Circa 1968

he thought of his younger brother confessing he's knocked his girl up and that he's responsible for a tiny larva of a human—it's a thing Darry's wild imagination couldn't produce. Life's always shifting its trajectory, the difference between fire and water in the blink of an eye. In Darry's case, it's the words spilling like vomit out of his kid brother's mouth causing anxiety to swell inside him like an infection.

Darry isn't sure where to begin and knows the best decision's to cut straight to the chase. But his heart gives a pang at the sight of his brother—only a kid determined to mature beyond his years. He opens his mouth to speak, stopping short before his tongue can form a word. His neck's swelled shut. Darry can't talk without it hurting in more ways than one.

It's an impulse that wraps his arms around the boy, offers any comfort he can squeeze out. Ponyboy struggles for breath like he's run a marathon, but the only thing he's gifted is the pleads to sit his sorry ass down before having the chance to pass out cold.

Whatever feelings Pony's locked inside come pouring from his eyes like a waterfall, dampening Darry's t-shirt. "I-I didn't know this would happen, Dar," he chokes out. Judging from the dramatic display, it seems he's interested in playing a few rounds of the pity game. "We was bein' careful. Should've told you sooner, I know."

Silence looms, lasting and cringe-inducing. His feet ache to bolt for the door, forced to keep rooted in place. Pony's expression stinks of a kid lost in a supermarket. "You're going to tell me how far along she is—Cathy's the name, right?" Darry demands, in those eyes a raging fire that blazes through his little brother.

"Yeah," Ponyboy spits and his eyebrows twist at the painful revelation. He's reeling at how his brother can't remember the name of the girl he's laced with his golden ring, stomach churning at the thought of possibilities that comes next. "It was... four months ago."

"Ponyboy," Darry sighs, his face flustered in red. He doesn't look so menacing when he's got the looks of a tomato— resembles more of a cartoon character. It's only a matter of time until steam comes blowing out his head. "You have got to be kidding me! You're telling me you kept it a secret for that long?"

"We're gettin' hitched, Muscles. Don't dare think you have anything to do in what goes on between us."

"What do you mean you're getting married? You have no business for committing like that. For the love of God; you're eighteen!" Darry yells, bursting into a head shake of disproval. It's the disappointment that's a kick to the balls, unexpected and painful. Especially when it's coming from your kid brother whose future's brighter than what's in store for perhaps any kid his age in the neighborhood.

Pony shoots his arms up in frustration, a desperate attempt to find the words that can fire back. "I ain't gonna be a deadbeat. Can't let my kid turn out like one of those J.D's. And what if it's a baby girl? I can't have her be the kind who spends her time whoring around."

"Okay, you've got a point," the oldest brother admits. "But Pony...You've got a future ahead of you. Reckon you know it ain't typical for boys on our side of town. Colleges don't give out scholarships for free."

"Hey, I can still go to college. I know it's all my damn fault. I won't let Cathy and the kid—my kid—alone." Pony blubbers as sentiment spills like an overflowing sink. "Wouldn't that would make me like the hoods out there?"

Memories jump from the darkest corners of Darry's mind. It's Sodapop, seventeen and settled on shacking it up with Sandy. Never could he imagine the role reversal: Ponyboy at eighteen, blabbering on about what's going to get him growing up too fast. But it's different this time around because he's got a gut feeling that the baby is for sure his little brother's child in that utero.

To trust a brother to be responsible and leading to this—a boy who'll change before his eyes to a brother he no longer recognizes. It's the dramatic twist of events that disturb Darrel Curtis more than anything, eating away at the brother who gave up everything to be the example. "I expected more from you."

Pony's eyes soften and his lips contort into a frown. There's a sudden burst of concerned written all over and out comes the look of someone trying to console a crying child. "Darry, are you okay?"

His brother hasn't got the clue of what he's talking about. Not until he's wondering if he's got a leak on the ceiling, a hand on the cheeks that grow wet. Darry doesn't keep his waterworks on flowing—it's crushed the person he's devoted all his energy for what's left of his family. "Damn expected more from you, Pony..."

Ponyboy manages to swallow the guilt back into his system and he's nothing helpless watching his oldest brother die down in sudden tears. "Um, I can leave you to be if you want."

Darry doesn't feel like answering with words this time, and he's wrapped his brother into yet another embrace. Pony's lost himself in the woods, unable to find it within himself to respond. Doesn't make a hint of sense in his eyes but with what he's done, the least he can do is stay. He rubs his brothers back, feeling like a knife's stabbed through his heart— from the guilt of reducing his brother to tears, the kid inside of the girl who's never asked for a baby.

It's a while before Darry's gained his composure, those icy blues bloodshot and puffy. And though it still doesn't look like he's got his tear ducts under control, he's composed enough to talk. "You earned your scholarship, Pony. Hope you won't throw it away just like that."

"Darry, the planned never changed. I'm going to college—make mom and dad proud. I'm making you...you and Soda proud this time 'round."

"Now, that's the Pone I know," Darry chuckles even if the situation is the farthest from amusing you could get. He's more than sure his brother has his tight grip on a life he deserves and so he laughs out of relief—in ecstasy that one of his brothers has a chance. Reality hits him like a truck, and it's the realization that Ponyboy's the only brother he's got left. And In a shift of events, it turns out to be him coming to word the apologizes. "Sorry for blowing up on you like that, Pony."

"It's okay, Dar." Pony responds, the emerging smile plastered on his face strained. "Remember what Soda said; how we're all we've got left?"

"Yeah," Darry sighs heavily and the aftershock of his daze has his head spinning: a trance of how he'd never come to believe that Sodapop Curtis, his sweet little brother, is gone. "I've got a phone call to make," he coughs, voice rough from the tears that keep on coming.

He's walked away from Pony and strong enough to dial the number with trembling hands. But still, he sobs for the brother's he's lost and knows more than anything that he's got to move on to make it out alive. The funeral he's got planned is a small step but lifting the receiver is a task better said than done.