That Was Then, This Is Now

Mark got better and went back to school. He went to school for lack of something better to do, because he sure didn't dig it the way I did. We didn't usually see each other much at school; we were never in the same classes. We walked to school together and usually got a ride home together with someone, but lots of times we didn't see each other until we got home.

So when Mark didn't show up for a while one afternoon the following week, I wasn't worried. He could have been any number of places. I didn't happen to guess the right one. He was at the police station.

I didn't know about it until Terry Jones came by. Terry was short, round, and a real nut.

"Bryon!" he yelled as he came running through the front door. "Hey, Bryon, did you hear what happened to Mark?"

I was making a peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich. I didn't get shook because something is always happening to Mark.

"What? And calm down, for Pete's sake. I ain't deaf."

"O.K.," Terry said carelessly. He sat down in a chair and looked around. "Having dinner?"

"Cut it, man. What happened to Mark?"

"Not much. He just got caught driving the principal's car."

I gagged. "What?" I said when I could talk. "He got caught doing what?"

"The principal had to leave school early today for some reason. He gets to his parking place, and no car. And then guess who shows up with it? Your friend and mine, Mark."

"You gotta be kiddin'," I begged. "Man, Terry, tell me you're kiddin'. Mark's on probation now for car stealing."

"That's the reason he was driving it," Terry said. "Can I have a sandwich?"

"Here," I shoved the peanut butter, honey, and bread at him. "Fix it yourself. Only first, if you don't want your head busted, tell me what's going on."

"I happened to be standing around when the aforementioned incident occurred." It figured. Terry was usually standing around. "And I hear Mark explain to the principal while the cops are bein' called that he has to go down to see his probation officer once a week and tell him how he ain't gonna steal no more cars. The deal is, he don't have no way to get downtown--there ain't no buses at that time, he don't have a car, and there ain't enough time to walk since he's on his lunch hour. So he borrows the principal's car, drives down to see the probation officer, and drives back. He's been doing this since school started, and if the principal didn't have to leave early today, he'd be doin' it yet."

"I don't believe it," I said slowly. "He's gonna be in jail for the rest of his life."

"I doubt it," Terry said, starting in on his second sandwich. "The principal was laughing by the time Mark got through talking to him."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Mark would come through. Even this. As if to prove this to me, Mark came strolling in. "Guess where I been? Got anything else to eat?"

"Let me see," I said. "Ah, yes. I see it in a vision--you were at the police station explaining how you had to borrow the principal's car because you had to see your probation officer."

"Terry told you, huh? Well, it's all straightened out now. The probation officer drives down to pick me up from now on. It was just one of those failures to communicate."

Mark sat down across the table from me, eating an apple. He was trying to look ashamed of himself, but it just wasn't coming off. I was trying to look disgusted with him, but that wasn't working either.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"No you ain't," I said. We were quiet for a while. Terry got up and left--he must have thought me and Mark were going to have a fight.

"Listen, man," Mark began, but I cut him off.

"Shut up, O.K.? As long as they ain't doin' nothin' to you, it's O.K. I guess you can get away with anything."

Mark leaned back in his chair. The sun came through the small kitchen window and glinted on his eyes, turning them a bright yellow. "I guess so," Mark said. He smiled, like an innocent lion.

5

The first time Mom knew anything about Mark being hurt was when we visited her in the hospital and she saw the stitches in his head. They were real noticeable against his gold hair. She just said, "How did that happen?" And Mark answered, "Fight," and the subject was dropped. That was a good thing about Mom--she'd cry over a dog with a piece of glass in his paw but remained unhysterical when we came home clobbered. About fights, she'd say, "Don't fight at school, you'll get expelled." About drinking, "I'd rather you didn't," so around her we didn't. She didn't know about some of the rest of the stuff we did--the pool games, the poker, the gang fights, the dry river-bed parties--but in that respect she wasn't any different from any other mother. Parents never know what all their kids do. Not in the old days, not now, not tomorrow. It's a law.

We stopped in to see that kid Mike, the one who'd been beaten up so bad. He looked worse than he had before; he said his old man had been in and chewed him out. The doctor had promised him that his father wouldn't be allowed to come to see him any more, but he was still shook.

He looked like a nervous wreck as well as a physical one. "I wish I was dead--or somebody else," he said. You just don't say things like that. I didn't stay long; things like that depress me. Mark stayed on to see if he could cheer up Mike. I wanted to go to the snack bar and see Cathy anyway.

She looked as cute as ever. She said, "Hi, Bryon," not too eager but friendly enough. I had called her a few times in the last couple of weeks and walked to her house to see her, but we hadn't been out. I didn't have a car and Charlie was still so mad about getting his draft notice that I didn't have the nerve to ask him for his car again. As a matter of fact, he was in such a rotten mood that I stayed away from his place altogether. We were friends, and I didn't think he'd ever take his temper out on me, but with big guys, it's safer to be careful.

"I'm on my break now," Cathy said, looking at the clock. This was an invitation for me to buy her a soda, so I said obligingly, "Want a Coke?"

"I knew you'd say that," Cathy said. She came around to my side of the counter and sat down next to me. I never could get over her honesty. Girls are usually careful not to let you know what they're thinking. Cathy hadn't dated before, maybe that was why she was so open. She didn't tell me that about not dating, of course. I found out from M&M. I found out a lot of things from M&M. I have never known anyone so unsuspicious as that little kid. He'd trust Jack the Ripper. He was a believer.

I kept comparing Cathy to Angela, I guess because out of all the girls I've dated--I started at thirteen--they were the two I liked best. I don't know if "like" is the right word for how I felt about Angela. I had been wrapped up in her, I had to se

e her every day, I had to talk to her ten times a day on the phone; but now, looking back on it, I don't remember ever liking her. Cathy was smart, but Angela knew more. That was strange. They both had guts--I can't stand chicken girls--but in different ways. Cathy wasn't afraid to say what she thought; Angela wasn't afraid to do what she wanted. Angela wasn't afraid of any boy on earth; Cathy wasn't afraid of any other girl. They were both gutsy in different ways.

My main problem with Cathy was that she liked me--and I wanted her to be crazy about me. I'm like that. I have a very bad ego hang up.

"Guess who called me?" Cathy said. "Ponyboy Curtis. He wanted to go out Friday night."

"No kiddin'," I said, while thinking, I'll murder that guy. "What'd you tell him?"

"I said I was busy. Am I?"

I was stunned again but didn t show it. "You are. I'll pick you up at seven." I had no idea what I was going to pick her up in, or where we'd go after I did pick her up, but I figured I could work that out later.

*

"We're goin' hustlin'," I told Mark as we walked home, trying to hitch a ride. This time no friendly hippie showed up to give us a lift.

"O.K."

"Tonight--for money."

"You'll need some money to get started with," Mark said, lighting a cigarette.

"I'll get it."

We ran into M&M at the drugstore, and as usual he was chomping on that crazy candy. At least he wasn't staring into the bag like it contained the eighth wonder of the world.

"I need some money," I said, deciding not to beat around the bush. "You got any?"

He looked at me with those serious, war-orphan eyes. "I got five dollars," he said. "I raked some lawns to get it."

I used to think he and Cathy looked an awful lot alike, but not any more. Sure, they both had those big charcoal eyes and matching hair, but Cathy laughed more, her expression usually twinkled with humor. M&M rarely smiled, and he always looked puzzled, serious, and trusting.

"That's a good deal. Can you loan it to me? Just for tonight. I'll pay you back tomorrow."

He pulled out his billfold and took all the money out of it. "Be sure not to forget to give it back tomorrow. I need it. O.K.?"