Work Text:
If there’s one thing I hate with a burning passion, it’s cleaning. But as I stand in the hall between the kitchen and living room, it’s the only thing I can think about. Darry’s working late tonight, and I know he’ll hate to come home to a messy house. Hell, he might even stay up and clean himself. Pony has track after school today, and he won’t get home ‘til dinnertime. That means it’s up to me if I want the place to look decent.
I have a strange relationship with cleaning. My parents made us do chores when we were little, and I’d always whine and try to bargain my way out of them. If Dad promised me an extra game of football after dinner, or Mom promised me an extra cookie for dessert, however, I’d oblige. Dad joked that I became “Cyclone Sodapop”, ‘cause I always got real focused on whatever task I was doing. Even now, Darry still makes us pull our weight, but he lets me off the hook more if I had a long day at work.
I walk into the living room and sit down on the couch. On the coffee table, there’s a basket of laundry that needs folding and sorting before it can be put away. The room itself needs a good sweep, and so does the kitchen. There’s a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink that need washing and drying. The bathroom needs scrubbing and the beds need making. It’s no wonder the house looks this way. There are at least three boys living in it every day.
The more I look at the state of the living room, the more I feel a tightness in my stomach. This is not how I want to spend my first day off in a month. I wanted to sleep in, take a shower, eat some cake, and maybe catch an episode of Star Trek . I know that it’ll be helpful for everyone, and Darry and Pony’ll be real grateful, but I still can’t bring myself to get off the couch. There’s just too many things that need doing, and I only have so much energy. But even as I look up at the ceiling, it feels like the laundry basket is staring into my soul.
Come on, stupid , it taunts, just get off your ass and fold the damn clothes. It’s not hard.
But, to me, it very much is.
I steel myself and take a deep breath.
Okay , I think, on the count of three, I’ll get up.
One.
Two.
Three.
I don’t get up.
One more time.
One.
Two.
Three.
Still not up.
One.
Two.
Three.
Dammit, Soda, why can’t you just stand up?! Darry’s gonna get mad if he has to clean up this place, and Pony’s gonna whine if you try and make him do it. It’s better for everyone if you just do it, so stand up and do it !
I grab at the frayed edges of the couch cushions for support. I can feel my breath getting shallower, and I squeeze my eyes shut. If it were a few simple tasks, I could focus, but the whole damn house? There’s no way I can do that right now. Maybe, if I wish hard enough, the house will magically clean itself. That sounds like something straight out of one of Pony’s stories, but I pray it’s real.
I really wish my brain had an off switch. When it starts running, it just won’t stop. It keeps screaming at me, shouting things like: Stop being a lazy bastard and do somethin’! Pony and Darry would’ve had this place spotless by now! Why can’t you ever do anything useful?
“Soda? Hey, Soda, you alright, man?”
I open my eyes and see my best friend snapping his finger in front of my face. Steve has a confused expression, not too different from his usual glare.
“Yeah, I uh–um–I–I’m–”
“Woah, woah, slow down. Is somethin’ wrong? I thought you were s’posed to have the day off.”
“I do,” I say, rocking back and forth a little now, trying to calm myself. “I just–I–I need to–”
I gestured wildly to the whole house. Steve looked around before understanding what I meant.
“Did Darry put you on cleanin’ duty?”
“No, I–I just–it’s–”
“Hey, deep breaths man, okay? You’re okay.”
He sits down next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. He looks concerned, which is a rare sight. Steve always looks angry, even when he’s happy. I think it comes from dealing with his asshole father, who’s about as predictable as heart attack. I take a few deep breaths, but cling to the couch cushions even more.
“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“It’s…..it’s stupid.”
“No, it ain’t. Whatever it is that’s botherin’ you, I guarantee it’s not as stupid as the time you fell out of a tree tryin’ to sneak into Sandy’s house.”
I laughed a little.
“Yeah, that was pretty stupid. I just……I wanted to clean up the house so Darry doesn't have to do it, or he doesn’t try to make Pony do it, and then they have another fight, ‘cause why wouldn’t they? But I didn’t realize how much shit needs doin’, and it got in my head, and now I’m goin’ crazy over nothin’.”
“It’s not nothin’,” Steve replied. “You got a shitton of boys comin’ through this house every day. Of course it’s gonna get messy. And I can help you if you want. I’m skippin’, anyway.”
“Thanks, but I should be able to do this on my own. I mean, Darry does. I don’t know how, honestly. And Pony could probably focus long enough, too.”
“But you ain’t Darry, and you ain’t Pony, either.”
“I know, Steve. I ain’t smart like they are. I couldn’t stick it out in school when even Two-Bit could. I can’t read books for fun, or make sense of the bills. Hell, I can’t even remember where I put things sometimes. The only thing I’m good at is cars, and all that gets me is stuck in a DX tryin’ to keep us all together. And we barely are. I just……I wish I didn’t feel like such an idiot, like I can’t do anything useful. Sometimes, I think the things the Socs say about us are true. At least, for me.”
“Hey, don’t go talkin’ like that unless you want me to slap some sense into you. You are smart, Soda. Maybe you ain’t booksmart like your brothers, but you know more about people than anyone. You always know when Darry’s had a long day, or when Pony’s got somethin’ on his mind. You can tell when I’ve been through it with the old man, and I need to let it out by punchin’ somethin’. You know when Johnny’s folks’ve been shoutin’ at him, or when Dally’s in a dangerous mood, or when Two-Bit’s had one too many. You’re not an idiot.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re my best friend.”
“Does that make it a lie? Soda, we’ve been friends since first grade. I’d never lie to you, cross my heart.”
“Thanks,” I say, giving him a half-hearted smile. “I still feel like that a lot, though. Like I’m not enough. It’s hard to drown it out when both my brothers are goin’ to work and school and doin’ things worthwhile.”
“Wow, workin’ with me ain’t worthwhile? I’m offended,” Steve says with a mock scoff.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just………I don’t want to end up like my dad, not finishin’ high school and then gettin’ stuck in some dead end job, breakin’ my back all day to barely make ends meet. It’s what he did, and it’s what Darry does. I don’t mind workin’ at the DX or anything, but I want it to be enough.”
“Well, it is. Just ‘cause you ain’t goin’ to college or nothin’ doesn’t make your work count less. Soda, you’re the light that keeps us all together. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I promise, you’re enough just bein’ you. You ain’t gotta be gettin’ straight As or bringin’ home six figures to prove it.”
“Thanks, Stevie,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. He pulls me in for a hug, a rare occurrence of affection from him.
“Of course, man. Now, you still want help pickin’ up around here? We’ll get it done quicker together.”
“We always do, don’t we?” I say, shaking my head.
“What do you say we make things interesting? Last one to finish his chores owes the other a Pepsi.”
“You’re on.”
I finally stand up, and my legs shake with relief. Relief that my best friend is here to help me, like he always does. Relief that I’m not alone.
We divvy up tasks, moving from room to room at lightning speed. Half an hour in, we put on an Elvis record, and something inside me awakens. As I sort and fold the laundry, the combination of a good song and Steve’s presence unlocks Cyclone Sodapop. My brain zeros in on the laundry, grabbing, folding, and sorting until I blow through the whole bin in fifteen minutes. Itching for more, I sprint to the kitchen to get started on the dishes.
“Damn,” Steve calls, still sweeping the floor, “I never thought I’d see Sodapop Curtis excited about chores.”
I don’t answer him. All I can think about is how good it feels to throw myself into something like this. It feels like a superpower. If Darry and Pony’s strengths lie in hard work and meticulous creativity, then I think mine lies in giving my all to whatever I do.
After about another hour or so, the house looks much tidier. The beds are made just the way Darry likes them, the bathroom is near spotless, the kitchen sink is empty, all the laundry is put away, and the whole place smells a lot nicer than it did three hours ago. I lean against the doorframe with a broom in hand, taking it all in. Steve slides in behind me, holding an empty pillowcase.
“Well, I guess we did it,” he says.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the refreshin’ Pepsi I’ll be drinkin’ tomorrow,” I reply.
He smacks the side of my head with the pillowcase.
“Hey, you came up with the bet in the first place!” I shout, turning around.
“Yeah, well, that was before you blew through all the dishes and laundry in under an hour.”
I run to the couch and grab a pillow. I smack his shoulder with it.
“If you want to take this outside, you’ll have to deal with Darry when you mess up the lawn.”
He doesn’t answer me, just grabs another pillow. We run around the living room, dodging each others’ blows. It almost feels like we’re back in elementary school, playing tag at recess, when all either of us really had to worry about was a scraped knee. I tackle Steve and pull him into a headlock beside the coffee table.
“Holler,” I say as he squirms, trying to get out of my hold.
“Not on your life,” he grunts.
The door opens and footsteps come to a halt next to us.
“Soda? What’re you doin’ now?”
I roll sideways a little to see Ponyboy staring down at us. His copper hair is fighting back against the grease he put in it this morning, falling in his face in little strands. His t-shirt is tinged with sweat around the collar, the mark of a long practice.
“Just makin’ sure Steve here keeps up his end of the bargain. Ain’t that right, Stevie?”
“That’s your point of view,” he grumbles, giving up the fight. I stand up, dust off my jeans, and ruffle Pony’s hair.
“How was practice, Pones?”
“Fine. Coach made us run double laps, though. Says it’s pre-trainin’ for next season, like we ain’t all gonna practice over the summer or somethin’.”
“Well, you’re a shoe-in for next year, kid, I can tell you that much.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he likes it. He glances around the room, as if taking in the cleanliness for the first time.
“Did you actually pick up around here?” He asks.
“Sure did.”
He looks at me gratefully with those big, green eyes of his.
“Thanks,” he says softly. “I thought Darry was gonna make me do it.”
“Of course, Pones. Though, if you wanna help fix up the living room again before he gets home, I’d appreciate it.”
“No way. It’s your mess, ain’t it?”
“Come on,” I whined, putting on my best puppy dog eyes. “I’m your big brother. Don’t you love me?”
“I do, but—”
“Ah, no buts. You said you’d do it. He said he’d do it, right Steve?”
“Sure did,” said Steve, who’d taken up my old spot next to the doorframe.
“Okay, but if Darry gets on my ass again about my homework, I’m blamin’ you both.”
He helps me pick up the pillows and move the rug back to where it was. Steve and I decide to bust out a deck of cards and play some poker. Pony, studious as ever, retreats back into his room to do his homework.
“If I hear y’all wrestlin’ again, you’re on your own,” he says.
“Love you, too!” I call after him as he goes down the hall.
“Kid’s real smart,” remarks Steve as he shuffles the cards.
“Sure is,” I say. “He’s the reason I work so hard. If anything I do gives him a chance of gettin’ out of here, then I’ll work myself into the ground.”
Steve gives me another rare, soft grin before we dive into the game. I think about my brothers. How much Darry works, how much of himself he sacrifices for our sake. How much Pony dreams, how even he knows there might be something better out there waiting for him. But Steve’s right. Someone’s gotta be in the middle, pulling them together so they don’t push themselves apart. And maybe, by doing that, all the times I understood how they felt or offered them comfort was good enough. Maybe I don’t need some big fancy diploma or an A+ report card to prove it. Maybe, just maybe, being a brother is enough. Being Sodapop is enough.