Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

23. Innocent Until Proven

"JAILER, I CAN'T SLEEP. 'CUZ ALL AROUND MY BEDSIDE, I HEAR THE PATTER OF DELIA'S FEET." - Johnny Cash (Delia's Gone)

***

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I couldn't tell you how many times I sat here, at my kitchen table, with my eyes glued to that damned clock. Every time, the seconds seemed to pass slower and slower, until they froze entirely. I could hear The Flintstones going on in the living room while Curly shovelled cereal into his mouth. It was nearing four o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, and I'm sure that's all he'd managed to consume today. Usually, I woulda called him out on it, told him to get outta the house and do something better with his time than sitting around and wasting mine. But as long as Curly was here, that meant he wouldn't see what I was about to do. What we were about to do.

I've done stupid shit with Pat a dozen times before. We'd snuck into Buck's, crashed a few beer blasts, I even tried setting Sylvia's hair on fire back in the seventh grade. Compared to what we were about to do now, it looked like childs' play. Dad sat across from me, the barrel of a gun unmistakably gleaming in the filthy light hanging overhead. He'd run the plan into our heads so many times since Thursday, I'm sure I could repeat it -- word for word -- in my sleep. No one was supposed to get hurt, he told us, just scared. There was only gonna be one bullet and if we were gonna shoot, we'd better aim for a coffee mug or something.

I looked up at him for a minute, as he ran the rag over the barrel, a cigarette poking between his teeth, and a smile on his lips. Compared to all the stunts I'd pulled before this, they were child's play. Fifteen is still a kid, I guess, no matter how hard I try to deny it. Fifteen's too young to take your father's gun and run his errands, all because he's serve another three years in Big Mac if he got caught.

At fifteen, I'm too old to just start realizing he ain't half the man I thought he was. But I know the sour taste in my mouth isn't just the poorly disguised hate. Guilt has always been able to creep back up on me, even when I'm sure I've pushed it so far back I can't even remember what I have to feel guilty about. But it's damn near impossible to forget when her handwritten notes are staring me right in the face. We've got a week before Christmas, which means a week before the chemistry test that started all this.

She hasn't been in class much, but I'm in no position to judge her. I've flipped back and forth through the same four pages as the tension festers. I won't be the one to break the silence between me and my father, and I doubt he'll speak before he can see his reflection snarling back at him. Tucked inside the cover of my textbook, Marley's at least tried to make the topics interesting. I can tell she's borrowed some of her brother's crayons to go highlight some words, write down definitions, even add a few quick sketches in the margins. By the time I'm finally able to tell the difference between ionic and molecular, there's a soft knock at the door and Curly shoots up, as if we were gonna try and beat him to it.

Dad doesn't say anything, but he shifts oh-so-subtly in his seat as his son speaks with the stranger. At this angle, I can't tell who it is. "-Yeah, sure. C'mon in, I gotta go grab my jacket." Next, Curly races up the stairs. The door creaks shut, and Ponyboy clears his throat awkwardly as he makes his way towards us. "Hey, Tim. Mr. Shepard," he greets stiffly. Dad doesn't acknowledge him. As if he likes watching the poor kid squirm. It's making me nauseous, too, but I'm just better at hiding it. I cross my arms over my chest and flatten my hands against my sides before anyone can notice the tremor. "Hey, kid," I say easily. "What brings you 'round here?"

The sleeves of Sodapop's flannel bunch up around his boney wrists as Pony tucks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He's rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, still looking too pale and sickly for me to determine if it's intentional or not. "Lookin' for Curly. Thinkin' we could head down to the DX for coke, or somethin'. The couple that own it really like Soda and me, we get discounts on everything."