Golden Greaser

- 13 -

       "Hey," Sodapop jumps up from the couch, followed by another younger looking boy. "Is everything alright?"

       Darrel closes the front door, suddenly looking very angry.

     "Didn't I tell you two to get to bed before I got back?"

      "Yeah, but..." The younger one says quietly, glancing at me with concerned eyes. "We just wanted to know what happened..." 

   "I said get to bed." Darry points to a nonexistent room. "Now."

   "Come on, Dar-"

    "Now!" He yells, interrupting the boy standing beside Sodapop.

   They both obey, although the heinous expressions on their faces could tell a different story. Their whispers fade as I listen to a door close with a faint click. 

   I follow Darry's tall, broad figure until he comes to an abrupt stop, and I almost run into him. 

   "Here you are." Darrel sighs, opening a closed door at the end of the small, narrow hallway.

   I look around the almost empty room, watching as he pulls down the bedspread and turns on the lamp by the nightstand.

   He walks towards the door, looking rather uncomfortable. 

   "Uh, ain't nobody gone' hurt ya 'round here..." He pauses. "But you can lock the door if you want..."

   I nod, sitting on the soft, white bedsheets. 

  "I don't know how to thank you..."

   He shrugs, doing a final once-over of the room. "Hope you sleep well."

   I could tell he was tired. 

   "You too." I say quietly, my throat tight. "Thank you again..."

   "Ah, don't worry 'bout it." He closes the door slowly, cautiously, giving me a slight smile before it shuts completely.

   Drawing in a slow, shaky breath, I lean back against the two soft pillows awaiting me. 

    The orange light from the lamp paints the ceiling with a cheerful glow, unknowingly calming the rampant sorrow that weighted me. 

   It was hard to distinguish anything that meant something to me at this point.

   The little joy that I still had left bled into the rivulets of sadness. And the courage and strength I thought had always been my best asset sank into the seemingly never-ending abyss of confusion.

    But then, as I reached over and turned off the lamp, my thoughts began to drift to the kindness of these boys. 

   Their way of making you feel like you mean something when all meaning has been stripped from you. The way they had been so willing, so understanding.

   And as the reluctancy of sleep slowly fell away, those sweet thoughts gave me some peace.

    My eyelids awaken dreadfully to the warming sunlight that streaked the walls with all different types of patterns. 

   Suddenly the silence of the morning was cut short by a loud, howling voice from somewhere in the house, followed by a chastisement just as loud.

   I drag myself out of the bed, forgetting I hadn't showered or changed since last night.

   Slowly, I make my way down the hallway to the light coming from the doorframe that reveals the living room holding the source of the noise.  A spike of nauseating pain jostles my stomach, sending a swallow down my throat.