sodomhipped | incommunicable past [tex, that was then this is now, the outsiders; gen]

Title: incommunicable past [or read on ao3]

Fandom: The Outsiders

Pairing: Past Ponyboy Curtis/Cathy Carlson, Past Cathy Carlson/Bryon Douglas, Implied Mark Jennings/Bryon Douglas

Rating: Gen

Warning: None

Tags: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Conversations, Exes, Grief/Mourning, Comfort

Summary:

“Hi, Ponyboy. It’s Cathy,” she says, self-consciousness catching up to her only now. After a beat, she adds, “Cathy Carlson.”

『Or, Cathy calls Ponyboy after Mark’s funeral.』

Cathy listens to the hollow sound of ringing in the receiver, certain no one will answer right until the moment there’s a click indicating that someone’s picked up. She knows the voice that comes across the line as well as if she’d heard it yesterday:

“Hello?”

“Hi, Ponyboy. It’s Cathy,” she says, self-consciousness catching up to her only now. After a beat, she adds, “Cathy Carlson.”

“Oh, Cathy,” Ponyboy says, slowly like he’s dazed. “How many years has it been?”

“Too many,” Cathy answers. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked Soda for your number. He seemed suspicious—I guess he thought we’d left off on bad terms.”

“Don’t worry about it. How have you been?”

It’s the kind of question you ask when you don’t have anything else to say. It’s what you say when there’s no common ground and you need a bridge to get through a conversation. So she gives the only answer she can, an answer just to the left of truthful.

“I’m alright.” She lets out a shaky exhale. She feels like she’s been holding her breath since the funeral. “Sorry to call you like this. I couldn’t think of anyone else who knew them both. You’ve heard, right? About Mark?”

“Yeah, my brothers told me,” Pony sounds awkward. He always did struggle with these types of conversations. It was one of the several reasons they didn’t work out in the long run.

“I can’t believe it. You never think someone you know could…” Cathy blinks, telling herself she won’t cry. Not for Mark. She was dry-eyed through the memorial service and when Ms. Douglas crushed her into a hug like a long-lost daughter, so she can hold the tears back now. When she can keep her voice steady, she asks, “Are you planning to visit Bryon? I’m not sure if Darry or Soda told you, but he’s in the hospital. Mark shot him.”

“They mentioned,” Pony answers. “Is he hurt bad?”

“His mom said he’ll be fine, but I don’t know.” She sighs, then admits, “I thought about going, but it’s a long drive and I don’t think he’d want me there anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”

“Maybe,” she says, but she knows better. She remembers how cold Bryon sounded when she asked, Why are you doing this to me? And she had known all along that the reason was Mark. It was always about Mark. And look how that turned out. She clears her throat. “Are you going to visit him?”

“No, I’m not in Tulsa anymore—and I didn’t know him that well. Mark and I were closer.”

“I didn’t know. Where are at you these days?”

“I ended up staying in California after college.”

“That sounds nice. The weather must be great.”

“I like it okay,” he says, but there’s pride warming his voice.

Cathy thinks of her students—the ones who love Oklahoma, and the ones who can’t wait to leave. Funny, she always thought she would be like Ponyboy, studying in a different state and doing interesting things. Of course, she had to stay close to home after what happened to M&M. She doesn’t regret any of her decisions, but it feels strange to look at her own life while talking to Ponyboy about his.

“How are you doing, Cathy?” he asks, and sounds like he really wants to know this time.

“To be honest, I’ve been better. I don’t know why I’m so shook up. I haven’t spoken to either Bryon or Mark in years.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cath. I haven’t talked to Mark since high school either.” Ponyboy sounds so kind and so sympathetic that she remembers why she loved him once. He pauses, and she waits while he thinks. She wonders if he still scrunches his brow when concentrates on saying something the right way. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t sorry to hear about him, ya know? We used to hang out. He copied my math homework before class—even though I wasn’t much good at it myself—and he never finished filling in all the answers. I think the teacher only passed him because she didn’t want to deal with him anymore.”

“And that damn smile of his. He had everyone wrapped around his finger.”

“Yeah, that too,” Ponyboy agrees, wryly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Even if you aren’t close with someone anymore, you knew them, and then they’re gone. That’s always hard.”

Ponyboy would know.

With a sinking feeling in her chest, she hopes she was as compassionate to him as she should have been while they were dating. She remembers the night he confessed his wounds to her with such quiet, serious words—and she had been shocked that he had lost so many people so young. His parents, those two friends of his. They’d been parked on a quiet side street, which was the only way they could get any privacy between either of their busy homes. But she can’t remember what she said in response.

So many funerals for so many boys.

What were the names of his friends? She’s pretty sure one was named Johnny, but what about the other? Something beginning with a “D,” she thinks. Not being able to recall feels like evidence against her.

That’s what starts the tears. She wipes at the wetness on her cheeks, mascara inking the back of her hand in smudged lines.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry,” Ponyboy says. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I know,” she says, voice thick and watery. “Thanks, Ponyboy.”

“For what?”

She could say it’s a relief to talk to someone who understands, but that isn’t quite right. What she really wants is to keep talking—ask him about what he’s been doing and how he’s been. But she knows it’s selfish to want to keep him on the line for her sake.

So instead, she answers, “Thanks for listening. It was good to hear your voice.”