Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

32. Shoebox Memories

"GET HER NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOU DON'T DESERVE TO MOURN." - The Crawlers (Come Over Again)

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Chaos comes in many shapes and sizes, I've learned over the past few weeks. I've also learned that the role of an older sister is never finished -- only prolonged when her siblings disappear for the day. I was tired and still half-asleep when I stumbled out of my bedroom, just in time to grab the last piece of toast off the stove before Darry could start scrubbing the plates. That was the deal we'd always had. If someone woke up first, they'd have to make breakfast. The last two to wake up would have to do the dishes. And despite being the oldest, Darry and I were not exempt from the rule. I plunge my hands into the warm, sudsy water of the sink once I've finished eating and begin to scrub the dishes Pony'd promised he would've done last night. While I do that, Darry forces our brothers to the door, slapping a dollar bill in each of their hands before sending them on their way to school.

The door slams shut and for a minute, I'm able to watch Sodapop and Ponyboy walk down the road to meet the rest of the gang. They've been busy the past few days, my brothers. Soda and Pony spend most of their time after dinner stuck at the kitchen table going over their homework while Darry searches through the paper for a job, and I try to manage all the chores Momma could seemingly do with her eyes closed. It doesn't help that our machine's broken, so I spent my night kneeling over the bathtub, scrubbing our clothes with dish soap and a sponge. But, I'm able to push it to the back of my mind as my eyelids slip closed and my hands run over the plates and cutlery being passed my way. Music is playing from the radio, but my mind is too muddled to make out any of the words. I like the beat though, so I tap my foot against the linoleum until Darry drops his hands to my shoulders. "Morning, Miss Marley," he says to me.

I move back into his arm and tip my head back to look up at him. He's getting better at shaving -- even if he's already been doing it for a while -- but this is the first time I've seen him without any small scars or nicks. I'm kinda proud of him, as stupid as it sounds. I'm proud that he's able to pull himself together for the world and look the part of an adult, ready to raise his siblings, even if he crumbles the second the door is closed. "Mornin', Darry," I mumble before pulling my hands from the water and drying them on a nearby towel. Darry's dressed pretty nice when I turn around to face him. His jeans seem fairly nice, with no noticeable tears or stains, and his shirt is in the same fashion. And for the first time in a while, I'm proud of myself, too. It really ain't easy to wake up every morning and look at them -- Darry and Sodapop -- when they're each spitting images of our parents. I know the subtle ache in my heart will never vanish completely, but it's getting easier to look at 'em without tears stinging my eyes.

"What's the special occasion?" I ask, gesturing with my somewhat dry hands. He smiles a bit before tucking his hands in his pockets and chuckling sheepishly. I'm holding my breath before I can even think to stop myself. I really did doubt that he'd gone alone and done something irreversibly asinine, but then again, we had just spent our evenings scrubbing laundry in the bathtub, and crushing our dead mother's pills with tiny spoons so we could sell them to teenagers. So, I guess something irreversibly asinine wasn't that far outta our ballpark. When I turn my eyes back to my brother, he's got that stoic look to him, all child-like innocence swapped out for a blue button-down. "I got a job interview at eleven," he finally answers. "It's- it's with Dad's company. They need some more roofers, now that..." he's gone. Darry doesn't need to finish his sentence. The uneasy bob of the adam's apple in his throat speaks for him.

I let out my breath and twist the rag around in my fingers while the breath I'd been holding finally sneaks past my lips. Instead of keeping calm and remaining indifferent, my demeanour fails as I begin to laugh. They can come for Darry now that Daddy ain't here to talk him out of it. The company that killed Uncle Jim is coming for my brother, all 'cause he's strong. It's gross and exhausting, it's disturbing, and wrong. But it ain't like anyone's about to listen to us, not when the people in power are the ones hiring Darry to fix the roof. "An' you're thinking about it?" The answer is as obvious as the time of day, but I ask it anyway. Like I was five again, with Darry's hand wrapped around my own, still believing he had the answer to every question I could possibly imagine.