Johnny at the Fountain

By Bryan

“Hey look,” Bob said, “It’s those little greasers that picked up our girls.”
“You better watch it Soc,” I warned, “Your outta your territory.”
“No,” Bob said, slightly swaying, “you’re the ones that are in trouble.”
They started to move in.
“You know what a “greaser” is,” Bob taunted, “White trash with long hair.”
Of all the things people have said to me, nothing struck me as hard as that. I almost winced. Ponyboy looked like he was about to explode with anger. I was scared to death, but in a fight, you never show fear. If the Socs senses that you’re scared, they’ll be even more reckless.
“Okay, I understand now. You need five big, strong, rich Socs just to beat up two so called pieces of trash?” I taunted back, “Man, I guess Socs are weaklings after all.”
“Yeah, I guess so Johnny,” Pony said, “the Socs probably ain’t nothin’ more than white trash with mustangs and madras.”
“You two shut up, or before you know it, you guys ain’t gonna have a throat to talk with,” Randy shot back. I inwardly shivered at the thought of the gang finding us lying on the ground with our throats slit.
“Man, are you two dirty,” said Bob smiling, “Could bathe now and then you know. Hey Dave, lets help out these little greasers for once. Give him a bath in the fountain.”
When Pony and I heard him, we started to run. Even though they were mostly drunk, the Socs soon had us cornered. We were outnumbered 5:2, but we tried to fight anyway. I got loose and started to run, but I tripped. When I looked behind me I discovered that no Socs were chasing me, but instead were “bathing” Ponyboy. From the sound, it seemed like he was being drowned! I didn’t know what to do, but then my hand brushed across my switchblade in my back pocket. Well, what was I supposed to do with that? I took it out anyway and ran towards the Socs. I tried threatening them with my knife, but they didn’t even respond. At that point, Pony’s body was limp. I knew he would be dead in a couple minutes if I didn’t do anything, so out of sheer desperation, I stabbed Bob. Bob immediately collapsed. Even though the death was quiet, it seemed to draw everyone’s attention to it. The scene before me seemed unreal, as if it were some old movie. The sound of running footsteps quickly brought me back to real life. The Socs were running to their car. I quickly pulled Ponyboy out, who sputtered for a minute, and then lay still, breathing silently. As I put him down, I convinced myself that I probably didn’t kill the Soc. Then I turned around. The body was still lying there with my blade stuck in there. When I took the knife out, it was red to the hilt with blood. There was a pool of darkness slowly spreading from Bob’s wound. I sat down next to Pony and tried to calm down. I was shivering, from the cold or the murder I really don’t know.
My mind was undergoing a mental rumble. Did Bob deserve this, or did he not? A couple months back, he had jumped me and almost killed me. I still remember the glint of his rings reflecting the bright moonlight. And today, he almost killed someone else. Was it good that there was one less potential murderer, or was it better to let him live and maybe kill someone? The side that was against the death had a large advantage over the other side: guilt. When this was introduced into the rumble, it was as if one side suddenly had a couple heaters. This gave the side a big advantage. Soon, the side against death had won. This didn’t do anything to help the guilt, it just made it worse. Made it worse to the point where I knew it would stay with me forever, like a deep, ugly scar.
At this point, Ponyboy was stirring. He sat up and shook his head as if he was trying to clear his head. I don’t really blame him, considering the fact he almost got drowned. He was just sitting there shivering in his soaked sweatshirt, looking around. It was only then that he noticed me. I must have not been lookin’ so good, cause he seemed startled.
“Hey Johnny, what happened?”
“I killed him. I killed that boy,” I said slowly. Pony then looked and saw Bob doubled up on the cement, a large pool of dark blood still slowly spreading. He then looked at my hand. I looked down too, and saw my hand still clutching the switchblade that had claimed the handsome Soc’s life. At the thought of that, I dropped the switchblade. It dropped with a clatter that echoed around the deathly silence of the park.
“Oh Johnny, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Ponyboy said, looking a little green.
“Go ahead, I won’t look.” With that, Pony turned around and threw up quietly.