Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

09. Old Friends & New Problems

"I SEE TROUBLE ON THE WAY." - Creedence Clearwater Revival (Bad Moon Rising)

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I liked sleeping in, I just didn't have a ton of chances to do it. Being the most responsible person in the house at any given moment can do that to a person. Sunday mornings were always pretty quiet - even on the east side of town. I guess the fear of God and eternal damnation managed to reach across the divide from the Socs' fancy churches and Sunday dinners. Or maybe it was the other way around.

My knuckles scraped the floor, fingers uncurling and reaching for the first t-shirt I could find. Now, it just would've been nice if the shirt was mine. My fingers hooked onto the sleeve of my brother's sweatshirt as my eyes finally decided to pull themselves open and study the disaster that had become my life. The only real carpet we had in the house was downstairs in the t.v. room, but the clothes hiding our floor from view worked as good as any. At least, my half of the room was fine. I had the odd sock stuffed under the bed, my jacket hanging off the edge, a few shirts that were too clean to wash but too gross to wear outside the house. But Curly -- like always -- was a hot fucking mess. Clothes everywhere, stray dishes balanced off our windowsill like a circus act. I think the most disturbing part of it all, was the playboys peeking out from underneath his pillow, covers still sticky.

I used to say anything was better than spending one more night in the reform, but that was before I remembered how old my dear little brother was, and how all boys reacted to raging hormones. At least in the reform, I could beat the shit outta the guy jacking off in the cot next to me without waking Mom or Angela.

it didn't take me that long to find my clothes once I pushed the blanket back and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Across the room, Curly still slept peacefully with the first few rays of sun beating down on his face through our curtains. I slumped against the foot of my bed as I pulled my shirt over my head -- trying to ease the knot I managed to tie in my neck by lying still. My jeans slipped up pretty easy, my belt still stuck in the loops. Curly and I's shoes sat by the door surrounded by the socks we hadn't bothered to tidy. We'd have to clean the room eventually, but we'd wait until Mom had her belt gripped in her fists.

I grabbed my shoes before I crossed the hall to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. Sure Angela's was the longest, and Curly's was the -- y'know what? Take a wild fuckin' guess. But they shave your head when you get sent to reform and I had just gotten back from looking like a fucking egg. I wasn't fixing to cut my hair again anytime soon. Grease coated my fingertips and the tap to the sink when I spat the last bit of toothpaste down the drain, slowly watching it swirl through the water until it vanished. I flipped the light off, catching sight of Curly shuffling around under his covers in the mirror and my darkening reflection. The mirror was just another reminder of Mom's shit taste in guys, the crack in the glass ran right down the left side of my face. Christ -- all 'cause she tried telling Gary she wasn't in the mood.

Elvis's guitar followed me down the stairs, my shoes thumping against my leg with every small step I took. I came down right into the kitchen, just in time to watch my old man pour the steaming coffee into a cup and take a sip with his back still to me.

He was my father. Sure he spent some time up in Big Mac, but at least he came back. I kept those words in the forefront of my mind every time I came down the stairs. Or when he and Mom talked in the kitchen, the food on the plates abandoned and just taking up space. He came back for us, and that was a lot more than some of the dads around here had done. Christ, even Pat's old man ran out on him. Didn't come to the dock when he and Mrs. Macrorie were getting ready to live the American Dream. Still, I managed to bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood every time he felt like telling Ang to get a longer skirt, or wash off her makeup, or even when he felt like chewing Curly out over some shitty grade. So what if we weren't the smarter pricks at Rogers? We still showed up, didn't we?