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I couldn’t sleep. Today is March 1st, 1966. Johnny would be 17 this year, if he was alive. It still hurts, knowing that he’s really gone, that he left so young. I look over to see Sodapop snoring lightly on his side of the bed, his arm draped over me.
I knew I was going to go see him, even if I was just looking at dirt and fresh grass underneath a tombstone with his name engraved on it. I carefully pull myself out of Sodapop’s grasp, praying I don’t wake him up. Once I was out of his grasp, I stood up, the floor creaking lightly under my weight. I froze and held my breath, looking at Soda, hoping that he wouldn't hear it.
Soda remained asleep, it took a lot to wake him up. If Darry and I weren’t here, he’d probably be asleep till noon. I didn’t bother putting on regular clothes, keeping on the white tank top and jeans I fell asleep in. I tried my best to keep the floor from creaking, but God did that floor sound the loudest it's ever been.
I manage to make my way to my shoes, slipping them on. I think of going out through the front door, but that’s way too risky, especially with Darry. I look at the window in my room. I could attempt to slip out the window, it wouldn’t be too high.
I decide to use the window path, and slowly walk my way towards the window. Every footstep makes the floor creak. It sounds the loudest it's ever been in my life. Soda rolls over and mumbles something in his sleep.
I froze. I'm halfway through the room towards the window. I hold my breath, not moving an inch. Soda doesn’t wake up though, fortunately.
I let out a shaky breath, and continued my way towards the window. I finally made it to the window, unlocking it. The click of the lock was so loud, I thought I could hear it echo. My heartbeat is thumping in my ears.
I slowly lift up the window, making a sliding sound. I lift my leg, making a loud creak on the floorboard. God do I hate these floors, I swear people in Texas could hear it. I manage to step my right leg out of the window, making sure I have steady balance on the roof.
Once I'm positive I won't fall and bust my head wide open, I lift my other leg. Now, both of my legs are steady on the roof. I close the window carefully, making sure it doesn’t slam down. I start to carefully walk my way across.
I take one step at a time, praying I don't fall. Can’t have another person from our gang die. Johnny, Johnny’s gone. Dally too. I hate thinking about it, they ain’t deserve to die.
Maybe Dally did, maybe it was payback from all the violence he caused. But Johnny, Johnny did nothing to this world. He shouldn’t have died, he didn’t even make it to 18. Maybe if I go to the lot, he’ll be there, laying down, smoking a cigarette. But I know deep down, he won’t be there.
My fists clench as I continue walking on the rooftop. I make it to the rooftops edge. I could either risk it and jump off, but I’d probably sprain my ankle. Or I can hold onto the edge of the roof and lower myself down.
I think the second option is the best for me, I can't have a sprained ankle during track season. And it would be way too obvious if Darry finds me with one. I hold onto the edge of the roof and let one of my legs dangle off the roof. After a few beats of silence, besides the crickets chirping and cars driving in the distance, I lift my other leg off the roof.
My body is fully dangling now, my feet maybe 6 inches from the ground. I risk it and let the edge of the roof go, falling onto the floor. I stumble and fall on my back. It hurts a bit, but I’ve been through more painful things.
I push myself up, and begin walking towards the sidewalk. I think I remember where the cemetery is, we went there for Dally and Johnny’s funeral. Thinking of their funeral was…odd. Dally didn’t have anyone but us there, I guess his family didn’t care.
But I suppose the feelings are mutual. He didn’t care about anyone, and his family didn’t care about him. That was just Dally. He cared about Johnny though, and when he died, he had nothing else to live for.
At Johnny’s funeral, some other family members I don't know and his mom and dad were there, they were still scolding Johnny, even when he wasn’t there to hear it. We got kicked out since I hit Johnny’s mom. I don’t like hitting ladies, but she deserved it. How could people like them make someone like Johnny?
I was crying, scratch that, I was bawling my eyes out at his funeral. Seeing his corpse in that casket completely broke me. Sadness soon turned into anger, and that's when I hit Johnny’s mother. She was scolding him and yet crying, if you could even call it that.
After she was done scolding Johnny, she started yelling and screaming at us. Calling us hoods and disgraces. I had enough of her. I punched her in the face, screaming at her words that I don’t remember.
I was dragged out by Darry. I don’t remember much of that day, nor do I want to remember it. I pull a cig, and light it up. I press it to my lips and breathe it in.
Smoking helps me whenever I’m anxious, or when I think about Johnny and Dally. How Dally pulled that gun that I knew was a bluff, how Johnny couldn’t do everything he wanted to do. But smoking makes me think of Johnny, only sometimes. As I walk towards where I think the cemetery is, my mind wanders off somewhere.
I wondered what Johnny would want for his birthday. Would he want a cake? A coke? 10 packs of cigarettes?
Who knows, I won't be able to ask him anyway. And that thought itself made my eyes water. I quickly suck it up and push the thought to the back of my mind. While I’m walking, I pass by the lot.
I stopped in my tracks and stared at it. That place felt empty now, without Johnny. I forbade myself from ever stepping foot in that place. Every time I did, I had hallucinations of Johnny sleeping on my shoulder or smoking a cigarette.
Sometimes I could still feel Johnny’s head resting on my shoulder. I could smell the faint scent of his hair, grease and a scent of his own. After a while, I forced myself to look away and kept going forward. I hate that place, I hate what it did to me.
After wandering the streets, I finally found the cemetery. It had tall, silver gates with spikes on them, with an overhead gate arch that said “TUSLA CEMETERY” in big, carved letters. I felt myself start to get dizzy, and I pulled out another cig and lit it.
I breathe it in and let it out in puffs. I continue smoking as I walk through the cemetery. I think cemeteries are sorted in alphabetical order. I don’t know, I don’t really come here a lot.
Darry usually comes here to talk to dad. Soda and I rarely went there. We all miss our parents, but Darry has way more on his shoulders than both of us combined. After searching through miles of fancy and poorly done tombstones, I finally found his.
A small plate of concrete in the ground, with rotten flowers surrounding it. On the concrete, it said “JOHNNY CADE, FLY HIGH LITTLE ANGEL” in big bold letters engraved on the concrete. I finally let all of my feelings out and fell to the ground onto my knees. My eyes start to water and tears start to fall.
And soon those tears turned into sobs, and soon those sobs turned into bawls. My body was shaking, as I laid down on top of Johnny’s grave. I could still feel the warmth of Johnny’s body on my side. But I knew it wasn’t real, only the coldness of the night surrounded me.
“Oh Johnny, why were you taken away from us? Taken away from me!?”
I started to yell, and I felt my throat begin to hurt. I was screaming in pain, my fingers digging into the dirt and grass that is his grave. I let out every single inch of pain I felt onto Johnny’s grave. My fists pounded at his tombstone, my knuckles bleeding.
“C-come back…come back! The gang needs you, I-I need you!”
My hands got exhausted, and they fell to the ground. My knuckles bled, the flesh raw and the scent of metal filled my lungs. I curled into a ball, my entire body shaking. I could hear my heartbeat pounding into my ears.
I cried until nothing could come out of my eyes any longer. My throat was raw from all the screaming, yelling, and crying I did. My knuckles continued to bleed, the blood seeping into the dirt. I laid there for who knows how long.
I looked at Johnny’s tombstone. A picture of him smiling, with splashes of my blood on it. I wish I could see that smile again, even if it was only once. I can’t remember what else happened, I fell asleep by the time the sun began to rise.
I woke up back at the house, Darry sitting on the side of the bed. My knuckles are bandaged up, and some medicine is on the drawer. I didn’t move, I didn’t want to nor did I have any strength to do so. Darry ran his fingers through my hair, saying some reassuring words.
“I know you miss him, Pony. We all do. Everything will be alright.”
But we both know those words won't fully stick to me. Even though I’ve accepted his death, sometimes I just can’t. Sometimes I think he’s lying next to me in my bed, but it's only Soda. I can see him in crowds, walking away from me.
And every time I run to him, it’s only a hallucination. It seems like the gang has all moved on with their lives. I thought I moved on too…why haven’t I moved on? He’s dead, I know that, but sometimes I think he’s not.
I stayed in my bed the rest of the morning. And Darry stayed by my side until he had to leave for work. I could hear the crew come and go, and soon the house was silent. I could hear the echo of Johnny’s voice and his cries of pain, of sorrow.
Johnny’s voice was distant and yet so close. His scent filled the air, and I breathed it into my lungs. His scent was a drug, better than cigarettes. I could feel his head on my shoulder as I stared at the ceiling.
I fell asleep thinking he was right next to me, but I know reality will wash over me in the morning..