Above These Indifferent Stars |(FINISHED!)

[eastsidesunset]

It was a pretty warm evening, I thought as I slipped off the bus and started walking towards the wooden pier. There were a lot of these places throughout New York but I liked this one. Sure, it was farther away, but the atmosphere was worth the extra five miles or so. A seagull swooped down, landing lightly a few feet away. I grinned, pulled the slightly stale quarter of a loaf of bread out of the large pocket of my navy hoodie and pinched off half to throw towards the bird.

Seagulls never cared about the staleness. So I always saved what Darry had to throw out and gave it to them. It was interesting to watch the way they'd glance up at you suspiciously, decide there was nothing wrong with the free food, and dart forward to bite it in their beak before flying somewhere else to eat it.

The sunsets you could see real clearly from this place were a plus too. I'd been coming here for a while now-- Maybe a year? There was a spot I found a few months ago where you could see everything but you were half-hidden in the shadows and people couldn't see you unless they had really sharp eyes. Plus, the workers didn't care what you did as long as you didn't cause trouble. Unlike those from other piers. I'd learned all this the hard way. How "loitering" was wrong I still didn't understand, though.

This wasn't the busiest pier but there were plenty of people milling around, looking at the water or waiting for a ferry. As far as I could tell, nobody seemed to notice me so I sat down in the space between two big wooden crates and let my mind wander, looking at the sun set and wondering what it would be like to be a painter for a living and painting sunsets from the pier without having to be sneaky about it. I'd have as many of those real, professional canvasses as I needed along with an easel and an endless supply of colours from the brightest canary yellow to the darkest midnight black...

Feeling the drowsy half-warmth of the evening and smelling the comforting ocean tang, I closed my eyes against my better judgements. I won't fall asleep, I thought to myself sleepily. Just closing my eyes for a couple seconds...

[renthead]

(OOC: hope this is okay, I got bored with Marky and went and clicked the first Open Thread thing. xD)

Mark was looking for a job. He figured it was about time he get a new one, seeing as he probably would not be welcomed back to Buzzline with open arms. And it wasn't as if he really wanted to go back anyway. There was a reason he'd given up the "best thing to ever happen to it" even though Alexi Darling's pleas of 'you know you need money'. It was true, of course. Mark didn't have to pay for a lot of things these days, but he did have to provide his own rent, food, heat... the bare necessities of living. He had spent the whole day wandering around trying to find something, anything that was hiring. He hadn't been lucky. The only thing that had happened was that he'd been offered ten bucks to do certain things he wouldn't do for a thousand.

After a long, long time of wandering, Mark had given up for the day. It wasn't like he needed one that day anyway. He had ramen enough to last him a month or two. He had tea, coffee, and juice that might be slightly passed the expiration date. He rarely had to feed Roger, who he admitted ate way more then he did, anymore. Although, he slightly missed having to feed his best friend. He smirked at a memory of Mark trying to read, and Roger repeatedly yelling for Mark to make him ramen. It wasn't as if it was hard. The instructions were right on the package. Mark got so lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize where he was going. Not that he really knew where he'd been anyway.

Okay, Mark had lived in New York long enough to know approximately where he was at. But it still annoyed him to realize he had wandered farther away from his home then he had planned. Maybe he should pay more attention to his surroundings. On the thought of paying more attention, Mark was really missing his camera. He had left it at home, for once, and he felt like he needed to twitch whenever he saw something he wanted to film. Like when he realized he was on a pier, and there was a teenage boy sleeping (or at least almost sleeping) nearby. It looked as if he'd fallen asleep just sitting there, or maybe watching something. The sunset? Did teenagers even notice that the world actually revolved around a sun, not themselves?

Mark figured it was probably not safe for the boy to be asleep, by himself, in the middle of New York city.

"Kid, you might wanna go home if you're sleepy..." Mark raised his voice only barely raising his voice above speaking level. He didn't want some agitated gang member shooting him because he caught him tweaking or something. Mark hadn't even considered that. Uh oh...

[eastsidesunset]

"Kid, you might wanna go home if you're sleepy..." a voice said, too close. Far too close.

I must've jumped a foot into the air, inhaling sharply. Which wasn't the easiest thing to do considering I was sitting in a pretty small space. Before I even consciously figured out what was going on I had my blade out, pointed at whatever it was that may or may not be some kind of threat. It was a habit I'd gotten into and besides, it did get me out of some bad situations a couple of times.

Still, I realized, pointing a knife at random strangers didn't exactly give me a good first impression either. And I didn't mean to to begin with. So as soon as I'd gotten a good glance at the guy talking to me, I closed the blade and shoved it back in my pocket, not really looking at him half out of embarrassment and half out of lingering defensiveness. It was a hard habit to break and I didn't want to either.

"Sorry 'bout that. Habit," I muttered, hooking my thumbs into my pockets and leaning my head back. How long was I half-asleep? I had no idea. But the sky was pretty dark by now and I guessed it was about 7:30, maybe later. I was definitely wide awake now and kinda just wanted to get home.

[renthead]

Mark rolled his eyes, but backed up slowly when the kid pulled out a knife. Damn punks. Not that he really blamed him. New York could be a hard town, growing up in it might be excuse enough to have someone, a young kid at that, carrying a blade around twenty-four seven. Mark hated violence. He would never be able to use anything that even resembled a weapon. No, he was not the type to fight back. No, he was the type to just take whatever was thrown at him... usually. Today, he was annoyed.

Now, he knew that fighting back was stupid and he wasn't an idiot. He didn't have any weapon, or any strength for that matter. Plus the kid hadn't really done anything. So, Mark resorted to sarcasm. "Really kid? A knife? As if I hadn't seen that one before. You live in New York City, can't you be a little more creative?" then the kid apologized, and Mark immediately felt horrible. It was just some poor kid trying to defend himself. Mark sighed. He was a jerk. A rude, jerk.

"I'm sorry kid, it's been a rough day. I don't usually snap at little kids, I'm sorry, I really am, but you really should go home if you're tired. I mean, if you have a home. I hope you have a home, cause a kid shouldn't be living on the street." Mark rambled for awhile, and then shut his mouth. He was a jerk, and an idiot. Great.

[eastsidesunset]

"Really kid? A knife? As if I hadn't seen that one before. You live in New York City, can't you be a little more creative?"

I shook my head tiredly, keeping my mouth shut. I didn't bother telling this guy how being "creative" wasn't the point if all you wanted was for people to leave you alone. It was either a knife or a heater and I wasn't aiming to get arrested for murder out of sheer panic. With a gun, one slip and it was dead serious. At least with a switchblade you'd only get a cut at the most. I'd never been talkative with strangers though. So I stayed quiet. I was pretty sure he was just saying this stuff out of defense anyway. You could tell by the wary look in his eyes.

After I put the blade away he started apologizing, but for what? He wasn't the one who pointed a knife at someone for practically no reason. I looked at him straight in the eyes for the first time, a bit confused.

"I'm sorry kid, it's been a rough day. I don't usually snap at little kids, I'm sorry, I really am, but you really should go home if you're tired. I mean, if you have a home. I hope you have a home, cause a kid shouldn't be living on the street."

"I'm not a kid," I muttered. "But don't apologize if you ain't done anything worth apologizing for. There's no point in that. And I didn't plan to fall asleep out here either. I'll go home when I go home."

I wasn't sure why I was being so short with this guy. Maybe it was that he'd made me feel pretty guilty for pointing a blade at him or maybe it was because I didn't understand why he was still here, talking to me in the first place. In any case, though, I kept my walls up firmly.

[renthead]

Mark sighed, and rolled his eyes. He remembered when he was a teenager. He kind of missed the days, although not much. His mother was always embarrassing him, his father was always yelling at him for "spending too much time with that damn camera, and not enough time out making friends besides that damn punk." Cindy had refused to speak to him in public, but he knew it was just because she had a reputation to uphold. He'd spent most of his time at home, or at the Scarsdale Jewish Community Center. Or with Roger. Hey, at least he learned to Tango! And of course, had food...

Mark returned his thoughts to the kid. "You under twenty? Course you are. You're still a kid." He remembered hating when people called him a kid. But it was true. Although, living in New York, he had probably seen more then most adults. Mark thought about what he had just said. That made Mimi a kid. He smirked. And THAT made Roger a pedophile. Not that Mark hadn't known it all along, but still, it was funny to think.

Mark sighed. He had been told not to apologize a lot. Mostly from his friends, but this wasn't the first time some stranger had told him that. Mark had a bad habit of apologizing when he didn't need to. Any of the bohemians could tell you that. He'd apologized to Mimi when he dropped a coffee cup he was planning to give her. He apologized to Roger when one of Roger's guitar strings broke. And the kicker of them all, he'd apologized for walking in on Roger and April, when they were on the couch.

"Sorry... I mean... Not sorry? Wait... I just thought that it wasn't safe for a kid to be asleep on the street. Especially one who has to carry around a weapon." Mark said, biting his lip. He wondered if his eye was twitching. He missed his camera. If only because he felt so awkward, and it would make it a little less so... and the kid would be good footage... Although he hated it, kids who have to carry blades sparked public interest. He was such a sell out.

[eastsidesunset]

I couldn't help but shake my head and shoot the guy a look of disbelief when he talked about how anyone under twenty was still a kid. Around here, you grew up fast and he had to know it. You learned the score around the age of twelve or so, even younger for some. Dallas, a kid? If he'd heard what this guy'd said he'd punch him in the face without a second thought.

For a second I even considered it, not real seriously of course, just wondering how it'd feel to throw caution to the winds for once in my life and just be utterly reckless for a change. Not like I didn't get into my share of trouble-- but it was never intentional and there was always that constant apprehension of what if this is what does it? The final straw that pushes the social workers too far? And a couple times it almost had been. I shivered slightly at the close-call memories, and wondered what life would be like if even just one of those times, things had really gone through...

I realized I was staring off into space, completely ignoring the guy still standing here. He was rambling about something else now. "Sorry... I mean... Not sorry? Wait... I just thought that it wasn't safe for a kid to be asleep on the street. Especially one who has to carry around a weapon," was what he was saying.

"It's not safe for anyone to sleep on the street," I said darkly. "You see plenty of people who do it every day though, don't you? Actual kids too, ones a whole lot younger than me. Why don't ya go help them or something if you're so into the whole "kids shouldn't sleep on the street" cause?" Then I bit my tongue. That was a bit harsh. Okay, a lot harsh. What was wrong with me? I wasn't usually so plain-out mean.

"Sorry," I apologized, staring at the ground, and this time I really meant it, "I didn't mean that. Really. Pretend I didn't say anything."

[renthead]

Mark listened to the boys words and narrowed his eyes. Damn punks. Even Roger didn't start just cussing people out or being rude... well, okay he did, but only when he was drunk or in a bad mood. Mark rolled his eyes.

"Don't you think I would if I could? I know how damn close I am sometimes to being one of those people sleeping on the street, and it sucks to see them. But I can't do anything about it. I barely have enough money to feed myself." Why was Mark going off on the kid? He was just a teenager. It wasn't as if he hadn't been mouthy when he was the boys age. Mark listened to the apology, and nodded. He sort of wished he hadn't woken the boy up now.

"Right. Just think before you speak, kid... I mean... well, never mind. But you could really offend someone. What if I'd been like, someone who created charities for a living?" Mark asked hypothetically. Then he laughed dryly. He knew that wouldn't ever happen, even if he had Benny's kind of money. He was too damn selfish. Well, not really selfish.

"If you have a home, you should probably sleep there is all I'm saying. Weird shit... I mean stuff... happens in this town." he wondered if the kid was a druggie or in a gang. Gang, possibly. He had carried a knife in his pocket. Druggie, probably not. He didn't have the strained eyes Roger had always had. He didn't look like he was about to puke or pass out, and he most likely wasn't high at the moment... Mark wondered if Roger's drug use would make him think about it whenever he saw young kids. He really did think too much.

(this sucks and is rambling, but eh I tried lol)

[eastsidesunset]

The guy talked about how I should "think before I speak", and it was almost eerie how much he echoed what Darry said practically every day. I definitely wasn't used to a stranger telling me that though, and it was real weird, that was for sure. "Yeah, I know," I told him, managing a sort of reluctant half-smile, "I get that a lot."

I was warming up to him, just a little, so I finally took a good look at the guy and did a quick analyze of him. Glasses, tired-looking--but wasn't everyone?--, a hint of something sad in his eyes. Pretty average, likeable. I realized I didn't even know his name yet. I laughed quietly to myself. Only New York City, could a complete stranger start talking to you and you wouldn't even find it that strange.

He was repeating yet again about how I should go home if I wanted to sleep. Insistent. Sheesh, did he really still think I didn't know that? "I know," I said, impatience seeping into my voice, "Like I said, I didn't mean to. And I will. Only came out here to sit and watch the su-- I mean, I'll go home." I felt my ears warm a little, not meaning to tell him what I was actually doing here.

"Anyway," I said, wanting badly to change the subject but at a loss for what to say.

[renthead]

Mark watched the kid, his eyes scanning the boy. His hair was long, and slicked back with grease. Well, that kind of explained things. Hadn't he read something in the papers about how a gang of greasers lived in town? He was probably one of them, and Mark didn't think he should be worried that he'd die anymore. The boy didn't look like he'd kill someone. No, he was too... well, not exactly innocent... The boy was good looking, probably had girls drooling over him. A mini-Roger. Mark smirked to himself at the thought. Poor kid.

"Maybe because it's good advice." he stated, smiling. It was good advice. Mark was good at good advice. Just not good at following advice. He wondered if this kid was getting annoyed with him yet. That was answered when Mark heard the irritation in his voice. He laughed, and then introduced himself, holding his hand out to shake.

"Mark Cohen." he stated, smiling at the boy. He decided he didn't mind the little guy, even though he was really quick to resort to violence. But then again, Mark couldn't really blame him. Maybe he should take a pocket knife with him everyone. He smirked again at the thought. Next time Roger tried to steal his Captain Crunch....

{stuffed... sleep... tried... xD}

[eastsidesunset]

"Mark Cohen."

I blinked at the unexpected gesture, then grinned and shook his hand. I didn't get that a lot. "Just call me Curtis," I told him, shrugging and running an absentminded hand through my hair, "Makes it easier on everyone." Honestly, I liked my name fine but it just wasn't worth the hassle of explaining it to every person I ever met. Besides, I didn't want him to think I was lying after what happened. I mean, "Ponyboy" just sounded too much like a nickname.

A seagull screeched in the dim light of the pier as some distant animal howled and a couple kids laughed down a nearby street. Even though the sun was gone for who knows how long by now, it was far from quiet. New York wasn't called "The City that Never Sleeps" for nothing. Still, I thought, it was peaceful.

"So what brings ya over here?" I asked the guy-- Mark?-- just to be saying something. "Traveling somewhere?"

[renthead]

Mark nodded. The boy either a.) had an embarrassing first name, or b.) didn't want him to know it. Or both. Mark didn't really care. He had decided the boy wasn't going to kill him, and had now relaxed. He wondered what his friends were doing, and figured they were being silly like usual. Except for Roger. That boy was having a hard time with life. For someone cool, he was a fool. He turned to the boy when he was asked a question.

"Well, no not really. I was looking for a job and kind of got... well, not really lost, but wandered further away then I thought I did. And now it's getting dark, and I really don't want to go home. My best friend kind of just moved out, and its kind of lonely." he didn't know why he was telling the boy this. But then again, Mark was known to ramble. A lot. Mark smiled sheepishly.

"Ah well. Roger and Mimi live right below me, but still." he knew the boy had no idea what he was talking about. He decided he should shut up. Or ask something about the boy.

"How old are you?"

[eastsidesunset]

"Me?" I said, as if there was anyone else he could be talking to. It was funny, 'cause for a moment I almost forgot how old I was myself. Days, weeks, even months were starting to run together. Then I remembered the party Soda had put together for me a few weeks ago and I smiled. "Oh, I'm fifteen." I wondered how old I looked to him. I still wasn't the tallest fifteen-year-old around but I'd grown a few inches the last couple of months.

Even as I said this, the name "Roger" kept pulling at me, as if there was something I was missing. Did I know someone called Roger? The name brought up memories of a subway. Drugs. And... being sick? It didn't make sense. I frowned at the ground, thinking hard. And out of nowhere, something clicked in my head and I suddenly remembered meeting a guy named Roger a few months ago in Central Park.

Of course he wasn't talking about the same Roger. There had to be about a million Rogers in New York. "Y'know, I met a guy named Roger once. Real nice guy. But I dunno why I'm telling you this," I muttered, "We can't be talking 'bout the same person."

Another stray seagull wandered its way over to us and I remembered the other half of that piece of slightly-stale bread in my pocket. With nothing much else to do, I threw it towards the bird and watched as it did what they were known to do, then flew away. Wouldn't it be great to fly, I thought dreamily. To fly away from anything you couldn't face and just leave it further and further away until it was as small as an ant, then disappearing completely.

[renthead]

(*cough* Dazed and Confused reference.)

Mark remembered when he was fifteen. It was the year he had gotten his first real camera. Not the crappy ones that teenagers everywhere use to post stupid videos of themselves everywhere, but one that a film maker could be proud of. He was surprised, because he had expected to get his most expensive gift on his Bar Mitzvah. Not just some random birthday. It wasn't the camera he still had, he'd gotten a new one for graduation four years later. It had been a good camera, but Mark had worn it out in the four years he'd had it. Just like his camera now, it was always on him. He still had film from that camera.

"Fifteens a good year." he agreed randomly, thinking about his sophomore year in high school. He had gotten by okay, with the few friends he had. He remembered this one boy, who had been almost his best friend (Roger had that status, even then) who had told him he wanted to be a lawyer to help people. Then, in the summer after their junior year, he'd turned right back around and told him he hated the people that he thought he wanted to help. Actually, he'd told Mark that he hated people in general and that he and his gal friend that had been driving them somewhere were about the only exceptions.

Mark knew there had to be about at least a thousand Roger's in New York. He still found it interesting the boy, Curtis he'd said to call him, had met one. A nice guy. That couldn't be Roger, could it? Rog didn't seem the type to be nice to random little kids on the street. But then again, he was always surprising Mark. "My Roger is a nice guy too. But... well, he kind of screwed life up. Started doing drugs. Don't do em, kid. Ever. They fu- ... mess you up really bad." he stated, knowing he was probably the biggest loser ever, to be telling a fifteen year old boy not to do drugs. He might already be addicted, even if it wasn't to heroin. Mark shook his head sadly. He hoped the kid wasn't going to do anything too bad in his life. He seemed to be a nice kid. He hadn't stabbed Mark, that had to say something about his character, right?

Mark thought back to Roger when he was Curtis' age. Actually, only a few years back would do it. When he was fresh in town. Before April. Before the heroin. He'd had such a bright future, and had thrown it all away. While Mimi was good for him in some ways, he would never have the chances he once did back. He had ruined his life, and it would stay ruined. Yes, he had friends. Yes, he was in love. But it couldn't last. Roger really only had a few more years left to live, if he was lucky. The thought made Mark wish he was the one dying. He had so much less to live for...

Once again, Mark was brought back to the idea of just disappearing. He knew he would slowly go crazy when Roger wasn't around. It would be even worse once Angel, Mimi, Collins... once they all left him too. Eventually, he'd be alone. And Mark just wasn't the type to be able to deal with it. He looked, slightly longingly, out at the end of the pier. Maybe, in just a few more years, he would be dead too. Of course, it wouldn't be of AIDs....

[eastsidesunset]

"Fifteens a good year."

I shrugged half-heartedly. "If you say so. It's gotta be better than thirteen at least." I still remembered that year with nightmarish clarity. The worst thing was that I couldn't even decide whether or not I wanted to forget. Was forgetting the horror worth forgetting the details of their faces? I didn't know. It scared me, though, because if I wanted to be truthful with myself I already couldn't remember the sound of Dad's voice like I could just a few months ago. Already half-forgotten the way Mom used to twist the ends of her hair whenever she was tense about something.

"Honestly I wish I could just go back in time to any average day from when I was twelve and freeze it. Live in a single minute for the rest of my life," I said more to myself than to the guy. I knew I was rambling, and Mark probably wasn't getting a word I was saying. But I was saying the truth. It was so much easier back then, when Darry was just like any other older brother and spent his days playing football and dreaming of college and Soda had Sandy and was happier than I ever remembered him being. Back when the social workers didn't even know we existed and we didn't have a serious care in the world.

One drunk driver had taken it all away. Not just our parents, but everything. Everything we thought would never change. With our parents here... it didn't matter where we lived and how much money we had. We had one of the tightest families on the East side and no matter what happened, we all knew we had each other. And even almost two years later, it hurt like a stomachache that would never go away to think about the fact that that easy life was never coming back.

It surprised me when a stray tear escaped my eyes and dripped to the ground. Thank God it was dark. I wiped my eyes as hurriedly as I could when I thought Mark wasn't looking my direction and tried to listen to what he was saying.

"The Roger I met told me he used to be a heroin addict too," I said, my throat kinda dry. I swallowed, then continued, "He got me out of some trouble with the cops by telling them he was my older brother. I owe him a lot." I paused, add the events of that night suddenly rushing into my memory, then added, "He plays guitar. Makes his own songs. And I think he mentioned his girlfriend died. Suicide, I think? Oh, and something about being sick..."

When I looked back at Mark he was gazing out into the ocean but not really looking at anything. It was an expression I knew well, and I kept quiet. Sometimes it gave me perspective to think that every single one of the billions of people in the world had their own problems. Mine weren't as bad as maybe half of the population's.

Sometimes thinking about that helped. But sometimes it was like staring at stars that don't even know you care.