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When he was six years old, Soda went down to the train tracks.
He would play on the tracks, all alone. He didn’t want to bring Steve there. He didn’t know why, at the time. It was his place. He would play there alone. Throw rocks, branches, anything he could. Run around. Climb the trees.
Soda had a lot of energy. He always had a lot of energy. He never understood what it meant to be tired, not really. He would run around for hours and hours. He couldn’t sit still. They’d go to church, and he would have to sit on his hands. He made too much noise, moved around too much, too loud. He had a lot of energy.
So he would play on the tracks.
When he was six and a half, Soda went down to the tracks.
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever done this. He liked the alone time. He liked being able to run around. He liked being as loud as he could, with no consequence. With nobody yelling at him. He liked being able to run, somewhere where Darry couldn’t yell at him. Where Pony wouldn’t be behind him, ready to fall and shatter. He liked being able to run. Soda liked being alone.
He was all alone, on the train tracks, it was normal. It was like every other time. When he was running around, and yelling, and throwing things. And then he heard a noise. A loud, blaring noise. And the ground began to move. He thought the earth would swallow him whole. So he jumped. Far.
His arm hit the ground first. If the ground wasn’t shaking, he thinks you would’ve been able to hear the crack and snap of his bones. He thinks you would’ve been able to hear his screams.
Soda was six and a half when he first learned the train tracks were bad news.
After that, he wasn’t allowed on the train tracks any more. He didn’t care. He would never go back, not if he could help it.
He would never go back.
When Soda was twelve years old, Darry would go down to the tracks.
He wasn’t supposed to know. Their parents didn’t know. Pony was too young to realize. But Soda knew that Darry was something he wasn’t supposed to be.
He wasn’t sure what that thing was, but he knew it was dangerous.
So it makes sense that Darry would go down to the tracks. Soda didn’t like it. He wished that Darry wouldn’t do that. But he couldn’t say anything, because he wasn’t supposed to know. He wasn’t supposed to know that Darry would get hurt. He wasn’t supposed to know that his brother was getting hurt. He wasn’t supposed to know. He wasn’t supposed to know that Darry was going down to the tracks.
Because they weren’t supposed to go down to the tracks. The tracks are dangerous. They aren’t supposed to go down to the tracks. That’s what their parents told them. That’s what their parents told everyone in their gang. That the tracks were dangerous, and they can’t go down. So really, Darry should have listened. Darry should have known, and Soda couldn’t do anything about it anyways.
Soda wished he could have helped, wished he could have kept Darry away from being hurt. But he swore he would never go down to the tracks again, not if he could help it. So he just made comments. Remarks about Darry and his friend, and the train tracks. And Soda didn’t miss the way Darry would tense up and go quiet. Still, like he would break if he moved.
He must’ve realized how dangerous what he was doing was. But danger is to be expected from the tracks. He should’ve known better.
When Soda was sixteen, there was a knock at his front door.
He was alone in the living room. Darry and Pony were in the kitchen. Pony was reading a book, and Darry was washing the dishes. It was Darry’s birthday. Soda was supposed to be the one doing the dishes. Darry wouldn’t let him. Told him to sit on the couch, relax. It was Darry’s birthday.
Soda’s the one who answered the door.
He was alone in the living room, and he answered the door. When he saw who was there, he called out to Darry. You could hear the hesitant drop of a book,
the quiet slide of a chair. Darry walking out with a type of fear, Pony following behind. Soda had called for them, so they were here.
He wished he hadn’t done that. It was Darry’s birthday. Darry shouldn’t have been the one to answer that. The one to take on the responsibility. Darry wasn’t supposed to be the parent. Not that soon. Not ever. Not ever. Not ever. Soda should have known Darry would get hurt.
It was the tracks.
He should’ve known it would be the tracks. He should’ve known it would be the tracks that tore his family apart.
It was Darry’s birthday, and Soda was sixteen years old.
Ponyboy was supposed to head down to the store after school, pick up this cake frosting that Darry liked. But that kid is always in his own world. Always running in his head, and dreaming during the day. That kid makes art. He’ll get somewhere. And because of this, he forgot to go to the store. His parents were angry. Darry hadn’t gotten home yet, so they figured they should go to the store together and pick up the frosting. Pony felt so guilty, so upset that he forgot, so Soda stayed home with him. He was supposed to go down to the store with them. Instead, he told them to go on without him. He’d keep Pony out of trouble.
Soda forgot to tell them to be safe. He forgot to tell them he loved them.
And now, there were policemen at his door. If he had just remembered, this never would have happened.
It was the tracks.
They were driving, and suddenly a train just tore through them. That’s what they were told at least. Soda couldn't believe it. He couldn’t believe that his parents could be taken out like that. Like a rock that got kicked too far over.
Or a boy who forgot to jump.
There wasn’t anything to bury. Nothing left of them to hold on to. Nothing left to love. Nothing left to talk to. They were gone. They should have stayed away from the tracks. Soda should have told them to stay away from the tracks.
Two weeks after their parents died, Darry came home with a blank look in his eyes. A look that meant Soda was right. A look that meant Darry was hurt. A look that meant he should have stayed away from the tracks. Soda went up to him and hugged him. Hugged him with the strength of a train, and cried as he shook like the ground. Darry was stupid. He should have known to stay away from the tracks. Soda was stupid, and even he knew that. Everyone was so stupid. They should just stay away from the tracks.
When Soda was sixteen, his brother hopped on a train and ran away.
The tracks. Always the damn tracks.
He should have done more.
He should have done everything he could to protect Ponyboy. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sometimes he felt like the tracks.
He felt like he tore everything in two and hurt people. He felt like something he should be afraid of. He felt like the kind of thing he promised to protect Pony from. How sick is that? Pony needs to be protected from his own brothers. He should have helped Ponyboy. He should have kept Ponyboy safe. He never should have let Ponyboy run out of the house. Or, he should have at least followed him. But Ponyboy ran away, because Johnny killed a Soc. They hopped the train and left.
The nine days after that Soc boy died felt like he was living outside of himself. A loop of waking up, crying in the bathroom, and going to bed. A cycle of hurt. Sandy’s letter running over him like a freight train. Ponyboy’s absence tearing through his world like the tracks that separate the town. Like the tracks that separated Soda’s bone from itself. Like the tracks that separated Darry from his mystery person. Like the tracks that separated his mother from his father.
And then Pony was home. He was home and he was hurt, and Johnny was dying. And Soda felt everything at once. He felt like Pony was dead. He felt like he was dead.
Johnny was dead. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.
And Dallas was missing.
Dallas was missing, and Soda couldn’t do anything to help. He didn’t know where Dally was.
And then they got a phone call. And Darry was asleep in the kitchen, so Soda was the one who answered the phone.
He never should have picked up.
Because Dallas was on the tracks. He was on the tracks and Soda knew exactly why.
It was the same reason he went on those tracks all those years ago. It was the same reason Darry went on those tracks with that boy.
To be free.
“Keep Pony away from here.” His voice was rough. Younger than he had ever sounded, and in it, there was a weird sense of childish joy. Like wrestling with your friends. Like climbing trees. Like playing down at the train tracks. “Tell him I went away somewhere. Somewhere good.”
Soda isn’t going to do that. Not when he knows that Dallas is on the tracks. That Dallas is in danger. Not when he knows that Dallas is going to die. That he is going to die on the tracks.
Because that isn’t free. It isn’t good. It isn’t anything other than suicide.
When Soda was six years old, he would play on the tracks alone. And he lied to himself about it. Told himself he liked it because he liked being alone. He hated being alone. Hated it more than anything else. On the tracks, he felt free. He hated being alone. He should have brought Steve there. Or Two-Bit. But being alone on the tracks felt free. It was awful. He wishes he asked one of them to go with him. He shouldn’t have been on the tracks alone.
Dallas shouldn’t be on those tracks alone.
“Please don’t do this.”
Soda thought about his broken arm. He thought about his brother, standing alone on the train tracks watching as a boy he never really knew broke his heart. He thought about his parents, and their last moments together. Listening to music in the car, and getting their son a birthday gift. He thought about Pony and Johnny, cold and scared and leaving on the train that shook those tracks. He thought about Dally. Standing in the middle of those tracks alone as a train came forward. He thought about the fear he would feel. The want to run away, the urge to jump off those tracks. He thought about what it would be like to fight it. To stay on those tracks, knowing the future. He doesn’t want Dally to be alone.
He realizes that this is the true Dallas Winston. A scared little boy on the tracks, trying to run away in the only way he knows how. Permanent and tragic. Dust on the train and part of the tracks. Maybe Dallas is like the tracks. Because Soda should have known that this would have happened. He should have known Dallas would hurt Ponyboy. He should have known Dally would hurt him. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.
“Please don’t do this.”
As the call drops, Soda can only hope he was wrong. Maybe the train will stop. Maybe Dally will stop the train.