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"Shepard, you have a visitor!" The guard's voice sounded familiar to Curly Shepard, a face he'd seen occasionally during his months in Juvy. This was probably his fifth or sixth time here.
Did anyone truly believe he could be corrected, fucking set on a straight path at this point? Not that Curly saw robbing a liquor store as a one-way ticket to hell; he wasn't that narcissistic. But it was in the cold of his shared room, that imagining a brighter future seemed almost impossible.
Not that he wanted one. He didn't plan on getting married, not now, not ever; he was happy hooking up with guys on the sidelines and drowning in alcohol till dawn—a lifestyle any potential wife wouldn't appreciate.
Even though he liked his guys smart and pretty, he didn't prefer them overly effeminate nor soc-ish. Having a girlfriend was his older brother's idea, a move to boost his status, as some in the gang put it. He didn't want to seem like a queer, but he remembered what he felt when that girl's lipstick touched his lips—a strong urge to escape.
Yeah, he had a lot of time to think about stuff like that. Months in Juvy had forced him to reflect, amidst the boredom of confinement and fewer altercations. No one here bothered him much anymore. Then, in the midst of routine, he spotted the smartest, prettiest greaser of them all, casually waiting for him at the other side of the table.
The facility's monotony had made him forget what real excitement felt like—especially for someone he genuinely liked and who hadn't cheated at cards or begged him for mercy. Someone like Ponyboy Curtis.
"Baby Curtis, what brings you here?" Curly said, smirking at Ponyboy. "Haven't seen you in ages, and now you're here, all by yourself? Did you miss me so much that you had to set foot in this place just to see me?" He spoke in a low, seductive tone, almost getting a laugh out of the boy sitting across from him.
"You wish. Perhaps I might have visited earlier if you weren't busy robbing liquor stores and getting sentenced," Ponyboy replied, and Curly couldn't help but wonder if Ponyboy's pretty voice had improved post-puberty or if he was just overly excited to hear anything from the boy's lips.
"You know how it is, don't you? Besides, I'd be out walking as a free man if those guys who planned the whole thing hadn't turned out to be fucking snitches," he said, the frustration evident in his voice. He didn't know where it came from; honestly, he couldn't give a damn about those rats testifying against him for some quick deal. He knew the gang had already taken swift action against those guys.
"God, I know you wouldn't do something like that to your gang. You're a good kid, Ponyboy, and God knows I missed seeing you around," he almost whispered that last part, his tone softening as he spoke to Ponyboy. It was worth something, seeing the pretty boy blush as their eyes met, his green gaze responding with reservation.
"I've missed you too, Curly. The town's a bit duller with one of its worst hoods locked down," Ponyboy replied, his tone reflecting a mix of nostalgia and genuine affection. Curly felt a sense of validation at the adjective used; from anyone else, calling him a hoodlum would have elicited a "Sure" and "fuck you", but from Ponyboy, it almost felt as good to hear as like a sign of admiration.
"You sure do. You know, I haven't forgotten about you since that night my brother caught us in my room," Curly teased playfully.
"Curly, please. That was wrong," Ponyboy responded, and Curly felt as if he wasn't being sincere.
"The only wrong was getting caught," Curly countered with a grin on his face.
"We were just playing chicken; I still have the scar from the cigarette burn," Ponyboy said, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Sure, that's a story you can tell to your brothers and anyone who asks, but I saw how you looked at me after it. The things we talked about. I kissed you, for God's sake," Curly replied, his tone carrying a mix of amusement and newfound sincerity.
"Curly! We're in public! And, god, you know it was part of the dare," Ponyboy whispered, a touch of anger in his voice as he glanced around.
"Listen, I don't care if you convince yourself of your own lies. I don't care if you're in love with me or if you never want to see me again. Understand? I don't give a fuck," Curly said, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability only Ponyboy could recognize, To anyone else, he was being rude, but Ponyboy shot him a skeptical look, used to such statements from Curly.
"But you came here, to this prison I'm in, wanting me to believe you don't even want to remember what we felt last time?" Curly challenged, frustration creeping into his voice. All he wanted was to get a reaction from Pony, when did that become so difficult?
He thought, “God, the blonde must have really made you dumb, smart boy,” but he didn't say it aloud. He knew how that would come out.
"I came here because your brother had money he needed to send. He asked, and it turns out I'm one of the few guys who truly never had anything against you or wanted you dead, and who wouldn't take the money and run," Ponyboy explained, looking at Curly directly, his gaze now laced with comprehension. "If that isn't proof that I haven't forgotten about the few times we were together, I don't know what is"
Curly looked down at his hands, deep in thought, before speaking again. "You're pretty when you have arguments, you know that, right? I once told Tim you were a good kid, a real one. And I actually appreciate that he sent me money and didn't just leave me to rot for a few months in correctional, even if he didn't come himself," Curly confessed, his tone softening. You look different, Pone, and I'm not just talking about the hair. I like it, but I don't think you just wanted the same color as Dallas without a reason."
He examined Ponyboy's face, noticing his expression shift to sadness as he seemed to recall something.
"Hey, baby, what's wrong? You can tell me," Curly said, his tone genuine.
Ponyboy felt the impulse to keep quiet and evade the question, but Curly had this effect on him—it made him want to talk. “Something happened back in Tulsa, but I don't know if this is the right moment to discuss it,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Please, Pony, just tell me,” Curly urged, his concern growing evident in his voice. Was it possible that Dallas Winston had gotten locked down again, or maybe Sylvia had dragged her sister Angela into some trouble? No matter how much it pained him to admit, Curly cared about what happened in that cursed town he called home, especially if it involved his family. "Tim visited me last month but wouldn't spill anything. He said I missed a ramble but shouldn't hear it from him. What's going on?"
Ponyboy hesitated, then spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Curly, I'm gonna be honest with you because I think the whole damn Tulsa knows about it at this point, but my best friend, John, Johnny Cade, remember him?"
“Of course".
He now had trouble looking directly at Curly but he continued. "Him and Dallas Winston, god, Curly, we got into some serious shit. It all happened so fast. At one point, the Socs tried to drown me in a fountain at the parki, and then we ran away with Johnny because he had killed one of them." Ponyboy stopped in a long pause before moving forward. "This, my hair, we bleached it blonde so the cops wouldn't get on us, but none of it mattered anyway." He looked at him dead in the eye, all remnants of the previous emotion lost in his distant eyes. "Curly, my best friend and Dallas Winston are dead. I don't think I can tell you more, but they are gone.”
There was a silence, an uncomfortable weight in the air. Curly refrained from asking if this was some sort of joke, instead processing the bombshell of information that was just revealed to him. He struggled to grasp the reality of it all; without the full story, none of it made sense. Ponyboy and Johnny had killed someone? It seemed inconceivable to Curly that either of them would resort to using a gun, or whatever method they employed, to be responsible for a soc's death. And Dallas Winston was somehow involved and had died? Well, of course, he was involved—Dallas and that Johnny kid were close. And if anyone from the Curtis gang would get mixed up in a case again, it would be Dallas. But dead? Perhaps the Socs sought revenge. Was that what the rumble was about? Simply surreal.
He resisted the urge to bombard Ponyboy with questions, seeing the boy before him on the verge of breaking down. One thing was certain in Curly's mind: Ponyboy didn't deserve any of this. He saw the pain in Ponyboy's eyes, typical of someone with some sort of void in his heart he doesn't know how to fill. And he longed to reach across the table and hold him tight, to reassure him that life could be cruel but he would be okay, to do the things that no one ever did for him.
Many words went unspoken that day. Juvy visits had strict time limits, and after exchanging a few more words and receiving the money from Tim, the visit came to an end. Curly hoped to see Ponyboy again before his release and made sure to express that to him. In return, Ponyboy assured him that this wouldn't be his last visit, as long as Darry didn't intervene.
There was no goodbye kiss, but in their minds, it held more weight than any physical gesture. They didn't need a kiss to seal any promise; their eyes were enough to convey it. No matter how harsh the world was, no matter the ways they tried to change them. —one of them hurt, the other literally locked down again—it didn't matter. They liked each other, and at that moment, that was enough.