Paul's Perspective

Meredith
March 13, 2008
Period # ¾


Paul’s Perspective

The night of the rumble was exceptionally clear. The stars were shining brighter than anyone had ever seen them, a thousand diamonds strewn across a dark, silky blanket. I think it was like that for a reason, so we could find our way. Oh gosh, now I’m sounding like one of those Greasers.
As I walked out the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. I looked the same as always; clean-cut blonde hair, freshly shaved, and neatly dressed. I wore my best jacket because I wanted to put those Greasers in their place. Some of the guys wear big rings on their fingers, but I don’t. I think that’s too flashy. I pretty much look the same as most of the guys, and no one would ever say it, but that’s part of what makes us a group. My evaluation ended as I heard the unmistakable honk of the Mustang.
“Hey, hurry up Paul! Those hoods are already at the lot,” I heard one of the guys, I think it was David, yell.
“I’m comin’,” I hollered back, and I walked out the door, towards the blue car.
Sliding into the back seat, I gave my buddies a nod. We didn’t talk the whole way to the lot. I think it was cause we were all thinking about what was going to happen. I was thinking about more, though.
How did it get this way? When did we start skipping Friday night movies with the girls to fight? Why are we even fighting? The truth is, I didn’t know. I had always done it because that’s what the guys always did. I didn’t really feel anything, though. I couldn’t feel anything, anymore.
A playful punch in the ribs shook me out of my deep thoughts.
“Come on, Paul. We’re here. Get ready, man.”
I looked out the freshly cleaned window, and into the lot. A group of Greasers stood in the far edge, casually leaning on each other while having a smoke. They looked tough, standing there, lit by the glowing moonlight. But I could see right through them. They were scared as heck. Just like me.
We straightened out our jackets, and began to stride over, trying to look casual and intimidating at the same time. I couldn’t really tell if David, Matt, John and the rest of the guys were scared like me. Funny, isn’t it; how I could tell that the Greasers were terrified, but not my own buddies.
There wasn’t much talking. I could hear the hushed murmurs of some kid-Grease in the back of the group, but other than that, the night was silent.
We stood there, two entirely different worlds facing each other, ready to fight. But fight for what? For brags? For territory? For pride? For Bob?
After an intense silence, a large, broad shouldered Grease emerged from the darkness. He was muscled, and he wore a tight black T-shirt. Gosh, he looked like he could take out any one of us. He walked into the moonlit circle, and I realized who he was.
“I’ll take on anyone,” he said. His voice was steady and confident. No one stepped forward.
Darry Curtis. It was Darry Curtis, the quarterback. A sharp pang of sadness shot through me. Darry and me had been on the team together, had been buddies.
I remembered that one football season. Darry had always been quiet, but we were pals, before the world divided, that is. After practice, we would stay on the muddy field and pass. We had nowhere to go. We just loved the crisp autumn air, and the rough feel of the football. He ended school with a full-ride to college, he was good at football, and I had always envied him. He didn’t go. Something about his parents, and he needed to be at home with his kid brothers. Darry dropped the chance of a lifetime for his family. I envied him for that, too. I had never had someone care that much about me. I mean, sure Pop was paying for college (and just about everything else), but that wasn’t enough. He didn’t care about me like Darry cared about his brothers. For the first time since that season, I missed him.
Then the anger came. He was a Greaser, and some of his hood buddies had killed Bob. I could never forgive him. He was nothing but a violent, no-good hood. All of my fear drained, I felt nothing but rage. I stepped forward.
“Hello, Darrel,” I said, almost subconsciously. My emotions had taken over. Right then I could see the ice and hate he had in his cool blue eyes. It was directed at the guys. It was directed at me.
“Hello, Paul,” he responded, a threatening tone coming over in his voice. We both glared at each other, not saying a word.
That football season went by my eyes; the feeling of friendship I had once felt was gone. It was replaced with hatred.
I guess I can’t name what I was feeling at that moment. I wanted to hate Darrel Curtis. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it.
I heard a good-looking hood gasp, and whisper to the kid. Everyone gathered around, closing us off. It was at that moment that I realized we were closed off from the rest of the world. It was all about the Socs and the Greasers, about fighting and hatred. Nothing else mattered anymore. It was this realization that almost made me step back and walk away, but before I knew it, Darry was moving.
He was slowly circling around the ring of light, a vicious look on his face. I began to circle, too.
Everything else just stopped. No one else was there. It was just Darry and me. We were buddies again, just goofing around….
And then there was a hard, rugged punch to my head, and I was back. I was back and ready to fight.