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Soda remembers the first time he ever tasted alcohol.
~.~
It was a hot summer day and he was about fifteen. Someone had busted the fire hydrant and everyone was running around, roughing it and having a blast for however long they had until the cops showed up and they needed to scatter. Some kid had, foolishly, challenged Soda to a race to the end of the block and back. Soda was readily enthusiastic to agree, but before he got the words out, Steve was jumping in to insist they put some money in the game. It didn’t take long for Two-Bit to catch on and kick it up on a notch.
Suddenly Steve and Two-Bit were taking down who was putting money on who and how much, greasers pulling out whatever spare change they had or begging a friend for some so they could get in on the action. People were assigned to the starting/finish point and the turning point to ensure no cheating occurred. The rest of them were all lined up and down the sidewalk, forming a wall of cheers.
Soda and the kid stood side by side, then someone put their fingers in their mouth and whistled and they were off - sprinting down to the end of the block. The hardest about it, Soda realized, was keeping your grip on the wet sidewalk. But he quickly caught the rhythm for it and soared through the race.
It was close, but there was no question of who won. Soda fully crossed the finish line a full two strides before the kid, resulting in a comedic cacophony of cheers and groans. Two-Bit and Steve dispersed the money amongst the winners. It was the most math Soda had ever seen either of them do.
Steve handed Soda his share of winnings, which he quickly shoved in his pocket without counting. How could he care about money when he was reveling in having won? Then Two-Bit shoved a can in Soda’s hand, which Soda gratefully took a sip on, thirsty from the heat and the race.
Then Soda was spitting it out onto the ground, mouth hanging open and eyebrows knitting together in disgust. “What is that?” he said, spitting again to make sure it was all out of his mouth.
Two-Bit cackled, taking the can back. “It’s a beer!”
“I thought it was a Coke!” Soda exclaimed, wiping the remnants off his lips with the back of his hand.
“Not everything in life is a soda, Sodapop,” Two-Bit said with a laugh, giving Soda a clap on the shoulder. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”
“You should have seen your face,” Steve said with a chuckle.
Soda rolled his eyes. “Careful - he’s probably planning on getting you next,” he said with a gesture towards Two-Bit.
Two-Bit held up his hands innocently. “I would never,” he said with a smirk and then a quick wink. Steve gave him a playful shove, which Two-Bit answered with an even harder shove, and then the pair were into it, wrestling as they dissolved into hysteric laughter.
Soda just shook his head, trying to think how he could get the taste out of his mouth. “I’ll be back,” he said quickly when the answer struck him. He jogged over to the fire hydrant and knelt down, messily sucking some water into his mouth from the impromptu fountain. The rest of him was already soaked, so it didn’t really matter.
He knew Two-Bit hadn’t meant anything by it, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit upset. One moment he was breathing in victory, like he was walking on a cloud and on top of the world. The next he was spitting and disgusted. The cloud burst and he was back on the ground, drenching himself in cold water to come back to reality.
Oh, well, he thought. I’ll get over it. Then he smirked. This was Two-Bit he was thinking about. I’ll get him back. And then he felt much better.
He jogged his way back to his friends who were still cackling and fighting. “Here I come!” he shouted, then threw himself into the playful brawl.
~.~
Soda remembers the first time he chose to drink alcohol.
~.~
Sodapop wasn’t twenty-one yet, but that didn’t matter so much when you were overseas and wiping blood off your helmet that belonged to someone you had just shot.
He had been tending to his duties post-combat, trying not to think of all the life he had seen leave people’s bodies. Then the communal flask was suddenly being offered to him, and for the first time in his life he couldn’t think of a good reason not to take a drink.
He took it with a grateful nod, hoping no one noticed this was the first time he had accepted the offer. He brought the flash to his lips and tossed his head back, allowing the poison to fill his mouth, praying that every drop would be a second free of the horrors flashing across his mind like a slide show he couldn’t control.
He brought his head back, squeezing his lips shut and passing the flask on. He swallowed the alcohol with a hard gulp, the fiery sting covering every part of his mouth and working its way down his throat. It made him feel a bit sick, like maybe his stomach was going to force it all back up in a moment.
But at least he felt sick because of something he had chosen to do, not all the things he had been forced to do. There was something a little comforting about that. Then, strangely, he found himself thinking of Two-Bit, how the guy always seemed to have a drink within reach. It was starting to make sense to Sodapop why someone would do that.
As the alcohol settled, the sickness turned into a pleasant warmness. He went back to cleaning his helmet. Everything felt just a little bit further away. And with how horrific everything had been with no signs of stopping, Sodapop was going to take every bit of help he could get.
~.~
Soda remembers the first time he bought alcohol in Tulsa.
~.~
Pony was away at school. Darry was at work. And Soda was alone at home on the couch. He had never much liked being alone, always preferring to be around his family and friends. But he had always tolerated it. Except now it felt different.
The Curtis house had never felt so empty. Not even the first time he was home alone after Mom and Dad died felt anything like it did now.
The TV was on but he wasn’t watching it. All he could do was replay the memories in his mind. And while the worst of them were still blocked by a wall, the ones he allowed in were still too much. And the ache in his leg and in his arm didn’t help. Even if he managed to stop the memories, his body wouldn’t let him forget.
He had only been home a week but it felt like he had lived centuries since then. Nothing was the same. Pony was in college, all grown up yet still a kid in his memory. Darry had been promoted, working less hours for more money. Someone had taken his position at the DX, and while Steve said he’d do anything for Soda to get his job back, it didn’t much matter. He was in too much pain anyway to handle the work.
Besides, no one was really gunning to welcome a Vietnam vet back home.
That was what finally made Soda jump up from the couch with the jolt. He grabbed some cash and the keys and was out the door, his course set. He had never been there but he knew where it was, having passed it many times growing up.
He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a killer - what he had done, he had to do. He was forced to. The draft had made him, the government had made him.
But civilians weren’t ready to hear that. It was easier to just write all of them off. Ignore them into oblivion, if they were lucky. And if they were unlucky…well, he didn’t want to think about what people were capable of when they got a certain idea into their head.
Then a bell above his head rang, announcing his entrance before he even realized he had opened the door. He took a few steps in, slowing to a stop. The small storefront had a stale smell, the floor under his boots scuffed and dirty. And he was surrounded by what might as well have been endless aisles of liquor.
He wandered the aisles, looking for a familiar bottle with a low price tag. He hadn’t drunk since coming home. He had never drunk on U.S. soil, unless you counted that one prank from Two-Bit about ten years ago now.
No, he had only ever drunk in Vietnam with the troops.
But that was about to change.
Finally, he grabbed a simple bottle of vodka and went to the register. He paid, receiving his change and shoving it into his pocket. The cashier placed it in a paper bag, and Soda was out the door without having said a word. Normally when he went to buy things, he struck up a conversation and flashed that charming smile and always gave a “thank you.” But not now. Not for this.
He started on his way home. With Pony at school, he had a room to himself. That would make it easy to hide from Darry. He wasn’t sure why but it wasn’t even a question that he couldn’t possibly tell Darry about this. Not anyone. This was just for him.
Once inside the house, he went straight for his room and locked the door. He collapsed onto the bed, sitting himself up against the wall with the pillow behind his back. He pulled the bottle out of the bag, tossing the brown paper aside and cracking open the bottle. Just the breaking of the seal made him finally breathe a little deeper.
He brought the bottle to his lips, the burning across his tongue a relief. A cleansing. There was a comfort to it. So he continued on that way for some time, going between good strong drinks and leaning his head back, closing his eyes and breathing and finally feeling some kind of calmness.
After some time, his head felt fuzzy and warm and his limbs tingled more than hurt. He finally put the lid on the bottle and placed it to the side without a look. As he did, he felt something that wasn’t the bottle or the bed. He glanced over, remembering what it was just as he looked.
Great Expectations.
Pony must have left it there when he last visited. Soda didn’t have the heart to move it. It was one little sign that his brother had been here since he’d left.
He slid down from the wall, lying on his side and resting his head on the pillow. He reached out to the book and pulled it close to his chest, holding it just as he had held Pony so many nights for so many years. Then he closed his eyes and, mercifully, sleep found him.
~.~
Soda remembers the first time someone saw him with alcohol.
~.~
It hadn’t really been a choice. It hadn’t been a confession. It had been more like…getting caught. But at least he was caught by someone who understood.
It was months later and he had become a regular at the liquor store - the silent boy in cowboots with a distance in his eye that didn’t fit his age. It had become a habit. Any night that Darry was at work or out somewhere, Soda locked himself in his room, drank, and tried to forget.
But he never drank when Darry was in the house. That was a rule. Especially because Pony would be visiting soon and back in the room. Then he definitely wasn’t going to be able to drink.
At least, not in the house, he thought, then tried to brush it away. It was already bad enough. He knew it wasn’t good for him. But neither were the flashbacks. At least the alcohol gave him some comfort, however temporary it was.
He was on his way home with a paper bag in hand, enjoying the cool breeze that drifted across the slowly warming weather. The sun had met the horizon and it would soon be back. He limped his way down the street, the pain a little worse than normal tonight.
He looked at the street lights and the cracks in the sidewalks. He looked at every passing car, trying to estimate what year it was. He was still a car guy. That hadn’t changed. But he was in no place to hold down a job with his injuries. That was one of the things he hated the most. If he had been standing just a few feet away, been just a little faster, then he never would have been hit at all. Sure, maybe he would still be overseas right now instead of back at home, but at least he would have the hope of going back to a normal life when he came home.
There was no chance of that now.
He winced as his next step sent a particularly painful jolt through his leg. That was the final trigger. He held up the bag and cracked open the bottle, taking a long swig. He had always waited to drink until he was in his room with the door locked. But not anymore.
He was only a few blocks from home, walking more easily now that he had something else to think about. He kept his eye on the road, even though every car made him feel worse about not having the job he wanted so badly.
Then a familiar car came along and he prayed that the man inside didn’t see him. He put his head down, as though that would somehow make a difference. But to his disappointment, he saw the car slow down and come to a halt behind him.
Soda wanted to break into a sprint and disappear, make it home and lock himself away. But doing that would give away that something was wrong. So instead he turned around and walked towards the car, throwing on a smile as Two-Bit got out of the car.
“What are you doing out here, Two?” Soda said, trying to feign a tone of casual curiosity.
“I was about due for a ride, Marcia offered to watch Atticus,” he explained, unable to stop the smile that grew on his lips from mention of his wife and son.
Soda nodded. “That’s nice,” was all he managed to say.
“What about you?” Two asked with a subtle yet meaningful gesture towards the paper bag.
“Oh,” Soda started, searching for a lie. “I was just short a few groceries, I’m heading home.” He started to take a step back, desperate to get out of this conversation.
If anyone were to see through him, it would be Two-Bit. When he married Marcia, his drinking improved significantly. Then, when Atticus was born, the man quit drinking altogether. It was a good thing. It got pretty bad. Soda didn’t like to think about those years for Two-Bit.
Something in Two-Bit’s face changed and Soda’s heart sank.
“Groceries?” Two-Bit repeated, though Soda could tell he knew the truth. He was giving him a chance to come clean.
But all Soda said was, “Yeah.”
Two nodded slowly, thinking for a moment. Then, with a voice so gentle it almost didn’t sound like him, said, “Groceries you gonna be twenty-one to buy?”
It was like everything froze. Even the breeze stilled. The two young men stared at each other, Soda feeling caught. He didn’t know what to say to that.
“You don’t gotta lie to me, Soda,” Two said softly. “You might wanna lie to Darry or Steve or whoever. But you ain’t gotta lie to me. Okay?”
Soda nodded and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He had been ready to be judged. Shamed. Met with anger. Instead, Two-Bit just…noticed.
“I…I understand,” Two-Bit continued. “You know that, right?”
Soda nodded, sniffing back a tear to keep it from falling. He hoped it was dark enough now and that they were far enough away that Two-Bit couldn’t see he was about to cry.
“Okay. Long as you know that,” Two-Bit started back for his car. He opened the door, but looked back at Soda. “You wanna go for a ride? I won’t even make you talk,” he said with a clever but well-meaning smirk.
Soda still stood there for a moment. All he wanted was to be in bed with a head so fuzzy it couldn’t make out any memories, limbs so warm they couldn’t feel pain anymore. But at the same time, he couldn’t remember the last time he had really spent time with someone. Everyone was always busy. And when they weren’t, Soda just wanted to be in his room with a drink.
So bravely, silently, Soda got in the car.
They didn’t say anything. Just drove. Soda wondered what Two-Bit was thinking about. He didn’t want any of his friends to be worried about him. They didn’t deserve that. This was his problem to deal with, his burden to carry. Everyone had enough of their own problems. It wasn’t fair to make them deal with his too.
After quite some time, Two-Bit finally drove them back to the Curtis house. The car rolled to a stop. Soda started to open the car door but paused, turning to look at Two-Bit. Then he said his first words the whole evening:
“Are you gonna tell anybody?” he asked, his voice like a kid who had just been caught with something they shouldn’t have.
“Not unless you want me to,” Two-Bit answered simply.
“Don’t,” came the immediate reply.
“Okay,” Two-Bit said with a nod. “I won’t.”
Soda nodded a silent thanks. He swung his feet out of the car but paused again as Two-Bit said one last thing.
“Soda. You can always come to me, okay? Any time, any day. I’ll be there. And when you’re ready…I can help. I’ve been through the exact same thing and I found my way to the other side of it. You can too. But it doesn’t happen alone. You hear?
“Yeah, I hear,” Soda replied quietly.
“Good. That’s all I need. Now go to sleep, okay? It’s late as hell.”
Soda nodded. He got out of the car, starting to close the door but stopped again. He leaned his head down so he could see Two-Bit, even though he couldn’t quite look him in the eye right now. Then he quickly said, “Thanks, Two,” and closed the door before his friend could see that he was crying.
Soda dashed inside and into his room, locking the door. He took his boots off and changed his clothes, then got in bed and started to drink, the habit stronger than his will. But by the time sleep found him, he noticed he had drunk less than usual. Maybe that was the start of something.
~.~
Soda remembers the first time he talked to someone about his drinking.
~.~
It was summer now and with Pony home it was getting harder and harder for Soda to get his fix. Finally one night he found himself knocking on Two-Bit’s door. He was hot and sweaty from the heat, even though the sun had gone down a while ago, and breathing hard from all the thoughts storming around his head.
The car was in the driveway so he knew Two-Bit was home but he was panicking that he wouldn’t answer the door. He couldn’t stand to be by himself much longer. Something bad was going to happen if he was, he wasn’t sure what it would be but he could feel it.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Two-Bit.
Instead, a little boy looked up at him. Honestly, the sight of the kid made Soda breathe a little easier. He got along great with Atticus.
“Hey, kid,” Soda said with love. “Your dad around?”
Atticus nodded, his curly dark hair bouncing up and down. He turned his head to the inside of the house. “Dad! Soda’s here!” Atticus then backed up so Soda could step inside, and the little boy closed the door behind them.
Soda looked around the house, trying to disguise his frantic nature. He had been here plenty of times, but it felt completely foreign now. Like nothing in front of him was real. Like if he tried to step forward he would be stopped by the canvas everything was painted on.
Then Two-Bit came into his line of sight and things began to feel a little more real. He felt seen. Because even though he hadn’t said anything, the look on Two-Bit’s face told Soda that he understood exactly what was going on.
“Atticus,” Two-Bit said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder as the boy looked up at him. “Go help Mom with dinner, and tell her Soda and I will be outside, okay?”
Atticus nodded. He looked at Soda, then back at his dad. “Is he okay?” he asked quietly, as though he thought Soda might not hear.
Two-Bit nodded. “He will be, yeah - he’s with us, isn’t he?” he said with his classic smirk.
Atticus smiled back and then ran off to the kitchen.
“Come on,” Two-Bit said, throwing an arm around Soda and guiding them out to the small back porch. There were some potted plants and lawn chairs, nothing fancy, but it was certainly cozy and calming.
Soda managed to sit down despite his shaking, Two-Bit sitting next to him. “Thanks,” he said suddenly.
Two-Bit tilted his head. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re here,” Soda answered. He squeezed his hands together, trying to ease his shaking.
“When have I ever not been?” he replied cleverly. Then he continued in a lower voice. “What’s going on, Sodapop?”
Something about hearing his full name made his breath catch and tears well up. He looked up towards the evening sky, hearing a few birds chirping away in the distance, feeling the breeze in his hair. He forced himself to open his mouth, trying to inch closer towards finally voicing at least some piece of the multitude of thoughts racing around his mind. Finally, the words tumbled out of his mouth before they had even formed in his head.
“I just - I don’t know how to do this anymore,” Soda said quickly, sniffing back the tears that threatened to fall.
“What, exactly?” Two-Bit asked gently.
“All of it,” Soda gasped out. “The drinking, the memories, the trying to forget, the hiding, the pain, all of it. I just need everything to just…stop.”
Two-Bit nodded slowly, taking in Soda’s words. “I know that exact feeling,” he then said, his voice so soft it almost didn’t sound like him.
“Does it ever stop?” Soda asked, finally daring to look his friend in the eye. “Or is it just…living with this feeling forever?”
“No,” Two-Bit assured him quickly. “No, it’s not like that.”
“Are you sure?” Soda asked through tears, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah. I mean, it takes a while,” Two-Bit answered with a nod, leaning forward so his words were close to Soda. “And it’s hard as hell. And you’re gonna quit and start again and quit. And it’s gonna be harder every time but you keep doing it. Because you find the stuff that makes it worth it. The stuff that feels better than the drink…the people.” There was a glimmer in his eye and Soda knew he was thinking about Marcia and Atticus.
Soda thought of Pony and Darry. Steve, Ace. Two-Bit - hell, now Marcia and Atticus too. Maybe even Cherry. They were all right there, he knew they were, but it felt like they were planets away. Like he was stranded, suffering all alone with no way to reach out or to even be reached.
But then again. He was talking to Two-Bit now. That was something. At least, he hoped it was.
Soda didn’t know what to say next. But he knew Two-Bit was right. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He lifted himself out of his chair and threw himself into Two-Bit’s arms, letting himself cry into his friend’s chest. Without hesitation, Two-Bit put his arms around Soda, holding him securely. He didn’t try to make Soda say anything. He didn’t even say anything himself. He just held his friend and let Soda cry.
It was the least alone Soda had felt since before the war.