Personal Narrative: The Outsiders

Illuminated by the colors on the screen, I settle down on the worn out sofa. Popcorn and my dad’s cologne mix and mash with each other and create a distinct smell that still haunts me today. I leaned into my dad’s arms, his body heat makes my muscle relax, as my eyes glue to the screen. The buttery taste of popcorn fills in my mouth. My eight year old brain mixes up all of the characters names and faces in the movie, except one particular one. The motion of my eyes follow Ponyboy Curtis in every scene. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I found him cute, especially his hair style, or that I could connect with him, but I was fascinated with him. I begged my dad to replay the movie once it finished just so I can see Ponyboy’s face again.

To find his possessions and put them in the attic. My twelve year old self didn’t understand death and the stages of grief yet, but my mom already persevere through them, she stands at the final stage whereas I stood at the first. As a daddy’s girl, I took all of his possessions that I could get my hands on and hid it under my bed. After 2 years, I forgot about it until I read The Outsiders in class and realized that I never touched his possessions. I move to grab the box from under my bed and just silently stared at the box of memories that have been pushed down for many years. I swallowed the big pill in front of me and and pushed the movie into the tray and pressed play. This is the first time I’m watching it since dad… a lump in my throat appears when that thought came to my mind. A crying session later, and I feel as if my life had gotten brighter. The realization covers me like a blanket covering a small child, engulfing them completely. The hardships that Ponyboy had gone through, the pain of not being loved by his own, that’s what I felt From my own sisters and brothers in my neighborhood, when I give them all my love, in return I receive colorful words and harsh blows to my