15 Years

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from newsies, except for Denton's daughter Abby and his sons George and Jefferson. Not to mention his wife Sally.

By: Bryan Denton

"Dad, why're you shivering?"

I looked up to smile at my teenaged daughter. "I'm alright, Abby. Just calm down, alright?" I combed my fingers through my hair, peering at myself in the mirror. I'm older now. 15 years older. A shadow of my former self.

Jack, David, Crutchy and all the rest of the newsies are grown up. Most have families.

I'm not left out. I have Abigail, and my two sons Jefferson and George, not to mention my lovely wife Sally. What could be better?

But I feel old. If you look closely enough, you can see the grey running along the roots of my hair, creeping up until it is unavoidably visible. There are more wrinkles around my eyes, and my chin is wider. I'm old. Middle-aged. I'm not even sure if I like it…or not.

Abigail wrapped her arms around me from behind. "You're afraid, aren't you Dad? You've been thinking about age, haven't you?" She hugged me closer. "You're still in your prime, y'know?" My daughter always had a way with words. Just like her mother.

I looked at the clock, my mind tearing through the terrible memories still left over after she had interrupted me. From 1899-1913. Time had certainly passed.

Styles were changing, the world was changing. I was still a war correspondent, but I didn't like it. The times, weeks, days and hours were going too fast.

"I'm afraid that I'm wrestling with death." I tried to remain cheerful. I felt the pleasant feeling of my daughter's arms tightening around my neck.

"Dad, you don't even have one foot in the grave."

That was what my conscience told me, too. But my body told me otherwise. As if I were continually wearing down.

I patted Abigail's hands, removing her arms from around me. "I'm going to take a nap, Abby. I have some time to finish those articles later." I patted her head, and curled up on the couch in the living room.

I never woke up.

When Abby went to wake me, my heart had been stopped for nearly three hours straight, and I was with her tiny, immaturely born baby brother Orin in heaven.

I watched her crying over my body, as my soul started to ascend, willing and wishing to tell her that I was alright. But who can communicate from heaven except for God?

You know of course, Gabriel, since you have been here longer. But I still watch over her, and I beseech God for her safety every day.

My only hope is that I may see her again here someday, where there are no tears, unless they be in joy. God comfort my little girl.

Amen.

-B. Denton