Short Story Telling Dally

The only thing I could think about right then was how to tell Dally. I mean, Johnny knew that Dally didn’t listen to anyone, he was stubborn, and the fact that it had to do with Johnny made it even worst. But, as I sat down on my bed and starting thinking, I knew I had to do it. I thought to myself, “You know what? Who knows? It might turn out for the better and help Dally handle all this easier.” So I sat there, and started to think of the ways I could tell him. I could give him the note and let that be that, let him read it for himself and make out what he wanted to of it. But I knew that Dally would end up doing something crazy, so that wouldn’t work. I thought about maybe having the whole gang over and reading it to them all at one time.

“What’s going on?” Dally asked. “Sit down,” I told him “there’s something I want to read to you.” He sat down slowly, staring at me the whole time. I started reading the letter, with every sentence I could see Dally’s hard eyes becoming softer. I had never seen Dally like this, it was like I was watching him break. “Your buddy, Johnny.” I finished, then looked backed up at Dally. He was staring that Johnny’s grave. “This ain’t right, Pony” Dally said, tears filling in his eyes. “It wasn’t suppose to happen like this!” he was sobbing now. “Why couldn’t it have been me, why did Johnny have to be the one to leave?” I was surprised to see Dally act this way. I had always seen Dally as someone who didn’t care about anyone. I guess this is why I had never liked him. But now I finally see what Johnny had seen in him. He saw how brave he was, like how he had risked going to jail just to save us from getting caught when we killed Bob. He saw how loyal he was, like when we wouldn 't even tell the gang where we were when we were in Windrixville. He also found comfort in Dally, because he was real. I had never seen that as comforting, but it is. I now realize this. I turned to look at Dally now. “I don’t know.” was all I could say, and I didn’t because I had also asked myself this the night Johnny died. “But,” I finally said, “I do know that everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t understand it, Dal.” In this moment, I finally felt a connection with Dally. We sat there the rest of the night talking about everything, comforting each other. We even stayed to watch the sunset, like Johnny had wanted. When it got dark, I stood up, brushing the dirt of my pants. “I gotta go, Darry and Soda are going to worry.” I said, “You comin’?” “Nah, you go ahead kid,” he said “I’m going to stay here for a little bit.” I turned around and walked out of the graveyard. As I was walking home, memories of Johnny were flooding through my head, but it