The Outsiders Imagines and Short Stories

Steve

I watch my breath come out in fumes like cigarette smoke as I walk with my head down on a cold December night. Well, it ain't just any kind o' night, it's Christmas Eve. I'm not real big on Christmas or the Holidays in general, because my old lady ran out on me and my pops a day after Christmas. I was maybe 9 years old, real dumb and naive. I still remember what the house smelled like and what Ma wore the day she decided t' go...

Narrator's POV

There was smoke in the fireplace as little Steven Lucas Randle played on his living room floor just beside the bright Christmas tree that could have been dubbed the perfect tree to the rest of the world. Steve had received some toy cars, and they were exactly what he'd asked Santa to bring. Three red cars, a blue car, and a tuff looking black car. Steve had even gotten a cool lighter he saw in the gas station when he was with Pop when they needed gas. He'd recently started smoking, but only two weeds a day. Mama didn't like him smoking that much, but Pop thought it was really funny, so a compromise was made. 

"Stevie," Mama said in her sweet Southern accent that could make any Northerner salivate for lemonade, "Mama's gonna go and get something for dinner tonight and some ingredients for cookies like I promised." She ruffled his hair and Steve looked at her with his crooked teeth. He sometimes came home crying because the other kids made fun of his teeth, but Mama always knew how to make him feel better about it. She said it was God's special gift to him, like his passion for anything that had wheels. 

"When will you be back?" He asked her with a small, excited, and childlike grin

"Soon, baby, I promise." Mama bent down to kiss his head and left remnants of her lipstick on his forehead. She put on her nice shoes and left, sure to not forget her purse. 

And so, Mama opened the door, giving Steve one last smile. Looking back, he realized the smile was broken. Steve waved his mama out and resumed playing with his cars. Mama only took forty-five minutes to finish her shopping. But that turned into an hour, two hours, two and a half, bedtime. Steve waited night and day for Mama to come back, even waiting outside for hours in the freezing cold for her. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis soon brought Steve into their house and it was empty, which almost never happened. They sat him down and explained it in the kindest way possible that Mama was never coming back. And Steve cried worse than the day he was born. He was in Mrs. Curtis's warm embrace and cried for hours. His nose was blocked up, his eyes stung, he had slobber all over Mrs. Curtis's sweater, but she never complained. 

Steve's POV

'Weak,' I hiss to myself, giving a pebble. I was weak and dumb for thinkin' Ma would come back. Lookin' back, I can see how broken her smile was the last time she looked at me. Pop wasn't never the same. He drinks, shoots up, pushes me around here and there, kicks me out, and pays me to come back. I'm caught in a damned circle livin' there. Sometimes I really wish I could run out the way Mama did and track her down. She might be dead by now, who the hell knows. Maybe she's still around, but God, if I ever see her again, she's gonna get a real earful from me. Pop was a real nice guy, we was a happy family but she just had to ruin it all. Christ, if she didn't like him no more, why didn't she take me with her? Selfish bitch. 

I usually spend Christmas with the Curtises, but the Mr. and Mrs. died in a car crash 11 months ago. I cried almost as much as I did when Ma left me. I didn't let no one see, that's for damn sure. I can't stand that Ponyboy neither. He looks like Ma with his reddish hair and gray eyes. Soda knows why I don't like him and that's why. He looks like Ma. Hell, it's even why I don't date girls that look nothin' like Ma. Evie's a blonde, and she's dumb as a brick because she bleached all the smarts outta her noggin, but I don't have t' deal with constant reminders of Ma. 

I used to hear this saying, and it said that anyone that's alone on Christmas means that no one loves 'em, that they don't mean dirt to anyone in this world. I really hope that don't apply t' me right now, because I'm all on my own and it's some hour past midnight. I'll eventually find a place to crash, but I dunno. I guess I'll make my way t' Buck's and spend some time with Dally. The kid worries me sometimes. We all do dumb shit, but he pushes limits. He and I ain't exactly the closest, but we're still good buddies and have a few nights where we drink until we drop. That might be in order for this Christmas, because I'm bettin' Dally's gonna try isolatin' himself so he don't have to deal with all the happiness Christmas brings some people.

I'll tell you one thing, even after six years of my Ma bein' gone, I haven't swallowed one cookie since. I've managed to bite into it, but I get awful queasy and I find a way to spit it out. Sometimes, I find myself hopin' Ma will come through the door lookin' like hell or just the same, just so I can give her a nice goodbye or even try to go with her. Even the toughest people still need their mamas, or at the very least their mother figures. Right now, I don't got either.