Why I Don't Go to Church Anymore

I could barely make out Johnny's screams as I slipped in and out of consciousness for a second.

"Dally," I heard a weak but urgent voice yell, "DALLY!"

"Pony, Pony wake up!"

I groaned, turning over. "Five more minutes."

The voice chuckled. "Pone, you gotta get up."

I opened my eyes to find Soda's twinkling brown ones staring down at me. He also had that grin that told me he was up to something.

"You need to get outta bed," Soda repeated, still grinning.

"But it's Sunday," I complained, burying my face in my pillow.

"Pony, you were havin' another nightmare," Soda's cheerful voice suddenly turned serious.

I turned back around and looked up at him. "I was dreamin' about Johnny and Dal."

"Oh." Soda was quiet for a minute. "So will you get up?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with Soda on top?"

I rolled my eyes. "No."

"Don't make me do this, Pony."

I said nothing.

"Ponyboy Michael, you know you don't want me to do this."

"Go away," I said, turning back over and burying my face in the pillow.

"Last chance, Pony."

"No."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you."

Silence. Then all of a sudden.. WHAM!

"SODA!" I yelped, rubbing my head where he'd whacked me with the pillow.

"I did warn you," Soda said, grinning.

I didn't answer him. Instead, I..

"Ouch!" Soda rubbed his arm. "Now you're gonna get it!"

Before long, the innocent hit of the pillow became an all out war.

That's when Darry walked in.

"SODAPOP PATRICK CURTIS! PONYBOY MICHAEL CURTIS! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ELVIS PRESLEY IS GOING ON IN HERE?"

Me and Soda looked sheepishly up at Darry.

"Um.. we had a pillow fight?" Soda said innocently, making it sound like a question.

Darry rolled his eyes. "Get this mess cleaned up. Breakfast in five." Then he left.

For a moment, we just eyed the mess. There were pillow feathers everywhere.

We looked at each other. Then we both cracked up laughing.

--

"What're you doin' today, Pone?" Darry asked as we began the breakfast dishes. Soda had already left with Steve, who'd come in half way during breakfast.

I shrugged. "I might go down to the library later. I need new material."

"Whatever you do, make sure you're back before two," Darry said, eyeing me warily.

"Yeah, sure," I replied, grinning slightly. Typical Darry to set a 'curfew.'

"Don't use that tone with me, mister," Darry said jokingly.

I rolled my eyes and splashed him with the water in the basin.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, chuckling.

I chuckled along with him as we continued doing the dishes.

--

I strolled to the bus stop, clutching my copy of Romeo and Juliet that I'd gotten out at the library.

Just as I was gonna sit down, something caught my eye across the street. Checking both ways quickly, I crossed the road.

My eyes widened as I realised what it was. Saint Anne's church. Me and Johnny used to go to this church sometimes. Before he.. before the incident. It must've been six months since I'd been here.

Since the Sunday service would have long finished by then, I figured it would be alright to go in. I'd probably miss my bus, but I didn't really care.

I slowly stepped inside, taking in the ruby red carpet, the wooden seats, the old, grand altar.

I grinned as I remembered a certain church experience that involved me, Johnny, and three very bored greasers by the name of Soda, Steve and Two-Bit. We didn't show our faces for three weeks after that incident.

I sat myself in the back, where I was very used to sitting. I remembered the times when Johnny and I would just kneel here and mutter pleading, worthless prayers.

Before I knew what I was doing I was kneeling, mostly out of habit of all the times I'd been to this old church before. It would usually be filled with Socs, dressed in their Sunday best. Then there'd be me and Johnny, the only greasers, sitting by ourselves in the back. We must've looked pretty funny.

My hand grazed the mahogany seat in front as I stood up. I felt a sudden sense of de ja vu.

Memories hit me like a truck as I left the old church.

It was a church that killed Johnny. It was a church that made Dally want to commit suicide.

It was a church that Johnny and I spent a week together in, growing closer, understanding each other.

It was in a church where I decided that I hated bologna.

I had to get out of there. Fast. This church; it reminded me too much of him. Of Johnny.

As I exited, I swear I could smell the strong stench of bologna.

This is why I don't go to church anymore.

Dedicated to Keri. I don't think it's any good, but let me know what you think!