I DREAMT OF NIRVANA | JOHNNYBOY (JOHNNY CADE X PONYBOY CURTIS)

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Ponyboy Curtis
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THREE

'YOU'LL KNOW IT'S JOHNNY'

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"Quite the booming party, huh, Ponyboy?" Two-Bit cackles as we pull onto the side of the curb outside Buck's. "You're darn right, Two." I reply, taking drags from Two-Bit and I's shared smoke. "Almost better than that costume of yours." Two-Bit mocks, cocking his brow at my costume as he goes into park and I stare at him with a menacing glare.
Soda had dressed me up as the young gent from The Breakfast Club, John Bender? I wear shaded sun glasses that are a bit fogged, a jean jacket, and under said jacket, I wear a flannel. Under said flannel, a long sleeved white tee— It's a bit stuffy.

I pull open the car door and slip out, crushing my weed into the curb. Two-Bit follows, snickering at the man sitting on the porches steps. "Dally— Ain't it good to see you?!" He snorts a cheer, running up to Dally and giving him a large pat on the shoulder. "Quite the party you've got goin' on!" "It ain't mine— Two-Bit, now lay off. Hey pass me a smoke, would ya, Ponyboy." Dally groans, beckoning for a weed. This is no question; more so he is commanding this request from me.
Dallas is an aggressive smoker, like how my father was a repetitive drunk. He craves his smokes like an alcoholic craves for their rum— he almost cant take not being blazed. And I thought I was bad.

I toss him my pack and lighter and watch him laugh as he blazes up his smoke. "Hey, there's booze inside— get in there. I know how you like your booze— just like good ol' Mister Curtis." Dally beckons, pointing past the door to inside the house. Music booms from inside as vibrant lights flourish out the windows. "How come you ain't in there, Dallas?" Two-Bit ignores, raising his brow as his head tilts to his question. "My friend, Johnny, he ain't doing too hot in there. Waiting for him to run out o' there, lookin' for a fight or something, so I can catch him before he starts a rumble. Man, he's a wreck. You know how drunks are." Dallas explains— he laughs. Not in a mocking way, but in a nervous standpoint. "Can't find him anywhere— man. He's never been a drinker. Who knew such a fragile kid could be sucha' skitish drunk." He adds, shaking his head. I laugh, I've never seen Dal' so worried about anybody really. "Hey, Ponyboy? If you see him at all can you tell him I'm looking for him?" Dallas pleads— this time, he's dead serious. He really means what he says. He licks his lips, looking me up and down as he waits for my answer. "I don't even know him, man." I reply with a slight frown as I kick the rumble from under my feet. "Fluffy black hair, tan, scar on face, a bit twiggy looking? When you see him— you'll know its Johnny." He describes, furrowing his brows thicker as he explains more. "He kind of looks like a dog." He laughs, shaking his head at his own words. "Well that's insulting." I huft back, almost hurt even though I shouldn't be. I don't know the guy— yet, my heart hurts for him because of Dally's words. Dal' has a way of shooting his words out like venom from the fang. "Like a lost dog. He's always got that look in his eyes." He explains, clarifying his point as he swirls his pointer finger infront of his eye as he stands. His back pops as he does so, and he groans. "I'll see you, man." He grumbles, walking down the steps. "Where you off to, Winston?" Two-Bit laughs, watching Dallas hoble down the street. "Finding myself a fine broad— I'll see you." He shouts, pointing at Two and I. Two-Bit trades Dal' a departing nod before walking into Buck's, me following shortly behind. "Such a hooker." He groans, creaking the door open.

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The music is booming, loud, as we walk into Buck's. Lights spray in from out the windows, all colors of red, purple, green, and blue as they haze my vision. The air is filled with heavy music and laughing drunks. Red solo cups litter the coffee table and counters like an explosion had happened as I walked through the house. I lose Two-Bit to a fine group of women and am left with nobody accompanying my side. I travel towards the booze, organized in the kitchen.

As I pour my share of booze, a lanky figure trails into the room. He lets out a shocked trail of air, it coming out as a surprised hum, as he approaches me. "Ponyboy!" Bob greets, putting his hand on my shoulder. I nod to him. "Hey Bob, no time no see" I reply, turning back to my cup and downing a shot. "Haven't seen you at parties— you been taking a break or what?" Bob asks— I scowl. "Yeah, man, parties haven't been too hot on my list lately." I reply.
I don't fancy Bob all too much— nor do I like him. You'd think I would, he is good friends with Dal'— but one thing you have to get about Dallas is that he is good friends with everyone. It's only when he calls you his 'close friend' is when you are important. I'd bet a fine dime that the Johnny kid is a 'close friend'. He never cares that much.

"Well ain't that a shame, Ponyboy." He slurs, handing me his cup. "Hey mind pouring me a shot— yeah that tequila there." he instructs pointing to bottles with his boney finger. I groan, shaking my head as I pour him his next shot— he's too drunk for his own good.

One cup turns into two, which turns into four, and then six, and I find myself in a giggled haze. The music roaring into my raw eardrums actually feels nice, which isn't common for me. I find myself chatting with some nice gents, just about my age, but a bit preparatory in their stature. We talk about our mutual likings: Iron Maiden and parties. The group starts talking about women they catch their eyes on at the party, which completely loses my interest. As I scan the room around me, acting like I care for the groups conversation, I notice a young man just about our age in the corner of the crowd. He looks fragile, hurt, guilty.

"Hey, I'll be right back" I husk through the waterfall of loud voices and step away from the small group. I earn hasty stares from the group— but I don't seem to mind, as the preparatories are just preparatories and they don't matter much to me.
As I approach closer to the boy, I notice some things about him. They click bells in my mind, clank them hardly together like the electricity of shouts jolting through Buck's. Thats when I realize where I might recognize him from.

"Fluffy black hair, tan, scar on face, a bit twiggy looking? When you see him— you'll know its Johnny."

These words bring deja vu to my system, engulfing me tight in Dally's words. Fluffy black hair, scar on face, it all adds up. "Hey," I greet calmly to him, standing adjacent to his figure. He nods, nervously, all wide eyed. "Hey." He replies. "I'm Ponyboy." I introduce with a smile, receiving no response. Only this nervous look. "Are you Johnny?" I ask, his eyes widen more, if even possible. Nodding, he replies. "Yes . ." He husks with guilt, his palms shaking and sweating with edge, I don't understand his fear, and it scares me. What could this kid possibly have done to make him so jittery? "I'm friends with Dallas." "Oh." He sighs, with some relief. I furrow my brows to myself. "Yeah. I've heard of you." He nods, but freezes. "From Dal', of course—" He adds. "— Yeah, yeah, totally." I reply. This is so very awkward. "Anyway— Dallas, he told me to bring you to him if I saw you." I say. Johnny looks to me, frantic, shaking his head. He doesn't say anything for a hot minute. "I— I don't feel too good, Ponyboy . ." He utters, his lip quivering, and before I can manage a word out from my lips, I watch him wretch vomit out onto Buck's hardwood floor and the crowd break out into gags and uncontrolled gasps.

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Words: 1333

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andddd the two finally meet! But not with the best start.