Disclaimer: I do not own "The Outsiders" nor do I own "Summer of '69" by Bryan Adams.

". . . I'd always want to be there/those were the best days of my life . . ."

February 1, 1966

I am washing up the last of the dishes, just looking out the window over the sink at the neighborhood and watching the clouds go by.

Steve and Soda are sitting at the kitchen table, playing cards and wisecracking and Darry is in the living room, reading the paper and listening to the evening news. I don’t understand how he does both at the same time.

Steve’s dad has kicked him out of the house again, but he’s over here for dinner almost every night anyway, so it’s not so different than any other Friday.

“Royal flush,” Steve crows, splaying the cards out dramatically. “Cough it up, Curtis!”

“Ah, man,” Soda groans, pushing a small pile of change toward Steve. “I should have seen that coming when you doubled up.”

Steve just laughs, tipping his chair back on two legs and grinning triumphantly at Soda. Darry walks in, tossing the now folded paper on the counter and whacks Steve in the back of the head, messing up his elaborate coif.

“Put the chair on four legs, grease,” Darry mock-growls.

Steve gives him a hurt-angry look and whips out the comb he constantly keeps in his back pocket and starts to repair his hair.

“Hey, muscles, watch the hair,” he complains.

“Who you calling ‘muscles,’ little man?” Darry says, grinning at Steve.

“C’mon, Darry,” Soda jumps in. “You know the only thing Steve loves more than Evie is his hair...his car...the gang, and ...”

“Shuddup,” Steve says, poking Soda hard in the ribs. “Let’s play cards. Or are you afraid you are going to lose the rest of your money?”

“You mean, I am afraid that I’m gonna beggar you? Boy, I know I am,” Soda smirks, cutting the deck again.

Darry just shakes his head, opening the refrigerator and getting out a pitcher of iced tea. The screen door slams and Two-Bit strolls in.

“Hey, deal me in!” Two-Bit says. “I am about to show y’all the meaning of pain.”

“You mean the pain of watching you attempt to play poker?” Darry cracks as he pours a glass of tea. “Hey Pony, you want any?”

“Pain or iced tea?” I ask.

“Well, now, it looks like you’re gonna get the pain, boy, yes, it sure does,” says Two-Bit, sitting down with Steve and Soda, flipping the collar of his jacket up and leering at me.

I laugh. Two-Bit is a mental case.

“Iced tea,” said Darry, rolling his eyes at Two-Bit’s antics.

“Pour me a glass,” Soda says, dealing the cards.

“Deal Pony in,” says Two-Bit. “I’m gonna take him under my wing and teach him the fine art of playing poker. They don’t call me Deuce Matthews for nothing.”

“They don’t call you Deuce, Two-Bit,” says Steve, putting his comb away, curls restored to their . . . natural state? Soda deals out an extra hand as Darry pours three glasses of tea.

“I’m in,” says Darry.

Soda glances at him in surprise. Darry used to play cards with us all the time, but not so much since Mom and Dad died. Since then he is always too tired.

“What’s that?” I ask, watching a dirty white van with “Simon’s Moving Service” painted in big block letters on the side pull up to the curb next door.

Darry glances out of the window as he puts the pitcher away.

“Looks like someone’s moving in next door,” he says as he hands me a glass of tea.

“That house has been empty for what, three months?” Soda asks, continuing to deal the cards.

“More like four or five,” says Two-Bit, picking up his cards and arranging them carefully.

Darry hands Soda another glass and sits down at the table.

“No one lived there since the Hamiltons moved out before the school year started,” observes Steve, eyeing his cards and tossing a dime into the pot.

Darry picks up his cards and pulls a handful of change out.

“They were nice people,” he says, separating the change into two piles. “Here, Pony you take this,” he says, motioning to the second pile. “I hope these people are more of the same.”

“Mrs. Hamilton brought us a casserole after Mom and Dad died, remember, Darry?” Soda asks, tossing in a second dime.

“Yeah,” says Darry, pushing a dime to the center of the table. “It was a real shame Mr. Hamilton got hurt and couldn’t work anymore.”

A real dog of a station wagon pulls up behind the moving van and I pick up my cards and lean against the sink, so I can keep an eye on what is going on next door. I’ve got the Queen of Hearts, but the rest of it is junk. I think about folding, but decide against it since I’m playing with Darry’s money.

“A dime,” I say, watching as a petite woman with dark brown bobbed hair gets out of the driver’s seat and walks over the moving men, who are starting to carry the boxes up to the porch.

“Didn’t Mr. Hamilton work with you, Darry?” Steve asks, tossing two cards face down onto the table. Soda deals him another pair.

“Yeah, he fell off a roof and messed his legs and back up. He had to go on worker’s compensation,” Darry says, suddenly very interested in his cards. “One, Soda,” he says, pushing a single card toward our brother. Soda deals him another card, looking at him suspiciously. Soda isn’t book smart, but nobody can beat him when it comes to being people smart.

A girl about Soda’s age gets out of the back seat, followed by a little girl of maybe five or six and a little boy around three or four. The two girls look just like the older lady, who must be their mom.

“What was he doing?” Soda asks as he flips three cards at Two-Bit, who picks up the cards, grins and throws another dime into the pot.

“Carrying two bundles of roofing,” Darry mumbles, suddenly very interested in what’s going on outside. “Why isn’t that girl wearing a coat or anything?” He asks, looking at the teenaged girl, who is only wearing a thin sweater and looks cold even from here.

“Two bundles, Darry?” Soda says softly and gives him a telling look. Darry hunches his shoulders, visibly uncomfortable.

“Mr. Hamilton was an old man, more than fifty,” Darry says almost apologetically, looking at Soda. Soda is giving Darry a decidedly unfriendly look.

“Yeah,” Soda says even softer, “he was old, and he was taking risks. He got hurt and his family paid for it.” Soda throws his cards in the middle of the table and stands up. “I’m out. I’m going to go take a walk.”

He heads back toward our room and as he exits, the screen door slams twice in rapid succession.

Johnny and Dally walk in. Dally has the collar of his jacket flipped up and his hair, which he refuses to grease, is kicking up everywhere. As he walks into the kitchen, he lights a cigarette and inhales deeply before digging another one out of a battered pack and handing it to Johnny.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dally asks between puffs.

“We’re playing poker,” Two-bit says, then cracks his knuckles. “You in?”

Dally shrugs and takes Soda’s seat and picks up his cards. “Shit,” Dally says with feeling, before flicking three cards at Steve, who deals him three more.

“You want to take my hand, Johnny?” I ask. Johnny is standing beside me, smoking and watching the game quietly, in that way he has.

“Okay,” he replies. “But don’t you want to play anymore?”

“I’m gonna go check on Sodapop,” I say and Darry gives me a guilty glance before tossing a nickel in the pot.

“Raise,” Two-Bit says as I walk out of the room. “You’re going to miss it, Pony,” he calls after me. “I’m going to school these boys in cards!”

"Yeah, Two-Bit?" Steve says. "Maybe you're the one gonna get schooled?"

"No chance of that, playing against you, Steve-o."

I walk back into mine and Soda’s bedroom, where Soda is laying back on the bed and looking unhappy. Soda is almost always happy-go-lucky, but when he gets moody, his funks have funks.

“Hey, Soda,” I say, sitting beside him. “I thought you were gonna go for a walk.”

Soda rolls over to face me.

“It ain't nothing, Pone."

"Sure looks like it's something, the way you stormed outta there."

"Naw, I just ain't feelin' well, is all."

The way Soda cuts his eyes away from mine when he says it makes me think he's lying. Taking a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, he taps one out and lights it.

Now I know he isn't being straight with me.

"You're a liar, Sodapop Curtis," I accuse.

He glances over at me, exhaling a lungful of smoke, his brown eyes hot with anger.

"You callin' me a liar?"

"Just did, didn't I?"

He sighs, his shoulders slumping and looks away. Soda takes another drag on his cigarette before looking back over at me.

"I worry about you and Darry, probably too much, but y'all are the only family I have left.”

“Nothing going to happen to Darry, Soda. Shoot, he’s Superman!” I said, more to assure Soda than because I believe it.

I mean, I worry about Darry, too, but don’t want Soda to get upset. Everyone thinks I’m the sensitive one, because Soda’s so happy all of the time, but he’s got feelings and worries, too. He just doesn’t share it with a lot of people.

Soda gives me a weak smile.

“You still wanna take that walk? We can go next door and see what’s going on,” I say.

“You must think I’m a real baby, huh, Pony?” He asks ruefully.

“Naw, just a sissy,” I say, grinning.

Soda grabs a pillow and hits me with it so hard I fall off the bed. Laughing, I grab another and whack him back. We begin dueling with pillows and have a pretty good fight going on when Soda swings at me hard and misses, the force of his swing carrying him into the wall. There is a loud thud and I can hear the china in the living room china cabinet make a low, musical protest.

“Y’all quit trying to tear down the house,” Darry bellows from the kitchen. Soda and I look at each other with identical guilty expressions before bursting out into laughter.

When we quiet down, I ask Soda again, “Still want to go for a walk?”

He shakes his head, still grinning. “Nah. I think I’ll go back into the kitchen and watch Two-Bit lose all his money to Dally.”

“Dally didn’t look like he was in too great shape when I left,” I reply, pulling on my sweatshirt.

“Gonna go next door and check out the new family?” Soda asks.

“Yeah, why not? I don’t want to lose all my money to Dally anyway,” I say, walking to the door.

Soda stops to lean against the kitchen entryway. I can see the others crowded around the table, blue cigarette smoke thick in the air. Dally has a large pile of change in front of him.

“C’mon, Pony, Soda, I only need a couple more dollars so I can take Sylvia out so she’ll quit complaining I never take her anywhere,” Dally invites, a cigarette dangling from his lip.

“She complains because you never do take her anywhere, Dally,” says Soda, grinning.

Darry looks relieved to see Soda smiling.

“Don’t want to spoil her,” replies Dally as he takes a long drag.

“No chance of that,” drawls Two-Bit, as he tosses a dime into the center of the table.

“Hey, Soda, come and help me out here,” says Steve, picking two up from the deck. “I’m getting clobbered.”

“I thought you were on a hot streak,” teases Two-Bit, grabbing a new card from the deck. “That’s what you were bragging, anyway.”

“I was beating Soda before you got here,” Steve retorts, pulling his comb out again. Soda strolls over and leans over Steve’s shoulder, but when he sees Steve’s cards, he pulls a funny face.

“Raise,” says Darry, when he sees Soda’s face. Everyone throws in another nickel. “Dally, you know if you try to take Sylvia somewhere on just change, she’ll beat the tar out of you.”

“How is that any different than any other time the two of them go anywhere,” Two-Bit asks.

I shake my head and leave, letting the screen door slam behind me as I walk out. I can hear Dally’s voice, but can’t make out the words. Whatever Dally says is followed by a roar of laughter.

I smile, crossing the yard. The gang is like my family and times like these, when everyone is getting along and having fun, is the closest I’ll ever come to the happiness I felt before Mom and Dad died.