, because Dallas never talked like that, but I think now I would have understood if I hadn’t been sick at the time.

The cop left us at the hospital as Dally pretended to help me out of the car. The minute the cop was gone, Dally let go of me so quick I almost fell. “Hurry!”

We ran through the lobby and crowded past people into the elevator. Several people yelled at us, I think because we were pretty racked-up looking, but Dally had nothing on his mind except Johnny, and I was too mixed up to know anything but that I had to follow Dally. When we finally got to Johnny’s room, the doctor stopped us. “I’m sorry, boys, but he’s dying.”

“We gotta see him,” Dally said, and flicked out Two-Bit’s switchblade. His voice was shaking. “We’re gonna see him and if you give me any static you’ll end up on your own operatin’ table.”

The doctor didn’t bat an eye. “You can see him, but it’s because you’re his friends, not because of that knife.”

Dally looked at him for a second, then put the knife back in his pocket. We both went into Johnny’s room, standing there for a second, getting our breath back in heavy gulps. It was awful quiet. It was scary quiet. I looked at Johnny. He was very still, and for a moment I thought in agony: He’s dead already. We’re too late.

Dally swallowed, wiping the sweat off his upper lip. “Johnnycake?” he said in a hoarse voice. “Johnny?”

Johnny stirred weakly, then opened his eyes. “Hey,” he managed softly.

“We won,” Dally panted. “We beat the Socs. We stomped them — chased them outa our territory.”

Johnny didn’t even try to grin at him. “Useless… fighting’s no good….” He was awful white.

Dally licked his lips nervously. “They’re still writing editorials about you in the paper. For being a hero and all.” He was talking too fast and too calmly. “Yeah, they’re calling you a hero now and heroizin’ all the greasers. We’re all proud of you, buddy.”

Johnny’s eyes glowed. Dally was proud of him. That was all Johnny had ever wanted.

“Ponyboy.”

I barely heard him. I came closer and leaned over to hear what he was going to say.

“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold…” The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.

You read about people looking peacefully asleep when they’re dead, but they don’t. Johnny just looked dead. Like a candle with the flame gone. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t make a sound.

Dally swallowed and reached over to push Johnny’s hair back. “Never could keep that hair back… that’s what you get for tryin’ to help people, you little punk, that’s what you get…”

Whirling suddenly, he slammed back against the wall. His face contracted in agony, and sweat streamed down his face.

“Damnit, Johnny…” he begged, slamming one fist against the wall, hammering it to make it obey his will. “Oh, damnit, Johnny, don’t die, please don’t die…”

He suddenly bolted through the door and down the hall.

IWALKED DOWN THE hall in a daze. Dally had taken the car and I started the long walk home in a stupor. Johnny was dead. But he wasn’t. That still body back in the hospital wasn’t Johnny. Johnny was somewhere else — maybe asleep in the lot, or playing the pinball machine in the bowling alley, or sitting on the back steps of the church in Windrixville. I’d go home and walk by the lot, and Johnny would be sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette, and maybe we’d lie on our backs and watch the stars. He isn’t dead, I said to myself. He isn’t dead. And this time my dreaming worked. I convinced myself that he wasn’t dead.

I must have wandered around for hours; sometimes even out into the street, getting honked at and cussed out. I might have stumbled around all night except for a man who asked me if I wanted a ride.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” I said. I got in. The man, who was in his mid-twenties, looked at me.

“Are you all right, kid? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

“I have been. A rumble. I’m okay.” Johnny is not dead, I told myself, and I believed it.

“Hate to tell you this, kiddo,” the guy said dryly, “but you’re bleedin’ all over my car seats.”

I blinked. “I am?”

“Your head.”

I reached up to scratch the side of my head where it’d been itching for a while, and when I looked at my hand it was smeared with blood.

“Gosh, mister, I’m sorry,” I said, dumfounded.

“Don’t worry about it. This wreck’s been through worse. What’s your address? I’m not about to dump a hurt kid out on the streets this time of night.”

I told him. He drove me to my house, and I got out. “Thanks a lot.”

What was left of our gang was in the living room. Steve was stretched out on the sofa, his shirt unbuttoned and his side bandaged. His eyes were closed, but when the door shut behind me he opened them, and I suddenly wondered if my own eyes looked as feverish and bewildered as his. Soda had a wide cut on his lip and a bruise across his cheek. There was a Band-Aid over Darry’s forehead and he had a black eye. One side of Two-Bit’s face was taped up — I found out later he had four stitches in his cheek and seven in his hand where he had busted his knuckles open over a Soc’s head. They were lounging around, reading the paper and smoking.

Where’s the party? I thought dully. Weren’t Soda and Steve planning a party after the rumble? They all looked up when I walked in. Darry leaped to his feet.

“Where have you been?”

Oh, let’s don’t start that again, I thought. He stopped suddenly.

“Ponyboy, what’s the matter?”

I looked at all of them, a little frightened. “Johnny… he’s dead.” My voice sounded strange, even to me. But he’s not dead, a voice in my head said. “We told him about beatin’ the Socs and… I don’t know, he just died.” He told me to stay gold, I remembered. What was he talking about?

There was a stricken silence. I don’t think any of us had realized how bad off Johnny really had been. Soda made a funny noise and looked like he was going to start crying. Two-Bit’s eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched, and I suddenly remembered Dally…. Dally pounding on the wall…

“Dallas is gone,” I said. “He ran out like the devil was after him. He’s gonna blow up. He couldn’t take it.”

How can I take it? I wondered. Dally is tougher than I am. Why can I take it when Dally can’t? And then I knew. Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And now Johnny was gone.

“So he finally broke.” Two-Bit spoke everyone’s feelings. “So even Dally has a breaking point.”

I started shaking. Darry said something in a low voice to Soda.

“Ponyboy,” Soda said softly, like he was talking to an injured animal, “you look sick. Sit down.”

I backed up, just like a frightened animal, shaking my head. “I’m okay.” I felt sick. I felt as if any minute I was going to fall flat on my face, but I shook my head. “I don’t want to sit down.”

Darry took a step toward me, but I backed away. “Don’t touch me,” I said. My heart was pounding in slow thumps, throbbing at the side of my head, and I wondered if everyone else could hear it. Maybe that’s why they’re all looking at me, I thought, they can hear my heart beating…

The phone rang, and after a moment’s hesitation, Darry turned from me to it. He said “Hello” and then listened. He hung up quickly.

“It was Dally. He phoned from a booth. He’s just robbed a grocery store and the cops are after him. We gotta hide him. He’ll be at the lot in a minute.”