Just then Curtis pushed his way through the crowd. He had been one of the fighters, because his face was bruised and his lip was cut. "Bryon!" he yelled when he saw me. "Bryon, come quick! Mark's hurt!"
I went cold. Mark was hurt. I shoved my way through the crowd--I'm a pretty good size and when I shove I get through. There was a circle of people on the parking lot. I shoved through them too. Mark was lying on the ground, unconscious. One side of his face was covered with blood. I knelt beside him.
"Mark?" I said, but he didn't move. He was out cold. I took the end of my shirttail and wiped some of the blood off his face. He was bleeding from a bad gash on the side of his head, but that was the only injury I could see.
Curtis knelt down on the other side of Mark. "Is he all right?"
I shook my head. "Did anyone call an ambulance?"
He nodded. "I think the cop radioed for one."
I remembered the cop. I looked around for him; he had some kid in handcuffs a few feet away and was informing him of his rights.
"Is that the guy who did this?" I asked, and the kid in handcuffs looked over at me. He had heard me.
"Yeah," Curtis said.
I looked straight at that kid and said, "Buddy boy, you are dead. You had just better make up your mind to that. When I get through with you, you are going to be dead." I meant it. I was mad. The kid just looked away, like he was indifferent. But he was shook, I could tell.
"He meant to get me," Curtis said. "If that makes any difference."
"If he'd gotten you, he'd be doing me a favor," I said. I didn't really mean it, but I was upset. Curtis gave me a wry grin, like he understood. For the first time I felt I could like the guy. "What happened?"
Curtis shook his head. "I don't know. Mark and me were out here sitting on the car, not doing a thing, when this guy shows up and starts in on me. I don't know why, I ain't never seen the guy before. Finally he takes a swing at me, so I have to swing back, and pretty soon we're going at it. Then this character picks up a beer bottle Mark had thrown over there in the grass and comes at me with it. About that time Mark steps in between us and says, 'Hey, come on, man, fight fair.' The kid just looks at him and, for no reason, cracks him across the side of the head with it. Then the cop shows up. Right in the nick of time," he added sarcastically.
When I took another look at the kid in handcuffs, Angela was talking to him. I got the picture. She had got this guy to pick a fight with Curtis--she was mad at him for ignoring her. I changed my mind. It would be her I'd get even with, not that poor dope she had used.
"Do you know Angela Shepard?" I asked Curtis. He shook his head. "No. I know her brothers pretty well, but I've never been around her much."
He was telling the truth. Curtis really didn't know that Angela had been after him. He probably thought I had it in for him for no reason at all.
"What does Angela have to do with this?" he asked.
"I'll tell you later."
Mark moved a little and groaned.
"Mark," I said softly, "listen! Don't move, just lie still. We're going to get you to the hospital."
He opened his eyes. The pupils were so large that I could see only a faint ring of gold around them. I picked up one of his hands. It was ice-cold. He was staring straight ahead and didn't seem to hear or see me. I was worried. "What's wrong with him?"
"Shock," Curtis said. He took off his jacket and put it over Mark. I didn't have one, or I would have too. Mark was still bleeding. I couldn't stop it. It seemed that the ambulance would never get there.
When it finally did, I rode in the back with Mark. At last he seemed to recognize me. "Bryon?" he said, then he sort of laughed and groaned at the same time. "Man, am I hurtin'."
"Keep quiet," I said. I was almost crying, something I hadn't done in years. I was pretty worried.
"Listen, Bryon," Mark went on in a weak voice, "when we get there, at the hospital, stay with me, O.K.?"
"I'm not taking this trip for the ride," I said.
He closed his eyes. "O.K., just stay with me."
At the hospital they put ten stitches in his head. The X ray didn't show a fracture or anything, so they said we could go home. I didn't know how in the world we were going to get home--I'd left Charlie's car at the dance, and come to think of it, I'd left Cathy there too. I was a little worried about that, but mostly I was worried about getting Mark home.
He was sitting up, but he was still groggy and the painkiller shots he'd been given made him sleepy and high. He was probably still feeling all that beer he'd drunk at the dance too. He was in bad shape.
I thought about calling a taxi, but as it was I didn't know how I was going to pay for the ambulance. I was rescued unexpectedly by Cathy and Curtis. Any other time I would have been hacked off by the two of them showing up together, but right then I was glad to see them.
"I brought your car," Curtis said. "I figured you wouldn't have a way to get home. Is Mark going home?"
"Yeah, they said for him to stay in bed for a couple of days and to come back in a couple of weeks or so to get the stitches out. Help me get him in the car."
"Hey, hey, hey, Ponyboy!" Mark greeted him. "What are you doin' here?" Curtis and I pulled him to his feet and we each slung an arm across our shoulders.
"Come on, buddy boy," I said. "Time to go home."
Mark tried to walk, but almost fell, and we half-dragged, half-carried him out to the car. We got him stretched out in the back seat and climbed in.
"Hey," I said suddenly, "how'd you start the car without any keys?"
Cathy turned to him too. "Yeah, how did you?"
He was getting red. "I hot-wired it," he said finally. "Mark showed me how to weeks ago."
I almost laughed. That was just like Mark. "Don't make that a habit," I said.
Curtis shook his head. "I never done it before." I finally understood that Mark was right about that Curtis kid--he wasn't stuck up, he was shy.
I dropped him off near his house. I hated to just take Cathy home, but there wasn't much else I could do. Mark was singing to himself in the back seat. He had a good voice, but he had picked a lulu of a song. Cathy pretended not to hear it.
I walked her to the door. "I'm really sorry about the way things turned out," I said.
She grinned. "So am I--but thank goodness Mark isn't hurt any worse than he is. I had a good time, I really did--especially driving to the hospital with Ponyboy."
I looked at her quickly. She was teasing me to make me mad.
"Not really," she
continued. "He's not my type--too quiet."
"That's one thing I'm not," I said. I wanted to kiss her, but I never know, some girls will kiss on a first date, some won't. I decided to play it safe and not kiss her. Besides, the porch light was on and there were four or five little faces peering out from behind the front-room curtains.
"I'll call you," I said finally.
*
By the time I got Mark home the shots had worn off. Sweat was running down his face and I think tears were too. But he gave me his typical grin. "I ain't feelin' so good, Bryon" was the most he'd say. I helped him into the house and got him to bed.
"You going to be able to sleep?" I asked when I turned out the lights.
"I don't think so. Man, have I got a headache. You tired, Bryon?"
"Nope," I said. I was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. The light of the moon was coming in the window and I could see Mark clearly. He had one arm folded under his head and was staring up at the moon.
"Well, if you ain't goin' to sleep, and I ain't, why don't we talk for a while?"
"That's fine by me," I said.
"Y'know, when I first came around tonight, after that kid cracked me, I was scared stiff. I thought I was dyin', I was so scared. I really felt weird. But after I got to thinkin' you were there with me, I calmed down. Bryon, you're the only family I got, you know that? I mean, your mom's been great to me and everything, but I don't feel like she's really my old lady. But I feel like you're my brother. A real one."
Mark had never had a real family. I remember once when we were very young I had remarked that he didn't look much like his father. And he had said, "He ain't my real father. My real father was a cowboy, here for the rodeo. The old lady said he had gold hair and gold eyes just like mine and that he won all kinds of prizes at the rodeo."
At the time I just thought, Gee, that's great, his real father is a cowboy. When I got older I realized what that meant, that Mark was illegitimate. It had never seemed to bother him. But then, nothing did. Maybe it had, and I just never knew it.