Choices

From the very moment you’re born, it’s like your destiny is already set. If you’re born into a nice, clean-cut, wealthy family, you’re automatically assumed to be successful in life. However, if you’re born with limited means, and live on the crummy side of town, you’re scum -- trash, a delinquent. Whichever word you prefer. No matter what you choose, it’s all the same.

I lived on the North side of Tulsa, Oklahoma with my mom, dad, and older brother. Growing up, I was never allowed out of the house past a certain time because it seemed as every other week, there was some crackpot maniac out loose on the streets; but that just could have been my brother. He had an...odd sense of humor. I found it funny, at least. Come to think of it, we both had an odd sense of humor. My brother Two-Bit is eighteen. His real name is Keith, but since he had a tendency to tell what was on his mind -- to get his two-bits in, that’s how he got that nickname. To tell you the truth, I forgot his name was Keith most of the time, much like he forgot my name was Audrey. When I was a baby, Two-Bit could never say ‘Audrey’, but instead Audie. So, that’s how I got my nickname. Even though the two of us had different fathers, he was still my brother and my best friend. My dad adopted him after he finally married our mom. Two-Bit’s birth dad walked out on our mom before Two-Bit was born. We don’t talk about him much. Rick Mathews has and always will be Two-Bit and I’s real father.

The two of us were only two years apart, so growing up, we did everything together...and still do. I don’t complain much about it though, I really looked up to him. It wasn’t because I was short, either. He was just an all-around good person. A little strange, maybe. But then again, every kid in our neighborhood was; myself included. We were one of the only kids in our neighborhood that actually had a decent home life. Most kids around here had parents that were either drunks, or they abused them. Besides the Curtis boys, they came from a good family. The boys were some of our best friends. Darrel, Sodapop, and Ponyboy. Some of the sweetest, and most handsome boys I know. Sodapop especially. He had those movie star-hunk good looks that seemed to make every girl go gaga over him. The thought of girls doing that made me gag a little bit. I was never super girly. Growing up on the North side, you had to look tuff and be tough. Tuff as in looking cool, tough as in ‘look at me the wrong way and you’ll be six feet under’. I wasn’t that extreme. I still looked scrawny and frail to the guys. Pure and innocent, even. Not that I really was to begin with. I flirted with boys, got drunk and got high. Getting high was especially my favorite. That’s kind of where Two-Bit and I differed, if you can believe that. I had never had sex, either -- another thing that made us different. It never appealed to me, really. I’ve thought about it before, don’t get me wrong, but any guy that I even thought about giving myself up to either thought I was grease trash, or Two-Bit’s kid sister. Technically, I could’ve been both.

I liked a Soc boy once. By Soc, I mean rich kid. It’s a strange mix, a Greaser girl liking a Soc. How common was that? Anyway, we got along real well. I could’ve sworn he liked me back...and then he saw the real me. The Greaser side of me. There was a boy in the hallway at school He thought it was funny to run by me everyday and shout “grease trash” at me, followed by throwing something at me. One day, I decided I’ve had enough. He left school that day with a broken nose and the Soc boy then saw me as a freak. At first, I was kind of bummed that he thought that, but after a while I just gave up and stopped caring.

One thing was for sure: when you grow up on a rough side of town, you need to learn how to defend yourself properly. That means you learn how to use a heater, blade, or even the busted beer bottle near your feet. You also never wanted to walk alone -- especially at night. Boy, if you do, you best be carrying a blade on you. Greasers sure did have it rough, but we wouldn’t dare go down without a fight.

Of course, if you weren’t careful, you’d get hauled into the station by the cops. Those fellas weren’t too sweet. If you’re a Soc, you get off easy. If you’re a Greaser, you’re basically screwed; however, Greaser girls usually were let off a little easier...not that it’s ever happened to me. One boy in our gang, Dallas, had been in and out of jail since he was thirteen. He was currently in jail for beating a Soc half to death up north. He was only seventeen, just a year older than I was.

Dallas Winston -- Dally, as most people called him, was dangerous. Volatile, even. Definitely not a person you wanna look at the wrong way. Depending on his mood, he could be real mean. The type of mean where he would kick a little kid when he’s down, and then proceed to take his lunch money. Needless to say, he was the definition of a juvenile delinquent, like the ones you see in the movies. The bad boy, the one that was always getting himself into trouble. I dug him a lot when I was a kid. I guess I kinda liked the thought about having a bad boy. To him, I was just Two-Bit’s kid sister, despite not being so much of a kid anymore.