Little Boy

Hush, little baby, don't say a word...

"James? Timothy?"

God. So tiny. Tiny fingers, tiny toes.

"Rickey? Milton?"

Sweet lips. Little nose.

Little boy.

I promise I'll give you the world. I'll give you everything.

"Mama? Can I have a pony?"

"Hush, Soda, don't wake the baby."

"I don't wanna baby, I wanna pony!"

My sweet Soda...

"I would feed it everyday, I really would!"

"I know."

"So can I have one?"

"I'm so sorry sweetheart... you wanna help me name the baby?"

"Stupid, that's his name."

"That wasn't very nice, Sodapop."

"I can change him for a pony. A boy for a pony!"

"But it's our little baby, Soda. Your little brother."

"I don't want no brother, I want a pony. A ponyboy."

Ponyboy...

"Ponyboy?"

"Mmm, that's what I said."

"A little Ponyboy. Thank you, Sodapop."

"What is it Mama?"

This is Ponyboy.

xXx

At birth, every baby's eyes are blue. Her oldest kept his, but lighter, her middle got brown, but the youngest got hers.

xXx

The house is so quiet now. She walks from room to room, and they're few - the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, three bedrooms. Enough, she thinks. The two youngest share. She opens the door - Soda's bed unmade, but Pony's neat, as always. She smiles, walks in, strokes her hand over the cover.

Another door, and voices, reveals that her boys are back. She meets them. Darry's cheeks are red after the football game, Soda does nothing but smile. Pony remains in the back, her little shy boy.

"Hungry boys?"

Of course they are. She makes them dinner, they chug it down. They head out, Darry to Paul, he yells, Soda back to Steve, he sings, and her eyes goes to the table and the last one. He sits still, stares at his untouched food.

"What is it, honey?" she asks, and he turns his eyes to her, oh, they're so sad. "What happened?" she whispers, and he says-

"Please, Ma."

She freezes. She should have known. "No," she says. "Not yet." She reaches out, she wants to touch him, but he sighs and rises, walks away.

xXx

They sit together in the couch, watching something on TV, she puts her arm around his shoulders.

"When?" he asks with his little voice. "Tomorrow?"

She just holds him tighter, leans down to kiss his forehead. Not yet, sweetheart.

"I'm cold," he says, and she can feel it.

"Just a little bit longer," she says. "Just a little bit longer."

"Okay," he answers. "Promise me."

But she can't. She did another promise when he was born, not fulfilled yet. He must understand. He must.

"I can't promise, Ponyboy."

They sit still, stare, the people on the TV live their lives.

xXx

"Mooom!" Soda yells, and she rush. She stops in the doorway, prepares to see damage, prepares to see hurt or blood, but there's neither and she puts a hand over her racing heart, trying to calm it down.

"Don't scare me like that, Soda!"

"I'm sorry." He turns his pleading eyes at her. "Where's my black shirt, Mom? I know I saw it yesterday!"

"Ask your brother."

"He wouldn't take it, it wouldn't fit on 'im," Soda laughs.

She smiles, that's true. Pony's tiny, still.

xXx

Everyone is out, but Pony is home with her. He follows her and stands behind her when she's doing the laundry and the dishes, when she bakes and cooks, when she's on the phone with a friend. His face is grave, solemn, so young.

"Mom," he says when she hungs up.

"I don't wanna hear it, Ponyboy," she tells him fiercely. "Not now. Not today."

"But-"

"No, Ponyboy!" She didn't mean to yell, but she did, and she puts one hand to her mouth, the other she reaches out, trying to find his shoulder, but he jerks away.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. "I'm so sorry for everything." But he only glares.

"You're not," he says. "You're not sorry, Mom."

And she must admit, she's not.

xXx

In her dreams, he stares at her with big, green eyes. Just stares. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes... they're telling her everything. She knows what he wants, what she can't give him.

So in the morning, before anyone else is up, she sneaks into his room. Soda's asleep, his lightly breaths are soothing, but Pony lies awake, on his back. Staring.

She sits down on the bedside, tugs his quilt higher up, to his chin, she leans forward, down, to kiss his cheek.

"My beautiful boy," she whispers.

He doesn't answer. She knows he's mad, she knows it's because she's selfish, but how could she not be?

"I carried you," she says. "I gave you another promise."

"I don't want it." He turns his gaze away from her, stares into the wall instead.

It hurts. His voice, his action, it hurts.

xXx

She loves when her boys are out in the back yard, playing. Darry and Soda throw the football, sometimes their friends are here too, playing with them.

But Pony only watches, always. He sits on the steps to the back door, or on the grass next to the fence, watching as they're playing. They never ask if he wants to be with them, and he never asks if he's allowed. She's a bit sad for that, but it's natural, he's younger than them.

They don't want to break him, she thinks, wish for it to be true.

But she knows why they're ignoring him.

I'm the only one that wants him, she thinks. He should be more grateful.

He's not. He's never grateful. He always asks her when.

He doesn't know that the answer is never.

xXx

He starts to get hollow. He's so quiet now. He's just big eyes that follows her, and she wakes up in the nights, hear him crying. She puts her fingers into her ears, she doesn't want to hear it.

Shut up. Shut up. Please, baby. Shut up!

xXx

"Are you coming?" Darrel says. His face is grave, and behind him, she sees Darry and Soda.

"I have to finish the cake," she smiles. "He loves chocolate cake." She looks at her little boy, sitting by the table. Pony stares down at the table top, his face so pale. His little hands are clenched in his lap.

"Baby-" Darrel starts, but she puts up a hand. Stop.

"I don't wanna hear it!"

"You can't do this anymore," he says, whispers, and his eyes are sad. "You scare the boys."

"I have to whip the cream." She turns her back on him, hear him sigh. One second, two seconds, three and four, then she hear the footsteps, the door. She's relieved. But only for a second.

"Mom." Even his voice is thinner. It breaks her heart.

She swallows. "Yes, baby?"

"Mom, it's time."

She drops the bowl on the floor, cream splatter all over. "It's not." She whirls around, goes down on her knees, throws her arms around him. "It's not time, Ponyboy!"

"It's been a year, Mom."

"A year is not enough. I will give you eighty. Hundred!"

"But it starts to hurt, Mom."

God. Tears burn behind her eyes. "Don't do this to me," she whispers. "Stay!"

He's crying now. "I can't, Mom. It really hurts."

"Pony, baby..." She cradles him. She wipes his tears, feels the little body shiver.

And she's so happy to have him. She remember that day, a year ago. His birthday. His glowing eyes. His happiness.

His little body, so silent, so still on the street. They told her he was dead but she knew better.

She knows better. He's still around, a little shadow in her house, her little boy, begging her to let him go. But she can't. How could she, she loves him too much. She promised to give him everything, the world!

So she strokes his hair, continues to cradle him, back and forth, back and forth, and she knows...

...she will keep him forever.

Sometimes when I need a pause from my longer stories I just write what I have in my head. Sometimes it becomes one-shots, sometimes it becomes nothing. This become... this. I hope you like it.

I don't own The Outsiders!