My Kid Brother? Sure. (Ponyboy)(INACTIVE)

[ROGER DAVIS]

He had left Sunny at the subway station, seeing her off to whatever thing she was going to. She had told Roger that it was some sort of audition, but for what, Roger wasn't sure. However, the fact that she was going in the later evening, seven at night to be precise, Roger knew it was probably an audition for some seedy magazine or art film. He hadn't asked, but had joined her in enthusiasm as she kissed him excitedly on the cheek and bounced off towards the subway.

He managed to walk without real purpose, until he heard voices in the distance that made Roger frown slightly as he lifted his head from where he was looking at the dirty pavement.

Up ahead, two cops held a boy, talking loudly. Roger wasn't sure what it was, but the boy looked young, and Roger instantly realised that the two cops, Officer Martin and Officer Brown, were getting on the young boy's case. Looking behind him, Roger moved, taking one last drag of the cigarette between his lips before he tossed it to the ground before jogging up, widening his eyes. "Dude, do you know how long I've been looking for your ass?!" Roger asked, looking at the young boy with faux worriedness. "Mom is going to KILL the both of us if we don't get the fuck outta here and back home."

"You know this kid, Davis?"[/color]

"Officer Martin, it's cool dude, okay? I was just looking for him. I'm taking him home now. I know he's out late in like, a fucked up part of town, okay? I'm taking him home." Roger moved, wrapping his arm around Pony's shoulders, giving Officer Martin a smile. "You keep on keepin' our city safe, Officer Martin. I wanna be like you when I grow up."

Roger turned himself and Pony, his arm still wrapped around the younger kid's shoulders before he started walking back towards the subway. "Pretend you know me. They'll arrest your ass for looking at them wrong." Roger told him under his breath as they started to get away from the two officers.

[eastsidesunset]

It wasn't like I was doing anything wrong. I mean, did hanging around a public park in the evening count as a crime now for Christ's sake?! Sure, I was probably a bit farther from home than was usual at this time of night, but I wasn't bothering anyone. Or so I thought, before the two cranky-looking cops came up to me and started ragging me out for just about every crime under the sun. I could barely get a word in between their rants about "no-good hoodlums wandering the streets at this hour of the night" and "loitering around public property, disrupting the peace".

I shoved my hands in my pockets, and waited until they had to pause to breathe to mutter, "I wasn't doing anything." 'Cause really, I wasn't. Just lost track of time. Didn't the police have anything better to do besides lecturing random people on the street? I hoped fervently that this wouldn't make its way to the ears of Darry... Or even worse, my records. Social services were always lurking in the corners, and boy would they just jump like a cat on a mouse at an opportunity like this. I stared away, wishing they'd just leave me alone.

"Are you even listening to us, son?" the taller cop said, shaking me roughly by the shoulder, "What's your name and phone number? We're calling your parents."

I shook my head. If I told them my real name, they'd just think I was lying and that wouldn't exactly make them any more fond of me. And I was not gonna go into the whole "my parents are dead" story with these guys, cops or not. No way in hell. I could see the blond one getting red at the face from anger, and I knew I'd done it now. If a simple phone call would've been all before, they were definitely gonna bring me to the station now. I was starting to regret my choice when a guy I'd never seen before in my life ran up beside me and started shouting at me, too.

"Dude, do you know how long I've been looking for your ass?!Mom is going to KILL the both of us if we don't get the fuck outta here and back home." To say I was shocked would've been an understatement. Like I said, this guy was a total stranger. I was opening my mouth to protest to even knowing him when the taller police asked him if he knew me. By then I realized that whatever the guy wanted couldn't be worse than the mess I was already in, so I kept my mouth shut and just went along with his story about how he'd been looking for me and was going to take me home. I even did my best to look appropriately guilty.

It did the trick. He steered us away from the cops, who let us go without a word. Probably a first for these guys. "Pretend you know me. They'll arrest your ass for looking at them wrong." I nodded, deciding then and there to trust the guy, stranger or not. Hopefully that wouldn't turn out to be another bad decision on my part.

As we left the cops in our dust, I couldn't help but turn to him and ask, "So, uh, who are you? I mean, thanks a lot for the help back there and all, but... why? Are you a friend of Soda's or something? Never seen you around before..."

[ROGER DAVIS]

So, uh, who are you? I mean, thanks a lot for the help back there and all, but...why? Are you a friend of Soda's or something? Never seen you around here.

Roger narrowed his brows, releasing his arm from around the younger boy's shoulders and stuffing his hand into his pocket to dig out his cigarettes. "Who's Soda?" Roger asked, looking over at the boy before he clicked the lighter, lighting a cigarette. "Nah, I just thought, you know...why should you get your ass harrassed by those dickheads? I mean, you weren't doing anything wrong, just walkin'. So what if there's curfews in the Park. I mean, some people just don't have anywhere else to go."

Roger paused, looking oer at the boy. "Y'do got somewhere to go, right? And I'm out here occationally, but flow's not as awesome as it normally is. Tourism in the Park is down, so therefore, people willing to give away money is down, too." Roger lifted a shoulder in a shrug. He took a drag from the cigarette and then blew it out. "Besides, for some reason, they're cracking down on buskers in the Park. They think it's like, distracting to the, you know, beauty or something. I think it's cool to see people perform out here, but other people don't think it's as cool." He realised quickly that he hadn't even told the boy his name.

"My name's Roger."

[eastsidesunset]

"Who's Soda?"

"Just my older brother," I said, shrugging. "He's one of those real charismatic guys. Lots of friends. I just thought, you know, since not a whole lot of people these days'll help a random greaser on the streets, that you knew him or something."

I watched him light a cigarette, taking in his appearance for the first time. This guy was not much better off money-wise than I was, but if you wouldn't know that if you just looked at his expression. Definitely confident. Well, that was pretty much a given when you remember that he did step up to help out a complete stranger. Lying to the cops, to boot. I was serious when I said that very few people would do that nowadays, especially not in New York City.

"Nah, I just thought, you know...why should you get your ass harrassed by those dickheads? I mean, you weren't doing anything wrong, just walkin'. So what if there's curfews in the Park. I mean, some people just don't have anywhere else to go."

I felt my ears heat up as I realized he probably thought I was running away or homeless or something. Of course he did. Why else would he help? Probably one of those people with a hero streak. When he asked, I said quickly, "Yeah, I got somewhere to go. Like I said to the cops, just lost track of time. I'm like that a lot. Drives my other older brother nuts."

He went on about the street performers in the park for a bit more, then told me his name. "I'm Ponyboy. Long story," I said before he could ask, and automatically stuck out a hand towards him. "Nice to meet ya. Thanks again for the help."

"So, uh, what instrument do you play?" I asked, partly out of interest and partly because new people always had me on edge, forcing small talk. (Which, for the records, I was horrible at maintaining.) The awkwardness was made even worse for the fact that this guy-- Roger-- just saved me from a pair of angry cops.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"Can't say that I do. I'm from Alphabet City?" Roger asked, looking over at Pony with a shake of his head. "I don't know, maybe we've met before. Hard to say. But I don't know him personally."

When the boy spoke of having somewhere to go, Roger nodded. "That's good. And yeah, it's easy to lose track of time in New York." Roger agreed, though he arched an eyebrow when the boy said his name. Ponyboy. "...Likewise, Ponyboy." Roger said, shaking the boy's hand briefly. Maybe the boy was like Roger had been long ago, not wanting to use his real name with strangers. He had been Loverboy with the Man for so long, it had almost become a nickname. "And you're welcome. Like I said, I've dealt with those dickheads before. They're just a buncha assholes; nearly got myself arrested many times by Officer Martin."

When Pony asked what intrament he played, Roger took a drag off the cigarette before continuing. "Guitar. Was in a band for a while."

[eastsidesunset]

I nodded absentmindedly as Roger told me where he was from, and then said something about New York being an easy place to lose track of time in. To be honest, I didn't know half as much as I should about the place for a kid who grew up in New York City. Our family didn't do much sightseeing even before Mom and Dad died, and now we barely had the money for bills and groceries. Traveling was out of the question. So we stuck to our bit of the city, Windrixville, which compared to any other part of New York was like comparing a mousehole to a mansion.

It was obvious that Roger was skeptical about "Ponyboy" being my real name. Typical. Well, he could go ahead and think that, I thought, smiling to myself. Maybe it was time I made a nickname for myself so that I didn't have to explain to every person I met that yes, Ponyboy was my real name. So many possiblilities...

He continued to go on about the two police who he knew by name, then told me he played guitar. That caught my attention. "Really? Oh, wow, that's great," I said, really interested for some reason. I hesitated for a second about whether or not to tell him that I used to play piano, but decided against it. He'd probably think I was lying anyway, and I wouldn't blame him. I mean, you don't see a lot of greasers just running around openly announcing a musical talent of any kind for a reason. Playing the piano was just not something to be proud of in my neighbourhood.

Only the gang and my brothers knew about it, actually. We kept Mom's piano completely covered up nowadays, because it hurts to look at it but it would hurt even worse to sell it. Besides, it's an ancient model, and wouldn't be worth much now anyway. So the old piano's been lying there for a couple years now, just gathering dust. My brothers and I don't talk about it at all, but every now and then one of us'll pause by it and just remember the sound of Mom's playing so we don't forget. I don't ever want to forget...

I realized I probably looked insane just staring at nothing like that, zoned out completely, so I pushed the memories into the back of my head before Roger thought there was something wrong with me. "Anyway..." I said awkwardly, glad that the subway was getting close now.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Really? Oh wow, that's great.

Had he heard some sort of interest in the young boy's voice? Roger glanced over at him, eyebrow cocked only slightly before he looked at the ground, kicking a stray rock as he walked. "Y'play something?" Roger found himself asking, glancing over at the boy before he looked ahead at the subway that neared. Maybe he playe guitar; he figured the boy had been about the same age as he was when he had gotten his first guitar at around age 8 or 9. He remembered he had been young, and he had been captivated by it ever since. It had been his outlet when his father had left, when he had gotten dumped by his first girlfriend, when he had found his first love and when she had left him. His guitar probably held more memories than the walls of the Loft had.

When the subway came into view, Roger looked from them to the boy. "Where you heading?"

[eastsidesunset]

"Y'play something?"

I shrugged, running a hand through my hair in embarrassment. Since he asked... might as well tell him the truth. "I used to. Piano. My mom loved to play, and she taught me. Nobody else in my family cared about the thing as much as we did. She used to tell me how she'd almost given up on one of her kids learning her favourite instrument, since her first two tries with my older brothers were all failures. I guess we were both lucky she decided to try one more time. Heck, I know for a fact that my buddies thought I was crazy for actually enjoying something like that."

I laughed softly, feeling a wave of nostalgia. It felt strange to be telling all this stuff to someone I just met, but at the same time it was also nice to just let it out. Still... he'd only asked a simple question. My talking on and on was probably putting him to sleep. So I added a final, "Like I said, though, I don't anymore," and quit talking, just listening to the sounds of the nearing subway.

"Where you heading?"

"Home, I guess. It's in Windrixville. I'll probably end up getting off again at some point though, just to look around. That's what I was doing before those two cops found me." I grinned, then added, "Don't worry, I'll try not to look like a loiterer this time. At least not when there are bored police around."

"What about you? I hope I haven't been keeping ya away from something important."

[ROGER DAVIS]

He felt a slight smile cross his voice as the boy said he played something. Piano. "I always wanted to learn how to play piano. But I can't read sheet music, so I'd kinda screw myself." Roger replied honestly, though the smile dropped slightly. The boy and said 'used to'. That his mom 'loved' to play.

Was she dead? The boy had talked about playing as if it was as important as breathing. It was how Roger felt about his guitar; for a while, he had gone without playing for seven months after April died, and it had almost killed him. Well, many things had almost killed him.

Like I said, I don't anymore.

"...why?" Althought, he was pretty sure he knew the reason why. Something had happened. "Y'know, if you don't wanna tell me, that's cool."

"Y'better be careful if you get off. Streets are bad in New York at night." Roger told the kid after he told Roger his plans. "And nah, nothing important. I left a friend's place and I'm going to pick my girlfriend up from work."

[eastsidesunset]

"I always wanted to learn how to play piano. But I can't read sheet music, so I'd kinda screw myself."

"Yeah, well I've always thought musicians who can play and write stuff just by ear are the real geniuses," I said, a big grin on my face. That was the truth. I mean, I used to be able to play songs from memory, but I couldn't ever even think about composing something for myself. I was pretty sure that Roger did, though, and my admiration for him was growing by the second.

When he asked why I stopped playing, though, I hesitated, my automatic reaction being to shrug and make up some lie about getting tired of having to practice. Like I usually did. Tonight, though, maybe it was the lateness of the hour playing tricks on me, but I was tired of lying. And I didn't want to see the disappointed look he was sure to give me if I told him I quit out of laziness like every other kid in the history of music. I mean, it was the easy answer and I was a good liar, but telling him couldn't hurt, right? I'd already admitted a lot to this friendly stranger and in any case, the odds were against me ever running into him again. New York was a big place.

So I stared straight in front of me and told him the truth like it was no big deal, in a tone that I tried to make as light as possible. I couldn't help but let a sliver of pain escape my voice, though. "Nah, I'll tell you. It's no Disney fairytale though. I just... stopped when my parents died in a car accident. It was about a year ago. At first it was just because it brought back too many memories to bear, but now it's more that I want to preserve the sound of the instrument as Mom and only Mom playing it, if that makes sense at all. I mean, the last time she played was just a couple hours before the crash, for chrissakes. I feel like the moment I make a sound on the instrument is the moment that I'll forget what that last song sounded like. It'll make the music of the piano mortal again."

I sighed, realizing that I wasn't making sense. I wasn't even really sure what I was trying to say. "Either that or I'm still just kinda shaken up about the suddenness of it all, though it's been a year. Hell, we all are. Maybe I'll try to start up with playing again someday, but it's gonna be awhile before I can. I sure hope I don't end up quitting for good. I know she wouldn't want that."

It was only after I'd finished that I realized this was the first time I'd actually told anyone in so many words the reason why I'd stopped doing one of the things that used to mean the world to me. My brothers had known without me having to explain, and the rest of the gang never asked. I guess they all just knew.

"Y'better be careful if you get off. Streets are bad in New York at night."

"I know," I said, kinda distracted with my thoughts and not really paying attention to what I was saying. Besides, someone told me to be some variation of "careful" every day of my life. "I'll be careful."

[ROGER DAVIS]

I just...stopped when my parents died in a car crash.

The boy went on, talking about how it was too hard to play, and he wanted to preserve the sound, and it was almost like he was talking to a younger version of him. Everything the boy was saying was everything that Roger had and was still thinking.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell the boy. However, he had opened up with Roger, why shouldn't Roger do the same? He paused, picking and choosing his words carefully. "My girlfriend died. 3 years ago." he paused, and stuffed his hands into his pockets, kicking a stray rock on the ground. "Actually, she didn't just die. Because...if she had just died, I probably would have dealt with it better. She killed herself. Slit her wrists in my bathtub."

Sure, this was a morbid conversation that he shouldn't have had with a little kid, but Roger had heard the boy's story. And talking about April, about his problems, well, it was better than keeping them locked away. "I told myself after she died that I wouldn't play anymore. My band broke up. I almost sold my guitar, that's how serious I was that I'd never play. Because playing reminded me of the first night I met her. It reminded me of all the songs I wrote for her and how every single time I played or sang for her, she'd light up brighter than the New York skyline." he paused, and looked over at the smaller boy.

"All I'm saying...is that it took me 7 months to even pick up the guitar again. Two years almost to write an actual song that actually meant something. It might be hard, but you shouldn't stop doing what you love because you're sad. I mean, sometimes I'll play and it'll remind me of her and I'll get sad...but I know she loved to hear me play more than anything. And I know she'd be upset if I stopped for good, because a piece of what she loved about me would be gone."

Was he making sense? He wasn't sure. But he was speaking and he could hardly take back the words now.

"I think your stop is a stop above mine. I'll ride the subway with you to your stop." Roger told the boy, walking down the steps. He came up to the ticket swiper, and he looked behind him and then in front before he hopped over. Landing on his feet, he looked over at the boy.

"Sorry. Little low on flow at the moment."

[eastsidesunset]

"My girlfriend died. 3 years ago. Actually, she didn't just die. Because...if she had just died, I probably would have dealt with it better. She killed herself. Slit her wrists in my bathtub."

I felt my eyes widen as he continued his story, but I probably should't've been as shocked as I was. I knew I wasn't the only one with problems, but sometimes it was easy to forget about that when you stayed in the same place with the same people your whole life. Sometimes it was too easy just to wallow in your own self-pity, thinking that no one knew what it was like.

But here was a perfect stranger who'd experienced what had to have been his own version of hell and got through it, probably gotten past it. So why couldn't I?

"...but I know she loved to hear me play more than anything. And I know she'd be upset if I stopped for good, because a piece of what she loved about me would be gone." He finished his story and lapsed into silence. It was funny, really, how easily we'd both been able to talk about things you'd think would be hard to talk about, especially with someone you'd just met. I don't mean funny. You know what I mean. Maybe it was just less awkward when you knew the other person wouldn't stick around.

b]"Yeah, you're right,"[/b] I said after he finished, and I wasn't just saying it, I really meant it. That was kinda rare for me these days, what with all of Darry's lecturing and Soda's explanations for Darry's lecturing. "You're absolutely right."

As we approached the subway station, Roger offered to ride with me to my stop. I guess he really didn't want me getting into trouble two times in the same night by wandering around the city. It was fine by me. I wasn't really in the mood to go anywhere else tonight either, not anymore. I'd gotten enough to think about-- that was why I'd gone to the park in the first place, wasn't it? I had been rereading The Catcher in the Rye before I'd left the house and so Central Park had been the first place that came to mind. It had just completely slipped my mind that most people didn't wander around parks in the middle of the night unless they were either homeless or doing something illegal. Everything had turned out fine though, in the end.

I watched as Roger jumped over the ticket swiper then looked at me almost apologetically. "Sorry. Little low on flow at the moment."

I almost laughed. You have no idea how strange it was to see someone who had inspired you as much as a book or a really good song could, behave so normally. All of a sudden he was just another guy who could use a little extra money in his pockets. Just like any of us down on the East side. I shook my head, grinning, and dug out my two-way ticket and put it through the ticket swiper before joining him on the other side.

We headed towards the subway that was just pulling in, and ducked inside. It was as empty as New York transportation ever got. Sitting in one of the seats, I looked at one of the advertisements on the walls of the subway train and then at the small number of people around us.

"Thanks, Roger," I said out of nowhere, then added slightly sheepishly, "For everything."

[ROGER DAVIS]

The boy's eyes were widening at the story Roger had told, and he wasn't surprised, really. People always acted that way when Roger talked about April; when he managed to be able to talk about her. Life Support had been the first place that he had really opened up, telling the small group of AIDS-ridden people about his girlfriend that had died. Most of the people, even the hardest of hearts, had broken into tears. And hell, he had too, Roger thought silently, looking over at Pony has he spoke once more.

"It's a shitty thing to be right about," Roger replied honestly, "But it's true. I mean, my girlfriend fucked me over. She fucked me over hard, and yet, even after all of that, I know that...whereever she is, she's watching me. And she'd be upset if I stopped because of her. Your mom loved you hear you play. Don't break her heart by stopping."

They got into the subway, and into the car, noticing that the only people in the car were a couple of young kids, about Roger's age, and an old homeless man at the very end, curled up in possible sleep.

When the kid spoke, Roger looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. He almost asked for what, and then he realised that the kid was speaking broadly, but sincerely. "Hey, you know...it's no problem."

However, the sound of a lighter flicking, and a sharp, very distinct smell hit Roger's nose and instantly made his head turn towards the sound and the smell. There, he saw the two teenagers, huddled around a spoon. The moment he saw the spoon, he knew what they were doing.

"Dude."

The young man turned sharply, nearly dropping his spoon. "What?" His voice was edgy and sharp. Roger instantly remembered times that he used to have that tone in his voice. The two were probably jonesing.

"C'mon, man. He's a kid. Why don't you just go to the next car?"

"You're Roger, right?

The woman spoke next. "My ex said he used to see you when he went out. Said you got clean. Said you got sick."

Roger pursed his lips, glancing over at Pony before looking at the couple. "Look, I don't care what the hell you're doing. Just c'mon. Go to another car, okay? He doesn't need to see that shit."

Something must have struck in the girl, because she paused, looking at Pony with a frown. "You look like my kid brother." she stated, and then grabbed her boyfriend by the sleeve, took their needles, and moved to the next car.

Roger felt himself go silent, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Uh...I'm sorry about that." he said after a moment, looking anywhere but Pony's face.

[eastsidesunset]

I was kinda having a debate against myself about whether or not it was really a good idea to start up with the piano again and all, so I didn't notice what Roger was looking at until he spoke loudly. Two teenagers- a guy and a girl- were sort of hunched over a spoon and a lighter. They looked exhausted, and I don't mean in a sleepy way.

It wasn't like I didn't know what they were doing. I'm no innocent, whatever the guys might think, and I got to be old enough to know about drugs like heroin and meth years ago. I mean, you saw it every day, people shooting up on a street corner or smoking something other than nicotine. People you knew personally, even, who fell victim to drugs. And even kids who had the luck not to have a firsthand experience these things learned about it in school.

So I was kinda surprised, naturally, when Roger told the couple to go to the next car because I shouldn't be seeing these things. Even a bit offended, to tell you the truth. Did he really think I was that young?

"Hey, don't worry about me," I muttered, "It's nothing I haven't seen before, seriously." All of them ignored me though, and just kept on talking. Apparently Roger knew these people. I didn't pay too close attention until the girl mentioned Roger being sick. I glanced at him in surprise-- he looked heathy enough. But sometimes it was hard to tell.

The couple did end up leaving for the next car pretty quickly though. Ironically, it was because the girl thought I looked like her kid brother. I knew it was mean, but I couldn't help thinking that if she had the conscience to move away to avoid a random kid seeing her do drugs, she shoulda found a way to quit. For her kid brother, if anyone. If she cared that much. Like I said, I've seen my share of what that stuff does to you and anyone who gave a damn about you. I'm not going to give any names, but trust me, I knew.

The mostly-empty car was silent for a few seconds after the couple left. When I looked back at Roger he was sort of hugging his knees and not meeting my eyes.

"Uh...I'm sorry about that," he said.

"Don't be. 'S not like you convinced them to do drugs or somethin'. Don't act like you did," I said quietly, "I've seen it all before, anyhow. It's not your fault." Then I sat down again-- though I didn't even remember standing up to begin with-- and sighed, running a hand through my hair half out of frustration and half just to get it out of my eyes. It was getting pretty long, even for a greaser, and I knew Darry would be forcing a haircut on me soon.

[ROGER DAVIS]

The boy had stated that he had seen it before. That it was okay. That it wasn't his fault. But Roger hadn't wanted to believe that. It wasn't like he was going to go out educating people on the evils of smack, because a hypocrite couldn't preach. That was the problem, if the couple had stayed, it would have ate at him. If he had to watch them fall into that sweet, sweet floating feeling, he'd want it. He'd remember the feeling of complete and utter serenity, even if it came from a needle. He'd remember floating. He'd remember sinking.

He'd want it again.

"I'm not acting like anything." Roger said finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of silence. "Two years ago I was just like them. My girlfriend and I used to get high on the subways and just ride them all night long." He took in a breath and glanced over at Pony. "It was just a little too....tempting."

He said the world almost disgusted, though the truth rang out in it. "And it doesn't matter if you've seen it all or not...the fact is, you shouldn't have to see it."

He felt a breath escape his lips. He knew it reminded him of days past, of days that sadly, he still wished for sometimes, even though it had nearly destroyed him. "Call it remorse for all the things that I've done."