The Outsiders Rewrite Laurel G.

Weekly Focus

I walked through the front door to hear the phone ringing obnoxiously.

Breathing a string of curse words to nobody in particular, I set down the grocery bags that swallowed my arms and ran to get the phone.

I answered it somewhat rudely, I have to admit, only hearing an official sounding voice tell me that his name was Dr. Crastal, and that my son was in the hospital with a serious fire injury.

“Son?”

“Johnny Cade? I’m sorry, do I have the wrong number?” He replied apologetically.

“Oh, Johnny. What about him? What kind of stupid trouble has he gotten into now?” I replied with absolutely no hint of emotion.

Johnny had always been a dumb kid, hanging around with those dumb hoodlums every second of his life. He must have gotten jumped again.

Not too long ago, Johnny had been jumped by a bunch of kids. It seemed to have emotionally scarred him.

He was always moping around, afraid of his own shadow. I could honestly care less. Maybe if he had done something with his life, and just happened to get beat up for cash on the street, then I might have some sympathy.

But Johnny deserved what he’d gotten.

“It’s actually quite a long story, but we have Johnny here in the hospital with severe burns and other very serious injuries. He-”

“Ha. What did he do, light himself on fire with a cigarette? What a stupid kid.”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you’re really understanding how serious your sons condition is. We are talking possible death here.

He ran into a burning church to save the children that were inside. It was an extremely heroic thing to do, but he just didn’t get out fast enough. He is unconscious, and has been since we brought him in.”

“Alright fine. I guess I’ll be there, oh, tomorrow afternoon? That sound alright to you?”

“Mrs. Cade, your son is in critical condition. We honestly don’t know how long he’ll be with us. It’s best for you to come as soon as possible,” The doctor replied, shocked at the fact that I wasn’t already rushing out the door.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Crastal, but I am just a little bit busy trying come up with the rent and trying to support my family, and that is as soon as possible. So I will see you tomorrow afternoon. Good Day,” I replied, annoyed.

Maybe Johnny was actually stupider than I thought. Saving children from a burning building? Pah! I’d believe that he had turned into Godzilla and destroyed Tokyo before I believe that.

My son was not a hero. He was a no good hood that couldn’t go a week without getting in trouble with the fuzz.

I walked across the kitchen to grab a notepad and a pen, and then sat down at the cluttered coffee table and began to write.

Johnny,

I don’t believe your story about saving children, o try a new one. Honestly Johnny, why can’t you just be a good kid?

Out of all the problems you’ve caused your father and I since the day you were born, this is by far the worst. Do you have any idea what hospital bills are these days?

Prepare yourself to be hungry for months after this is all over. Why can’t you be like that sweet boy Bob who stops by the 7-11 every Tuesday for a coke with his friends? You don’t see him getting into any trouble.

You don’t see him killing anyone, or getting arrested. After all the trouble we went through to give you food and shelter, this is what we get? You stupid hood.

From Mom

The next day was a hard day at the 7-11. I came so close to getting fired because I almost let some kid get away after he tried to walk out with half the store stuffed down his pants.

I was drowsy; too many sleeping pills last night. Today was the day I was seeing Johnny at the hospital. I was planning to just give him a good old dirty look and hand him the note. When I got to the hospital, they made me wait outside while they got the current visitors out.

Who would be visiting my no good boy?

It was those damn greasers. They walked out looking solemn, but their expressions changed immediately when thy saw me.

I tried to remember their names. I knew the smaller on was named horse boy or something dumb like that, but I couldn’t remember the name of the other boy.

They glared at me with such hate that I felt a serious need to take care of them right there and then, but there was no way I would get away with that in the middle of the hospital. I began to complain.

“I have the right to see him! He is my son! After all the trouble his father and I have gone to raise him, this is our reward! He’d rather see those no count hoodlums than his own folks?”