A Boy Named Pony - A Sequel to East West Sunset

When the dandelion is blown - Betty

Because it took me a long time to stop truly loving Ponyboy Curtis, I found that I was still seeking him out. I was drawn to the places I knew he'd be -- lurking near the table he and Bryon shared in the cafeteria, standing at the end of the hallway by his locker after school until the flurry of exiting students propelled me away like the current of a lazy river. For that reason, I even attended some of his cross country meets. I'd watch him run, his legs pumping under fluttering red gym shorts, his arms swinging, and cheer him on silently. He was fast; he won most of the preliminary meets. I heard he won second place at the state meet. But by then I couldn't bear to watch him run anymore. It reminded me of how he used to say he wanted his girl to cheer him on to victory, and I wasn't his girl anymore. There was no reason for me to be there.

In May I entered the city arts festival with my collage, just as Mrs. Lane had suggested. My collage had turned out fine, even my father said so. My mother and stepfather drove in for the day from Canton to see it, too. Any pride I might have felt, though, was muted by the guilt and grief that swamped me whenever I looked at it too long, because it turned out to tell the story of me and Ponyboy. I used my sketches of dandelions and clippings from the Tulsa World newspaper, centering everything around the landscape I'd done of a dandelion poking through a crack in the sidewalk. My mother considered it for a long time before giving me a side hug and a small smile of understanding. 

The folks from the university who came to judge the contest also stood in front of it for a while. They muttered to one another, frowned like educated art critics, jotted things down on their score sheets. I wondered why they were all wearing suits in the sweltering May heat. Eventually, a bald professor turned to me, wiping sweat from his shiny head.

"Ms. Kay, is it?"

I nodded and smiled shyly.

"What an extraordinary piece. Have you considered art school?"

"I have." It wasn't a lie; I had definitely considered it. But my answer still hadn't changed from the one I'd given Mrs. Lane at the beginning of the year. I wasn't going to college, even though my father had begrudgingly offered to pay for tuition for me. There was no point.

"Wonderful!" He and the other judges smiled at each other as if congratulating themselves for something. "It would be a wonderful opportunity to sharpen your skills. I hope to see you in a gallery one day, Ms. Kay!"

I bobbed my head, that same old wistfulness filling my heart as the group of professors turned and walked away.

At the end of May, I graduated.

I hated that I'd been looking forward to it so much. At the end of the ceremony, while everyone else embraced their friends and cried, promising never to forget each other, I couldn't muster up a single tear. The closest I came was when Jodie asked me to sign her yearbook. I think she was the only one who waved goodbye as I left Central Tulsa High School for the last time.

Still, I can't say that I left without looking back. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the building without bidding goodbye to the art room, to the cafeteria, to my locker, number 82 on the second floor. I knew that one day, I would look back on my time in high school and sigh with remembrance and nostalgia; and even though right now, I couldn't fathom missing it, before long I'd feel that homesickness for the things I'd taken for granted for so long.

The one person I couldn't bear to see was Ponyboy. When I got into my mom's car after bidding all my goodbyes, I told her to make straight for Canton. I needed to be in the country again.