Chapter Text
July, California 1975 - Camera Interview:
“When the doctors told me that I was going to die, I wrote a letter to Ponyboy. Well, the nurse helped me write it really, back then I couldn’t sit up right without it hurting real bad - you know?” Johnny Cade leant back on an old patchwork couch, less slouchier than he used to sit though still fidgety. Sometimes it did still hurt. He appeared wiry and solemn on grainy 8mm footage, eyes wide like his teenaged face that was once pictured in the local paper for being a murderer, and a hero. The scar on his temple remained mostly the same, embedded into his skin like it was just as much part of his face as his eyes or the small bump on his nose. He had grown to be a little taller, broad shouldered in the way that a man of twenty six ought to be.
A young woman who bared a name awful similar to his own sat across him. That would be Junie. Junie and Johnny. It had been quite funny when he'd first heard it. He wasn’t sure whether to look at her or at the old camera propped up on the table beside her, round dog eyes darting between the face interviewing him and the secondhand equipment that had seen better days - it looked a bit like the one that Mr Curtis once owned. Johnny fixed his gaze on the motel ceiling fan instead.
“You wrote a letter to Ponyboy?” The young woman prompted. “He must have been an important friend to you then, writing to him in a time like that?”
Johnny felt his brows disappear under his shaggy bangs for a quick second, fidgeting with his bottom lip. “Sure.” He nodded, shifting his eyes from the popcorn ceiling back to Junie. “Pone’s a good buddy. At the time I remember feeling with the kind of conviction that you can only feel when death is right around the corner that if anyone was going to make it out of our hometown it would be Ponyboy. I only hoped for him that he’d stay good, all clouds and colours and stuff like he was. He told me ‘bout this Robert Frost poem - meant a lot to me at the time. I guess I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He surprised himself talking as much as he had just done. “Sorry.” He stared down blankly at his hands, bumpy with burn scars that never healed quite right. With a small sigh he glanced over at the floral wallpaper behind the camera, figuring that it was miles prettier a sight than his hands, aged beyond his years. The wallpaper, a warm tone of terracotta made the tiny motel suite feel autumnal even in the middle of July. “I ain’t been asked about all this stuff in years, it’s coming back to me now, guess I didn’t expect it to feel so weird. It’s hard to live with something like what I done.” He admitted.
Junie looked him once over, then promptly leant over to pause the recording equipment. “You’re upset.” She more stated than asked. “We can take a break, if you’d like?”
Johnny rubbed his face, resting his elbows on his knees. He knew better than to start slouching again. “Yeah.” He nodded, “It’s just, when death kind of grips around you, you get that way - declaring all kinds of things and trying to say something worthwhile before it’s all over, especially when you’re not ready for it. I mean, I sure wasn’t.”
“Well…” Junie pondered. “Who would be?”
Johnny only shrugged. “I was pretty bad off, huh? They said I’d probably never be able to walk again, but I guess they were wrong about that too.”
“I think I read that in the paper, yeah.” Junie nodded. She had practically been on a road trip to find him, travelling from state to state after a man on the run. It had begun back in December, having uncovered an old yellowed newspaper clipping. The headline, ‘Delinquent Youths Turn Heros’ had began Junie’s long train ride from California down to Tulsa in the first place.
⭑
Mid December, Tulsa 1974
“What are you, some kind of nosy true crime fan? Get outta here, I’m not talking to no reporters and Johnny Cade ain’t here - he’s dead, so beat it.” Darry Curtis had slammed the door right in Junie’s face when she arrived at the Curtis House, having found the address thanks to the Yellow Pages and some asking around.
“Mr Curtis! Hey!” She called through the mail slot. “I’m not a reporter, I’m a film student. I don’t mean to give you a hard time, really. I just wanted to talk.”
A stray dog barked in the distance and Junie sighed, watching the Christmas lights strung up at the front of the house blink as though they were laughing right in her face. No response came from inside the house other than, “Get lost!”
She huffed, her disappointed breath coming out in cold misty puffs. “Shoot, you must be lying Mr Curtis, Johnny Cade isn’t dead.” she grumbled to herself, kicking the gravel as she left the Curtis property, hoping that she hadn’t travelled all this way for nothing.
⭑
No Luck at Curtis Residence
Need to talk to Ponyboy Curtis and Dallas Winston
Johnny Cade is dead??
- Notes taken on Saturday, 2:15pm December 1974