Well, this is it, guys...We're done...for now. *Bows*

HeDgEhOgSwIthSuNglaSSeS, Nope, Dougall is coming back, just a lot later. I'm so glad you're excited for the (most-likely) sequel! :)

Nineteen

Today my body is really starting to hurt. There's bruises all over me, ouch, an especially bad one just above my left hip, and another bad spot that hurts a lot when I take a deep breath. I don't leave home all day, I don't see anyone but TwoBit and Mama who comes home early to make sure I take my pills 'cause she doesn't trust my brother to do it.

Johnny leaves quickly. I hardly have a chance to wave before he throws his jean jacket on and is out that door. I want to make him some breakfast, and reality hits, Shit, I can't do anything.

Winnie is callingto me, so after that I start sleeping at home again but spend even more time at Pony's and Constance's. Her mom really can't stand me, so we go to the ice cream parlour and sometimes bring Alice. She's getting really fat. I hope I don't let my child get fat. Constance gave me to hold her once and I dropped her on her little butt. She cried a river, I felt so guilty I let her eat all my ice cream she wanted.

Constance won't admit she's in love with Sodapop Curtis, but Soda will. He's always saying she's so pretty and stuff, always holding her hand. When we're eating our ice cream, me Rocky Road and Constance plain strawberry, I bring it up and she blushes more than the ice cream in the bowl, whoa. "Kirby, you know that ain't true. You know it." I poke her forehead and raise my eyebrows. She smacks me. "It ain't," she says, trying not to frown. I know love when I see it. Love makes you act all gooey.

Bonnie's happy. That's all Constance will say. She's starting to actually use the name Bonnie; it makes me drop my spoon. I probably would have dropped it anyway, 'cause my left hand is damn useless. Constance ain't a hippie no more, she says that's Bonnie's thing, but Bonnie's not completely gone from her life 'cause there's nothing she loves more than listening to Bob Marley really loud. Elvis is still tuffer, but the Don't Worry be Happy song I really like.

One time with Constance and Ally I saw Felicity sitting on the front steps of a plain-looking house. She has a yellow dress on and a small bump on her forehead. Constance waits until we're out of ear shot, then snickers and tells me," That's never gonna go awaaaaay." She's trying to lighten the mood and pretend I never hurt anyone. We all know how she is about violence. Just today she almost shoved me to the ground after I was a step away from squishing a stupid snail. Alice gurgles in what must be agreement. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that. The old feeling of guilt washes over me, blanketing me and wrapping me up like a bug in a rug. All I can think is God please forgive me. Forgive. I deserve broken phaly…whatever they're called. A broken hand.

I start begging Ponyboy and TwoBit to take me to The Dingo when they go every second night. I know I shouldn't be, but I am so angry right now and I don't know why. What a case I am. I'm the mute kid with a broken hand. It gives me a real good reason to sulk around.

Mama tries to cheer me up in the morning. I try to make Mickey Mouse pancakes for us, but before I really do anything, Ma's making me sit. She's tssking, pointing at the cast. "You can't,' she says, and even though she's smiling and looks so happy I'm still mad. Why did Felicity have to think I kissed Dougall, kissing is gross and why would anyone willingly kiss me unless a gun's pressed against their head. She must really hate me. Like the way I hate my hand. Like I'm not disabled enough! Doesn't it say somewhere in the Bible if your hand is troubling you, cut it off?

I spend forever looking for our family Bible. I can't find that line, but there's a ton of birthdays written in the front. I look at the four most important. Cornelia Maude Kastel, January 8th, 1926. M-Lawrence Albert Matthews, March 29th, 1923. There's a little line from that, and then TwoBit. Keith Lawrence Matthews, June 20th, 1946. Kirby Elizabeth Mae Matthews, November 16th, 1955. There's a big space after each name for when we're gonna die. I don't like it. Someone somewhere is just waiting for the Matthew clan to die out.

For the next while I read the first three chapters of Genesis. Man was made in God's image. God is perfect, but 'cause Adam and Eve sinned we're all screwed. I'm screwed even worse than everyone. I'm positive God and Adam and Eve had perfectly normal vocal cords. I'm going to hell 'cause I really hurt someone and I hate people and I wish Ponyboy loved me and I wish Daddy would either come back home or die.

I bite my knuckles in a sudden flurry of emotion. I rush to me and TwoBit's room and take out my crayons and pencils and some paper. I start drawing.

I write Dougall a thank you card. I draw hearts and smiley faces like at Constance's house, say Thank you for helping me even when I beat up your girlfriend. Kirby Matthews. I stick it in an envelope which I draw a green cat on, and seal it with my spit. This by no means makes up for the horrible things I've done in my nine years of being alive, but maybe for something smaller, like calling Steve an ass in my mind. Maybe smaller everyday things will keep me out of hell. Or at least it will make me like myself better.

But I have no clue where I would find Dougall's. Dougall is really different from Bacon. I hope such a nice kid doesn't end up all sad like his brother, taking little girl's cookies in the middle of the street. All this stuff makes me unhappy again, so I tuck the envelope at the back of my underwear drawer and go off to get TwoBit away from the T.V. and go to Ponyboy's.

At Pony's no one is there, and my heart sinks. I wish they were sick again just so they could be here. I pout in a corner while TwoBit's right back at the T.V. with some cake. He says, "Baby, I know you're upset, but don't you think your brother's upset too? Don't you think I miss your cookin'?" Damn him, I can't help the grin spreading across my face. "You know how much I'm pissed my little girl's hurt? Do you have any idea, darlin'?"

I crawl over to him and lay across his lap. He twirls his finger in my hair. My very not blonde hair. "I hate you're hurt. But for next time, you'll sure know how to kick the shit outta someone, huh? Ain't ya glad I brought Dally over?"

I nod. I am.

TwoBit smiles. I wipe some chocolate from his chin.

We watch a James Cagney gangster movie. He talks so funny, I'm so glad I'm a sixties child and not a thirties. No one is safe in the streets. I know it's a movie, but it's a movie based on true events.

Sodapop is home first, Steve right behind him. They're arguing pretty loudly over something, and before I can think what I usually think when I see Steve, I replace the nasty thought with What lovely cheekbones that Steve has. Better than calling his something mean. "TwoBit, why'd you eat all the cake?" Soda yells from the kitchen.

"I didn't!" he calls back. "There's still a piece or two at the bottom of the box! Look harder!"

I pick at some unravelling of the cast. I may not be able to talk, but I really have life good. I think back to Genesis. Maybe I'm luckier than unluckier. Why not me?

With TwoBit glued to the T.V. and Soda in the shower, I'm left at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and Steve. I wanna suggest arm-wrestling, but that's stupid. That's a guy thing. I rest my chin in my hand and sigh.

Steve looks up. "Bored, kid?" he asks.

I nod in a very exaggerated way.

He slaps his hands on the table and grins at me funny. "Write a book," he says. He nods like he's agreeing with himself, then pushes the chair back loudly and walks to the cupboard. He takes a large glass out, before anything else happens I know what he's doing. TwoBit used to do it to me all the time. He goes to the sink and fills it with icy cold water. He walks towards the bathroom, chuckling evilly. Poor Sodapop. A ten finger knuckle cracking later I hear screams and swears coming down the hallway. Even TwoBit's cracking up, choking. He gasps, "It hurts!" I smile wider. Yup, I for sure have got it good.

Write a book. Maybe Steve with the lovely cheekbones is right. I grab some paper from Pony's homework desk, and then a pencil. What would a mute like me write a book about? Getting the pencil comfortable in my left hand is hard, but I can get used to it. I could be ambi-whatever one day if I try.

Let's see. There's a lot I can say. I can talk about Constance and how her sister left to bring peace wherever she goes, I can talk about my fat beer-guzzling brother who I love anyway. My pretty Mama, my gone Daddy, my love Pony, my hand, Bacon, Dougall, a Soc with a bump on her head, Dally being proud of me... I'll start with the first thing anyone ought to know about Kirby Matthews. Gestures are all that I have...

A reaaaaly huge thanks to my best friends: OutOfMyBox, writer3098, LostLittlePuppy, HeDGeHoGsWiTHsuNglaSSeS, spicygurl, S13foreverfan101, NotADeamYetNotANightMare, S.M. Scott, McCartney-Sodapopx333, and Hopefully13, and all else who stuck with me. I love you very much! ^^

Listening to: April Wine, Tonight is a Wonderful Night