11

The usual classroom chatter takes place until the bell rings and Mr. Symes yells, "Alright! Everybody in their seats and quiet!"

A handful of teens immediately park themselves in their assigned seats. Others linger around before they finally sit.

Ponyboy Curtis however, was sitting in his seat the entire time, rapidly scratching his pencil into a notebook, not paying attention to anything else.

December 1965
I've been feeling very tired lately. More tired than usual. I sleep all through the night just fine, but no matter what I do, I'm always drowsy.
Soda tells me that sadness makes you tired, and I guess he's right. But I'm not as sad as I used to be. I re-read Johnny's letter to myself every night. I practically have it memorized now. So whenever Dally decides to come back, I can recite it to him, instead of trying to get him to read it.
I'm really worried about Dally. Not because he's run away- he knows how to take care of himself, but I'm worried about his emotions. He may be a tuff guy and all, but his emotions tend to get the best of him. He's been a mess since Johnny died- worse than me, and I know it's affecting him. I could see it in his eyes when I visited him at the hospital a few weeks ago. He's just bottling it all up, and that's not good at all. He's gonna blow up pretty soon. Unless he already has...
I started reading other poems by Robert Frost. Nothing Gold Can Stay will always be my favorite, but I really love one called A Late Walk.

"When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you."

I'm pretty sure the narrator is taking a flower to a loved ones grave. It reminds me of when I visit Johnny's grave everyday. I usually do it late in the evening- after school and after dinner. I'm hardly ever worried about getting jumped anymore. I've had a few 'greaser!' shouts to me, but that word doesn't insult me anymore. In fact, I'm proud of it. Greasers are my family.
When I walk up to the grave yard, I recite the poem in my head:
"When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path."
My eyes scan across the freshly mowed lawn, and the maze of gray headstones. Just across the horizon, I can see the sun going down, turning the sky pink. By the time I get to Johnny's stone, I get a perfect sunset, with various shades of red and orange dipping into the grassy hills. I would-

"Ponyboy?"

Ponyboy's heart leaped at the sound of his name. He glanced up from his notebook to see Mr. Symes standing right above his desk.

"Are you paying attention?"

He couldn't lie. "N-no, sir."

Mr. Symes gave a light sigh, then closed Ponyboy's notebook, and took it off his desk. "See me after class, please."

Ponyboy slumped his cheek into the palm of his hand, and let his imagination navigate him through time. Before he knew it, the bell rang, and every single student nearly bounced out of their seats- all except Ponyboy. He sat there blankly, staring at Mr. Symes' desk.

Mr. Symes combed a hand through what little hair he had as he finished writing a few notes.

He then looked up at Ponyboy, and cleared his throat, "Ponyboy Curtis, you're a great student of mine, but lately you've been really letting yourself go. Now, I understand that your current emotional situation is tough, and may take some healing time, but we're running out of time here. This semester ends in less than two weeks, and quite frankly Ponyboy, you're flunking."

Ponyboy didn't verbally respond, for he didn't really know what to say. Instead, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

Mr Symes sighed, then crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, thinking to himself for a moment.

The ticking of the clock on the wall indicated the few seconds that went by as the silence continued.

Mr. Symes finally spoke, "Here's the deal. As much as I want to do it, it wouldn't be fair of me to just write in a few A's in your report card to bring your average up. All your classmates worked for their grades, so I'll have to make you work for yours as well." He reached below his desk to pull out a sheet of paper from one of the drawers, then he grabs a pencil to write as he spoke, "So, here's your assignment. All I want you to do is write a paper- lets say... At least three pages long- about anything you think is important enough to write about. If you could turn it in to me by next Friday, I can put you're grade in and hopefully I'll be able to at least bump your average to a C." He set the pencil down and held the paper out to Ponyboy. "Sound good?"

Ponyboy stood from his desk and took the paper from his teachers hands. "Yeah, thanks." He said unenthusiastically, then headed out the classroom door.

"Great." He thought to himself, "My first trip to the zoo."

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