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It started off with feeling tired.
Ponyboy’s eyelids drooped as he ate his cereal one morning before school. And his head ached, too.
“Didn’t sleep well?” Soda asked, downing a chocolate milk.
Pony shrugged. “Guess not.”
A few days later, the leg pain started to get worse. That wasn’t new. He’d worn leg braces for as far back as he could remember, ever since he’d had polio as a toddler. And ever since then, his legs had ached on and off. The braces could rub. The muscles might get tight. Or he’d cramp after walking too much. That was normal. Except, this time, the pain wasn’t waning. It lingered.
He came in after school that Friday sluggish and aching. He dumped his backpack on the couch and all but collapsed against the cushions. The day had been tough. He’d hardly been able to focus enough to answer anything in class. He focused too much on the pain in his legs and behind his eyes to take notes. Even at lunch with his friends, he couldn’t joke around like he used to or join in conversation. He’d simply eaten his lunch, given stilted, one-word answers, and assured anyone who asked that he was fine.
Darry, already home, looked up from his chair, setting the paper down. “Long day?”
“Something like that. My legs just hurt.”
Darry’s brow creased. “More than usual?”
Pony winced. “A little.”
Darry walked over, kneeling to undo the brace straps and the metal buckles. Pony took a sharp intake of breath when Darry lifted one of Pony’s legs, moving to prop it up. Darry stopped at once, looking up. “That sore?”
Pony looked away. “It’s just a bad day.”
Darry nodded, understanding. Instead, he massaged Pony’s calves.
Sodapop wandered over, flicking Ponyboy lightly on the head with a grin. “Maybe you’re finally growing.”
Pony snorted. “I wish.”
Soda patted Pony’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry now, those aches of yours always fade.”
They always had. That was what was scaring Pony.
“Feels tight. Knotted,” Darry remarked, trying to work out the aches in Pony’s muscles. “You stretch today?”
Pony nodded.
“Ate lunch? Drank enough water?”
He nodded again.
Darry kept massaging until the muscles loosened a little. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, ain’t it? Take it easy. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”
The next week passed in much of the same way. Ponyboy climbed into bed at 8 p.m. one night, the exhaustion finally doing him in.
Soda hovered at the door, frowning. “Glory, you’ve been goin’ to bed early as a grandpa these days! You feelin’ all right?”
Pony curled against the pillow. “Just tired.”
Darry appeared beside Soda, looking more concerned. “You sick? Feel feverish?”
“No.” Pony rolled his eyes. “Let me just sleep, okay? I said I was just tired, geez.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Darry sighed, taking a few steps in. When he spoke again, his voice was more measured. Kinder. Concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“My legs are just hurtin’. I’ve told you.”
The crease at Darry’s brow deepened. “Still? Well, don’t they always hurt some?”
“Yeah,” Pony said uncertainly. “But not like this.”
Darry walked to the side of the bed and crouched down so they were eye-to-eye. “How bad?”
Pony hunched in on himself with the attention. He really did just want to sleep. If he got enough sleep, maybe the pains would lessen.
Over the blankets, Darry’s hand found one of Pony’s legs. He felt around it, and Pony hissed, shaking his head. “Please, stop,” he said, strained. “Don’t touch it.”
Soda sat on the other side of the bed. “You sure you’re okay, Pone? You need ta skip school tomorrow?”
Pony shook his head. “No. No, I can go.”
Darry studied him for a long few moments. “Kid. If something’s wrong, you gotta tell me. I’m here to help you.”
Pony didn’t answer. He didn’t know what was wrong. He hoped nothing at all. If he ignored it long enough, it would go away. It had to go away.
“Do we need to call the doctor?”
Pony jerked up, propping himself up on his elbow, shaking his head. “No. No, no doctor.” His oldest memories filled his head. The iron lung. Isolation. Fearing he was going to go to sleep and never wake up.
“Why not?” Soda asked gently, putting a hand on Ponyboy’s shoulder.
“It’s not that bad,” Pony argued. “I’ll go away. It always does, it will again.”
His brothers looked at him uncertainly, but they let it go.
“All right,” Darry said after a sigh. “But if it keeps up, we’re getting it checked.”
It did keep up. Day after day. The leg pain crept higher up his thighs. He found himself sitting more often. He had fierce headaches every morning and couldn’t stand to go to bed late. He took the stairs at school slower.
One afternoon, Pony got home and sprawled on the couch, too exhausted to even take his braces off.
Soda poked his head around the kitchen wall, where he was cooking dinner. “Damn, Pony, you look wiped.”
Ponyboy rubbed his eyes. “I am.”
Soda frowned. “You still hurtin’?”
“Yeah.”
“Worse?”
Pony nodded, his legs stiffening. “It’s my thighs now, too.”
“You need some ibuprofen?”
“Yeah. That might help.”
It got worse that night over dinner. Pony hunched over the table, and he felt like he could hardly pay attention to the conversation past the throbbing, twisting pain in his legs.
“Pony.” He felt knuckles rap lightly against his head. “We’re talkin’ to ya, pal.”
Blearily, he looked up at Soda, then back down at his untouched plate. “Oh. Sorry.”
“You’re in pain, aren’t you,” Darry said. It wasn’t a question.
Weakly, Pony nodded.
“Your legs?”
“Glory, it’s never felt this bad,” Pony said, strained. “Not in a long time.”
Darry stood immediately, pulling Pony’s chair out so he could observe. He bent down and unbuckled one of the braces, feeling around Pony’s calf, then his thigh. Pony hissed through the pain, feeling how tight the muscles were.
“They’re stiff as rock, Ponyboy,” Darry said, his voice thick with concern.
“Your head still hurtin’?” Soda asked.
Pony nodded. “S’worse in the mornings. I feel like I haven’t slept at all, even though I do. But it always aches a little nowadays.”
“Pony, that ain’t normal,” Soda stressed. “You shouldn’t be havin’ a weeks-long headache.”
“I been takin’ aspirin.”
“That doesn’t fix the underlying problem,” Darry said, standing back up. “I’m done waiting. We’re takin’ you to the doctor tomorrow.”
“No!”
Darry threw up his hands. “What do you want me to do, Pony? Let this go? Do you know how irresponsible of me that would be? I’ve let this go long enough, I’m done.”
Pony shook his head. “No. No. I can take it.”
“Pone, I don’t get it,” Soda said, his eyes full of worry. “You’ve never felt this way about the doctor before, ain’t it? Not like this.”
No. Because the problems that sent him to the doctor didn’t feel like the polio virus before.
But his brothers weren’t taking silence for an answer anymore.
Pony’s shoulders hunched in. “It’s just—It ain’t just pain. My legs feel weak, too. Like before.”
Darry and Soda exchanged a look. “What do you mean, before?” Darry asked, his voice low.
“Like… Like after I got polio. When I had to learn to walk again.”
Soda shot right up from his chair, anger blazing in his eyes. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
“You been fallin’?” Darry asked. “Trippin’?”
Pony shook his head.
“Then we ain’t gonna jump to that conclusion.”
“That can’t happen, right?” Soda asked, his voice high. “People can’t get polio again?”
“No, they can’t,” Darry said. But his voice wavered.
That’s what the doctors had said. You couldn’t get it twice. But then why did it feel so similar?
Morning took an eternity to arrive. Ponyboy had hardly slept at all. The headache was already there, fierce behind his eyes. He groaned softly and rubbed his face. Even that small movement made his thighs throb. “Great,” he muttered.
He sat up slowly, but the more he moved, the worse the pain got. He gasped, gripping the mattress, breathing through his teeth. “Okay,” he whispered, trying to regulate it. “Okay.”
Beside him, Soda stirred, groaning and stretching as he came out of sleep.
Pony swung his legs over the edge of the bed. But the moment his feet touched the ground, the impact jolted through his legs, making the twisting, burning sensation worse than it had ever been, making him cry out.
Sodapop jolted fully awake, shooting up and around the bed to Pony’s side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
“My—My legs. I can’t—”
“Darry!” Soda shouted and returned his attention to Ponyboy, whose legs were shaking. “Oh, man, you’ve really done a number on yourself, huh?”
“N—No, I didn’t do anythin’, I didn’t overdo it, I didn’t fall or nothin’—”
“I know. I know you didn’t.”
Darry came barreling into the room, shirt backward and hair disheveled, his hard footsteps rattling the bed. “What happened?”
“His legs ain’t workin’!” Soda shouted. “Look how much pain he’s in!”
“I didn’t do anythin’,” Pony repeated when Darry knelt in front of him. “I just tried to stand. They—They been hurtin’ all night.”
Darry delicately touched Pony’s calves, which were tight as coils. The muscles twitched when Darry touched the skin. He pressed harder, and Pony yelped. Darry’s hands recoiled.
“Okay, okay. That’s enough. That ain’t normal. We’re goin’ to the doctor now. No more arguin’.”
Pony nodded, trying to keep back tears. Soda noticed, his face softening. He reached out, cupping Pony’s face in his hand. “It’s gonna be all right, honey. We’re gonna get you help.”
Pony breathed, stilted. “It—It feels like before.”
He didn’t miss the look of panic that crossed Soda’s face. “It’s not. It’s not. Hear me?”
“What else could it be?” Pony cried.
“That’s what the doctor’s going to tell us,” Darry said levelly. “I’ll carry you, but we’re goin’ now.”
“I’m scared, what if it’s back?” Pony asked, his voice pitching.
“It’s not back!” Darry yelled so forcefully that both brothers jumped. Guilt immediately crossed his face. “It can’t be back,” he said, softer. “That’s not possible.”
Ponyboy worried all the way to the doctor’s office. Darry gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Soda kept his arm around Ponyboy’s shoulders. The Mamas and the Papas were on the radio, Pony’s favorite, but he couldn’t even enjoy it, he was so frightened and in so much pain.
Soon enough, they were sitting inside the doctor’s office explaining the symptoms and how it was different from the normal troubles Ponyboy experienced concerning his legs.
The doctor checked reflexes. Then muscle strength. Pony had a hard time following the doctor’s instructions, his leg muscles too weak to cooperate.
The doctor’s brow furrowed at that. “Have you been experiencing much muscle weakness?”
Pony nodded. “Yeah. For a few weeks.”
The doctor frowned, nodding. “I’d like to run a few more tests.”
Pony tensed, looking frantically at his brothers.
The doctor held up his hands. “Nothing scary. But given your history with polio, I just want to be careful.”
“Is it coming back?” Pony asked, his voice shaking.
“No. Polio doesn’t work that way. You had the virus once. It doesn’t come back. However, we are seeing some things in patients who did have polio as children. New muscle weakness that kind of… awakens. We don’t know a lot about it yet, but we have seen it.”
The tests took most of the morning. By the end of it, he was aching fiercely. His head still hurt. He didn’t want to move his legs more at all. He was at the end of his rope and feared bursting into tears if he was pushed just a little more.
Finally, the doctor had an answer.
“So you had polio at three years old,” he said. “You lived and recovered, despite the complications with your legs. But for the past twelve years, your surviving nerve cells have been overcompensating for the ones that were killed in the initial virus. They’d been working so hard for so long, they can’t handle it anymore. Those overworked cells are starting to fail. They’re exhausted. That’s why your muscles are hurting, you’re tired, and you’re getting weaker again.”
“Is there a name for this?” Darry asked, his hand firmly on Ponyboy’s shoulder. “A diagnosis?”
The doctor shook his head. “I’ve only seen this myself twice. There haven’t been studies done on this because there’s just not enough to study. I’m not sure yet whether it’s because Ponyboy and the others I’ve seen are outliers or if this condition is something that usually appears later in life for other polio survivors. I wish I could tell you something more concrete, but we just don’t have that.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Soda asked, sounding close to tears. “He’s in so much pain.”
“I’ll write down some exercises I’d recommend. Low impact. Easy on the legs. And if the pain gets unmanageable, over-the-counter medications like ibuprofen wouldn’t hurt.”
“Nothing else?” Darry asked.
The doctor shook his head. “Now, if any new symptoms develop or something seems dangerous or out of the ordinary, bring him to the hospital right away. Again, this is something we’re still learning about, especially as those who had the virus during the epidemic get older. Don’t take any chances. If you think something’s serious. It probably is. You did the right thing by bringing him in. Ponyboy, I’d recommend taking more breaks to conserve your energy. Keep watch of your movement and diet—you’re in a good place, but considerable weight gain due to adjusted lifestyle would put strain on your muscles that you really can’t afford. And use the leg braces always when you’re walking, even if you’re just in the house. We want to take as much strain off those legs as possible.”
Once the three of them were back in the truck, no one spoke for a few moments. Then, Pony’s head dropped into his hands, and both of his brothers had him in their arms.
What a waste. They didn’t have a way to help him. His body was giving up on itself. Such unbearable pain, and there was this little he could do about it?
“I thought it was over,” he wept miserably. “I want it to be over.”
No one knew how to answer. They just held him a little tighter.
The next weeks were manageable. The exercises the doctor had recommended did ease the pain in his legs a little. He tried to stay off his feet when he felt the muscles straining. Over-the-counter meds took the edge off things.
But he was still waking up with pounding, sharp headaches. Every morning, without fail. He’d wake and feel like he’d gotten no sleep at all, even though he’d been out all night long. The fatigue would stick to him all day like tacky glue.
He brought it up to his brothers, knowing he should. They called the doctor about it but were told to give him more time as he adjusted to the new changes in his life he was making to ease his muscles. As long as he was drinking water, sleeping, and eating well, the rest of his body should follow in health.
Should.
A few nights later, Ponyboy had fallen asleep on the couch.
The living room was dim, lit only by the lamp Darry always left on when Pony slept in there. The couch felt warm under him, the blanket tucked around his legs.
For a moment, he thought maybe it was just another headache waking him up. His head did hurt. It was a sharp, splitting pressure behind his eyes.
He tried to shift, but his legs throbbed immediately, the deep, grinding ache that had been getting worse for weeks.
Pony squeezed his eyes shut. Just another bad night, he told himself.
Then he tried to take a breath. The air didn’t come right. It wasn’t pain exactly. It was… tight. Like his chest had forgotten how to breathe.
Pony frowned slightly in the dark and tried again. A breath slid in, thin and shallow. Not enough. He tried to pull in more air. His chest tightened. The breath stopped halfway. A jolt of panic stirred in his stomach.
He inhaled again, shallow and unable to get anything deeper.
Pony pushed himself up a little on the couch, his heart beginning to beat faster. The next breath barely lifted his chest. The unease shifted to cold fear.
He tried again, harder, straining. The breath came in and out, shaky and weak. Suddenly, it felt like the air in the room had thinned.
He willed himself to calm down. It was okay. He’d just startled himself, that was all. He could breathe if he really tried. He tried to take a slow breath like the doctor had once shown him when he was little.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Except the breath wouldn’t go deep enough. His chest felt heavy and tired. Like the muscles were too weak to pull the air in.
Pony sat up straighter, tense, his head spinning, heart racing. Why ain’t it working?
He knew this feeling. He hadn’t felt it in years, but his body remembered before his mind did. The helpless, suffocating feeling. Being in an iron lung that would breathe for him. The scary whooshing sounds around him. Feeling trapped.
Pony’s fingers curled into the couch cushion. He breathed and breathed and breathed, straining from the effort. The memories started flashing through him. Bright hospital lights. His mother’s voice. The huge metal machine. Being away from his brothers.
His breathing sped up, but the breaths were still too small and weak. He didn’t feel strong enough.
Pony’s eyes filled with frightened tears. What if it’s happening again? His voice came out thin and shaky. “Darry.” The word barely made a sound. His chest hitched. He grabbed at the front of his shirt like it might help his lungs work. “Darry.”
The room tilted slightly. His head was spinning. The pain had never been this bad before.
His breaths kept coming short and uneven. Each one felt like it might be the last one that worked.
I can’t breathe. The thought exploded through him in pure terror. “Darry!” The word came out louder that time, breaking in the quiet room.
Darry’s bedroom door flew open first. “Pony?” He rushed to Pony’s side, dropping to his knees. “What is it, what’s wrong? Is it your legs?”
Pony tried to answer, but another weak breath cut him off. He shook his head. “I can’t—” He couldn’t make out any more words. He didn’t have enough air.
Soda was suddenly on his knees beside the couch, too. “Pony? What’s wrong?”
Pony’s vision blurred. His heart hammered wildly. “It won’t—” He tried to breathe again, but the air still wouldn’t go deep enough.
Darry’s eyes suddenly widened with terror. “Can you breathe?”
Frantically, Ponyboy shook his head, his hands clutching at Darry’s shirt. “Can’t—get air.”
Soda looked equally panicked, but confused, too. “You’re talking. You are breathing.”
Pony shook his head again, willing them to understand. “Not—enough.”
“Shit, Dar, it’s like when he was little,” Soda said, the words tumbling out. “We haveta get him to the hospital.”
Pony clung to Darry like he had with his parents when he was young and wracked with the virus, his little chest muscles and diaphragm under too much strain to let him breathe right.
“Don’t let me stop,” he whispered hoarsely.
Darry’s arms tightened at once, lifting Pony from the couch. “You ain’t gonna stop.”
Pony wanted to believe him, but his chest felt so tired. And the breaths still wouldn’t come right. He was terrified that one of these breaths, his body was just going to decide to give up. “Hurry.”
“Soda, start the truck,” Darry commanded.
The truck ride over felt disturbingly like the ambulance ride from Windrixville after the fire last year. Ponyboy hated thinking about that—it made him miss Johnny and Dally too fiercely—but he couldn’t help it. His vision was going in and out. It was so hard to breathe. He was terrified. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, and he had no idea what was about to happen next.
“Stay awake,” someone kept telling him.
He was trying, he really was. He didn’t want to fall asleep, but it was just getting so hard to keep his eyes open. Maybe if he slept, it wouldn’t be so painful anymore. He could hardly think past the pain in his head and the tightness as his own weak chest suffocated him.
“Ponyboy!”
“Mm.”
“Don’t close your eyes no more, kid, we’re almost there.”
Ponyboy woke up in a hospital bed, a thin blanket pulled over his lap, his braces propped against the wall. A plastic tube rested beneath his nose, delivering a steady trickle of oxygen.
Someone let out a soft little sob next to him, and Pony looked over to see Soda stroking his hair, looking down at him in relief. “Oh, thank God, kid. Scare us to death.”
“What?”
“You passed out. On the way here. You couldn’t breathe right, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. Glory, Soda, my head hurts.”
“Yeah, I bet, if you ain’t gettin’ air.”
At that, Pony felt his breathing quicken. “Why? Do you know why it happened?”
“Darry’s talkin’ to a doctor now. He’ll be real glad to see you awake.”
As if summoned, Darry walked in. His eyes landed on Pony, then they closed, him taking a deep, shuddering breath. He went to Pony’s side and lightly squeezed the back of his neck. “Hey, baby. How you feelin’?”
“Like shit.”
Darry gave a watery chuckle. “Yeah. I’ll bet.” His hand moved to Pony’s head. “Still hurtin’?”
“Yeah.” Ponyboy’s voice came out more pathetic than he meant, but, hell, he didn’t care. He wanted to be coddled. He wanted his parents. He wanted his legs to work right. He wanted to know he would keep breathing. He wanted to stop being in so much pain. He wanted to stop living like this.
Before he could stop them, the tears were slipping down his face. Darry’s expression crumpled in sympathy, and Soda pulled him into his arms. “It’s been a lot,” Soda agreed. “Just let it out, honey. Just let it out.”
“Soda.” He gripped his brother’s arm in desperation. “You can’t let them put me in an iron lung again. Please. Please. No iron lung. Please.”
“I won’t, baby,” Soda swore. “They ain’t takin’ you anywhere you feel unsafe like that again. I won’t let them.” After a minute of calming Ponyboy down, Soda asked Darry, “Did you get any answers?”
Pony looked at Darry, who nodded.
“They think so. You know how your leg muscles ain’t been doin’ too good recently? Well, they think your breathin’ muscles might be doin’ the same thing.”
“So—it’s gonna happen again?” Pony asked, his voice breaking in fear.
Darry shook his head fiercely. “No. No, it ain’t. See, the problems have been happenin’ in your sleep. That’s why you’re wakin’ up with those headaches and feelin’ exhausted. You ain’t gettin’ enough oxygen when you sleep. So they’re gonna send us home with one of these newfangled ventilator things to help you breathe when you sleep now.”
Hooked up to something. Every night. It wasn’t an iron lung, but it seemed almost as bad. “I keep breaking more. I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ so—”
“Don’t.” Darry moved before he even finished the sentence, grabbing Pony’s shoulder and looking right into his eyes. “Don’t ever apologize to me for this. You have nothin’ to be sorry for. Nothin’.”
“But it’s true.”
“No, it ain’t. You’re not breaking. Your body’s dealing with something that started a long time ago. It’s something you’ve never had control over.”
Pony shook his head weakly. “You already take care of me so much, Darry. Now this, it’s gonna cost so much—”
“Stop.” Darry’s hand moved to cup Pony’s damp cheek. His voice dropped low. “Listen to me real careful, Ponyboy.”
Pony swallowed.
Darry’s expression wasn’t angry. But it was something deep and serious all the same. “If you gotta sleep with some machine so you can breathe better,” Darry said quietly, “then we’ll get the machine.”
Pony’s eyes burned. “It ain’t that simple—”
“It is to me.”
Darry’s throat bobbed. “Your life is the most important thing in this whole world to me.”
Soda nodded immediately beside them. “To me, too.”
Pony blinked hard. “But it’s gonna be hard.”
Darry let out a small breath. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “It probably will be.” Then he gave Pony a small, crooked smile, running his fingers through Ponyboy’s hair, just like Mom would’ve done. “But keeping you alive, kid? That will be the easiest decision I ever make. Ever.”
Soda squeezed Pony’s shoulder. “You could take my life savings, and I wouldn’t care,” he said. “You’re our everythin’, okay? There ain’t no price tag on that. On you.”
Pony’s throat tightened so badly he couldn’t speak. “I love you guys,” he finally choked out.
“We love you, too,” Soda said.
Darry nodded, his chin wobbling. “So much, baby.” He kissed Pony’s forehead.
Pony breathed for a few moments, relishing the feeling of his lungs filling easily. “Can we go home soon?”
“They’re gonna keep you overnight,” Darry said. “To observe your sleep. But your brother and I are gonna be right here the entire time.”
Pony thought that would be the worst of it, but the doctor came in to reiterate mostly what Darry had already told Pony. But then, he added, “Also, no more smoking. At all.”
Shock rippled through Pony. He couldn’t mean that. “I’ll cut back.” He couldn’t drop it entirely. He couldn’t remember the last day he’d ever gone without at least one smoke.
The doctor shook his head. “Entirely, Ponyboy. Your breathing muscles need as much strength as they can get now. Smoking will only make them decline further. You need to quit fully for your health’s sake.”
Ponyboy was in a miserable huff after that. The doctor didn’t get it. He needed it to calm his nerves. He couldn’t just quit.
But he knew after hearing that, his brothers wouldn’t ever let him touch a cigarette again.
Ponyboy didn’t trust that the doctors weren’t going to try to shove him in an iron lung again until he was actually out of the hospital the next day, walking back to the truck with his brothers.
His head hurt, but he was given assurances that with the new ventilator they would set up at home, that shouldn’t be happening anymore. During the night, the doctors had studied his sleep without breathing aids to see how his body was naturally acting. They had found what they’d expected—trouble in his breathing, which was shallow. And when they’d tried to wake him, he was slow to wake up and struggled.
Pony didn’t remember any of that, but Soda had rattled on and on about it come morning, rambling about how terrified he’d been and how glad he was about this new ventilator until Darry urged him to shut up and not scare Ponyboy anymore than he already was.
Once they got home, he felt wound up and jittery, as opposed to his usual sluggishness. He rifled through his bedside table drawer, only to find that his cigarettes were already gone. He scowled, searching the closet, under the bed, until even that simple searching wiped him out. He was near frustrated, anxious tears by the time Soda dragged him over to the couch to rest.
“Soda?” Pony said, low enough so Darry wouldn’t hear. “Can you please get me a smoke? Just one? I’ll take it outside and everythin’.”
Horrible sympathy in his eyes, Sodapop shook his head. “No can do, partner. I’ll get you a chocolate milk, how ‘bout that?”
Pony shook his head. “No. No, you don’t get it. I need one. Just one.” He craved it. He felt the anxiety creeping inside his head. It would help him. “Just one.”
Soda shook his head, though it looked like it was killing him to deny Ponyboy something he really wanted. “No. I’m sorry, honey. No.”
Pony felt the tears well up, and he hid his face in frustration, willing himself not to cry. “Go away,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna look atcha anymore.”
Quietly, without argument, Soda left, but Pony felt the energy shift immediately, knowing how mixed-up his brother was feeling, too.
He lazed on the couch, mindlessly watching the Jetsons, when about an hour later, the door flew open.
Steve and Two-Bit burst in, hooting and hollering, the screen door slamming shut behind them.
“Shut up!” Soda shouted over the noise, being just as loud as the others, but Ponyboy didn’t even have the care or energy to call him out about it.
“Whyyyy?” Two-Bit crowed, though his voice lowered the moment he saw Ponyboy splayed across the couch. “Oh, the kid sick?”
“‘The kid’ can hear you,” Pony shot back.
Two-Bit held his hands up, grinning. “Oh, good, the sick didn’t knock the sarcastic outta him. I didn’t know what we were going to do without our snarky little horse.”
Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“Thank you,” Two-Bit said, pretending to adjust his nonexistent collar. “I consider myself a professional.” His head tilted. “Really, though. You good, man?”
“Yeah, just an eeny meeny hospital visit and bout of breathing failure.”
“What the fuck?” Steve said. “You ain’t serious.”
“He is, unfortunately,” Darry said, coming in.
That seemed to suck the air out of the room. Steve and Two-Bit looked at Pony in fearful shock.
“What?" Two-Bit said, his voice high, any trace of joking gone.
“The doctors don’t know exactly what it is,” started Ponyboy, “but they know it is connected to the polio I had.”
“Huh?” Steve said, shaking his head. “But that’s—I don’t—You have it again?”
Pony shook his head. “No. I can’t get it again. It’s like my body’s been overcompensating for the past twelve years. The virus killed some of my leg muscle cells, as we obviously knew, and some of my breathing muscle cells, too.”
“Shit, kid, you ain’t gonna die, are you?” Two-Bit asked, his eyes wide.
“No,” Darry said, his tone warning and sharp. “The breathing trouble was happening in his sleep, so he’s got a ventilator to help him now. And as for his legs, we have ways to manage the extra weakness. No one’s dying. All this is is a slight shift in lifestyle. Okay?”
Two held his hands up. “Okay. Good. Good.” He grinned at Pony. “Boy, that’s a relief, kid.”
Pony smirked back. “You’re tellin’ me.”
“A ventilator’s tuff enough.”
Ponyboy looked at Two-Bit like he’d grown two heads. “You’re so weird.”
But secretly, he was glad no one was making a big deal about it.
They hung out for awhile, Two-Bit sticking in the living room with Pony, sitting with his back against the choice.
“Two,” Pony hissed. “Can you get me a pack of cigarettes?”
Two-Bit turned his head, confused. “Uh, sure? What ya askin’ me for? Ya run out?”
Pony nodded. “And I can’t go out myself ta get more.”
“Ponyboy!” Darry suddenly snapped, and Pony jumped, not realizing Darry had been close enough to listen. “Two-Bit, don’t you dare get him no cigarettes, the doctor said no way, no how. We don’t want him unable to breathe right again. And kid, it’s gonna help your energy, too, it really is.”
“Darry, I can’t take it!”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t get it, it feels like somethin’ bad’s gonna happen, I just need a few drags, just a few, it will help.”
“I know that’s what your mind’s tellin’ ya, and I know the next few days are gonna be tough as hell for ya, and I’m sorry for that. But I ain’t putin’ your health at risk. It’s the withdrawal talkin’, Ponyboy.”
“Please. Please. I won’t ask again.”
“You will. But my answer is still no. I’m sorry.”
“You ain’t sorry!” Pony all but shrieked. He didn’t even have the mind to feel embarrassed. Why should he? All life was doing was tearing him down, and now his own brothers were adding to it. He deserved to be upset. All he was asking for was a little relief, and no one would spare him it.
“I am,” Darry said, keeping his voice measured.
“If you were sorry, you would help me!”
Darry walked over so he could look right down at Pony. “There is no better way I could help you than this. You’ll understand someday.”
“I can’t stand you,” Ponyboy snapped.
Two-Bit frowned, almost like another disappointed brother. “Ponyboy—”
“No, don’t ‘Ponyboy’ me!” He buried his face in his hands and made a muffled scream. He knew he was acting like a child, but there was nowhere for all this frustration to go. They didn’t get it. They didn’t have to live like he did.
The room was uncomfortably silent for a few moments. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.
“We’ll leave you be for awhile,” Darry said. “C’mon, guys, let’s go out back.”
Once the house was empty, Ponyboy let himself sob. He felt so alone. He felt all this pent-up emotion with nowhere to go.
He felt grief, and he didn’t know why. Like he’d lost another friend or family member. This aching hole.
The next few days passed the same way. He stayed home from school. He mostly kept to bed or the couch, unless he needed to do his exercises or stretches. He craved cigarettes and had no way to get any. He cried like he’d lost someone, even though he had just as many people as he’d started out the year with.
His brothers kept telling him it was the withdrawal, but he didn’t believe it until four days after he quit. He felt less on edge. Less testy.
Less grieved.
He wasn’t craving the smokes like he had been. His energy felt a little replenished. His breathing was coming easier. And the exercises were helping the aches and weakness in his legs. He wasn’t really regaining strength, but he wasn’t practically killing it anymore and causing himself immense pain.
The ventilator seemed to be helping, too.
It was frustrating to get used to at first. He didn’t like going to sleep with something on his face. And it was loud. But a few days in, he finally woke up without a headache and feeling like he actually had gotten sleep.
He shook Soda awake that morning. “Soda. Soda,” he hissed.
His brother stirred after a few shakes, and he groaned, stretching. “Pony? Whas’it?”
“My head doesn’t hurt.”
Soda popped fully awake, propping himself up and grinning in surprise. “Really? How long has it been since that’s happened?”
“I dunno! Weeks, at least.”
Soda wrapped him into a hug. “I’m so happy for you.” His brother scanned his face. “You’re lookin’ better today, too. Skin’s clearer. You look… I dunno. Refreshed.”
“Do you think I could go back to school today?”
Soda perked up even more. “You feel up to it?”
Ponyboy nodded.
Sodapop smiled and hugged him again. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I think that would be real good for you.”
Going back to school felt like a whole event. Everyone wanted to ask where he had been. He got tired of answering again and again, and he didn’t like being the center of attention, but things had died down by lunch. It was nice to be with his friends again and actually be able to pay attention in class.
He was feeling well enough all-around to go back to doing the things he loved. Writing, reading, drawing, taking short walks. And though it had seemed unbearable only days before, the cravings for cigarettes had been going away.
A couple of nights later, he was testing his limit by starting to stay up late again. He sat up in bed with The Hound of the Baskervilles, determined to finish the chapter he was on.
“Want me to turn it on for you?” Darry said, referring to the ventilator as he came in to say good night.
Pony shook his head. “I’m gonna see if I can stay up a little longer readin’. I can do it myself.”
Darry nodded. “All right. Just be careful. Don’t accidentally fall asleep before hooking it up and turnin’ it on.”
“Sorry it’s so loud,” Pony apologized.
Darry chuckled. “Apologize to Soda, not me. Anyway, he don’t mind none. That kid could sleep through a damn tornado.”
Pony smiled. It was true. He went back to his reading.
He startled when he heard a familiar sniffle coming from the living room. It was such a small sound, but it was like his ears had been fine-tuned to listen for Soda’s pain.
Pony climbed out of bed and crept to the door, cracking it open to listen.
“He’s all right,” he heard Darry saying.
“But he’s not good, you know?” Soda said in a wrecked, tear-filled voice. “I hate to see him in so much pain every day. Even now. I—I know he’s getting better, but he’s never gonna get all the way better. I wish he didn’t have to do all this. He deserves to just be a kid and worry about the things other kids have to. Like school and friends and shit. Not if he’s gonna wake up unable to breathe right or live life in constant pain with those poor legs.”
“He don’t want us pitying him,” Darry said softly.
“It’s not pity,” Soda said. “I just love him so much. I wish I could take it all away, but I can’t do anythin’.”
“You’re doin’ a lot. You don’t know what just bein’ there means to him. Especially when it’s you. Glory, kid, he’d be so lost without you.”
Pony hated to hear Sodapop cry. Those melty, brown eyes full of tears could break anyone’s heart. There was something just so devastating about it. When Sodapop cried, the world stopped rotating until he stopped and things were as they should be again.
Pony crept out of the room, keeping close to the doorframe, and innocently called out, “Soda?”
In a few hasty seconds, his brother was there, eyes bloodshot but any trace of tears smeared from his face. “What is it? You okay?” His eyes dipped to Pony’s legs, his brow furrowing in concern. “Hon, you ain’t s’posed ta be out of bed without the braces anymore.”
“I just wanted to see if you were coming to bed.”
“Oh.” Soda relaxed a little, and Pony could see in his brother’s face that his own mission was accomplished. When Soda was upset, especially this kind of upset (over Ponyboy), he just wanted to be needed. And Ponyboy could play along.
Well, it wasn’t all playing.
Soda nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” He kissed Pony’s hair. He lingered for a moment before adding, “I love you.”
Pony pulled him in for a hug. “I love you, too. So much, Soda.”
Soda nodded, against Ponyboy’s shoulder, his breath shuddering. “Let’s hit the hay, kiddo. Bet you’re tired.”
After Soda helped Pony with the ventilator and lay down beside him to sleep, Pony brought up something that had been stuck on his mind the past several weeks. “All of this coming up again? It makes me think of Mom and Dad. Like how they were with me all the time until I got better, then there to help me learn to walk again.”
Soda’s eyes saddened for a moment. He nodded. “I bet it does. Makes me think of ‘em, too.”
“What do you remember from when I was sick?”
“Oh, that was a long time ago.”
“You remember.”
Soda tucked his arm around Pony. “It was scary. We thought you were just regular sick, at first. But you kept gettin’ worse and worse. And it wasn’t just the fever, you were gettin’ that weird pain in your legs and havin’ a little trouble breathin’. I remember Mom and Dad, the looks on their faces. They were scared to death, Pone. I mean… you never had been the strongest little guy that young, ya know? You were tough. So tough. But you’d been born too early and sick too often. When they learned it was polio, well… They had me and Darry say goodbye to you before you were in the hospital and quarantined, just in case. Do you remember that?”
Pony’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t.
Soda sniffled. “I don’t think I really quite knew what that meant, at the time. I was six, I knew enough. I didn’t think you were gonna die, I didn’t know that was what they meant, but I heard how people were so scared of polio. I thought they were just gonna take you away forever. And that scared me just as much.
“Darry cried. He was nine, then. The only thing that scared me more than him crying was hearing Mom and Dad crying. I’d never heard him cry before. Never had since, either, actually. Glory, Pone, they were scared to death of losin’ you. We didn’t see much of either of them the next two weeks. We stayed at Two-Bit’s house. That was right before Mrs. Mathews had her new baby.
“And me? I was inconsolable. I cried so much that some days I made myself sick enough to not be able to go to school. I thought they’d taken you away forever, I really did, no matter how much Darry tried to convince me otherwise.
“But you came back. You came back with these cute little braces, and your smile was back sometimes, and, shit, Pone, the day I finally heard you giggle again felt like the best day of my life.” Soda held him a little tighter. “So a few weeks ago? When you felt like it was coming back?” His voice broke, and he fought to keep talking. “Scared me to death. Because I didn’t know if you could make it a second time. Or in the car when you couldn’t breathe right? It felt like the world had changed its mind and wanted to take you away from me after all.”
Pony rolled over, being mindful of the breathing tube, looking Soda right in his teary eyes. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Soda nodded, giving him a wobbling smile. “And I’ll be grateful for that for all my life. I’m so sorry it ain’t gonna be easy for you.”
Pony shrugged. “It never was easy.”
“I know. But it’s been a long time since it was this hard, too. I’m real proud of ya. You’re takin’ it so well. You’ve gotten so mature, it’s like I blinked, and you’re all grown up.” He pulled Ponyboy close again. “Glory, kid, you have so much to do with your life. You’re still here, and you have all these amazing things to do still, I just know it. That book you wrote? You have so much left in that little head of yours to say. More stories to share. Places to go. You’re gonna get outta here someday, just like you’ve always wanted.”
“Maybe,” Pony said. “But not yet.” He wasn’t ready yet. Going out in the world still felt exciting, but for now, he wanted to be here. Braces, ventilator, and all. He was still here to get through every day with his favorite people at his side to help him through it. Maybe Mom and Dad weren’t around anymore, but for this part of his life, he had the people he needed, the two who had been taking care of him and loving him so diligently for the past two years. “I still need you. You and Darry. I’m always gonna need ya.”
Soda nodded, giving a watery chuckle. “Good. ‘Cus we’re always gonna need ya, too.”