I
don't own Newsies... shocking, I know
This story takes place about a year or two before the strike. R & R :)
I wandered the streets, staying against buildings and jumping through shadows to help conceal myself from the world. The last thing I wanted was to be noticed.
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Wandering the city like this had become an everyday occurrence for me. I walked all day, begging for food or money, and slept on the streets. It may seem horribly unsafe for a young lady, but I was careful. Never lingering in one spot for too long or sleeping anywhere visible.
This new lifestyle came about soon after my mother died, when I was sent to an orphanage. The orphanage life didn't last. I didn't need someone looking out for me like that. It was insulting. It only managed to contain me for a few days short of a month before I up and left, knowing the streets were rough, but feeling up to the risk if it meant being away from that place.
I had never met my father, and didn't care too. He had abandoned my mother before I was even born. My mother was always convincing me that he hadn't known that she was pregnant, but I was sure the only one she was trying to convince was herself. He left her living in a home she couldn't afford and that she moved out of before I was born. The house I lived in all my life was small and smelt of dust and mold to those who weren't accustom to it.
Mom never was happy. She would smile on occasion, sometimes even laugh, but it was easily seen in her eyes. It was as if she would catch herself being too happy, mid-laugh, and fall silent. Something was missing, tearing at her heart. I knew she was sad, and it made my heart ache to see her like that. The way she would stare sometimes. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, it was as if she was seeing something play out in her mind's eye, longing for it to be her reality. She didn't lie to me. She maybe only mentioned it once or twice, but I knew. I always knew why on some nights, I could hear her crying softly into her pillow. Usually it was in her sleep, but there were times that I knew she was awake. I gave up asking her what was bothering her so much, never getting the truth. She didn't like me worrying about her, so I would give in and pretend like nothing was wrong, just like she did.
Of course the loss of her husband hurt, the way he abandoned her, but she was glad to be rid of the chronic bruising. It wasn't him that she longed for. The day he left he took something from her that she never got back. Something more dear to her than anything else in the world. He stole my mother's happiness away. He took her son.
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I stopped suddenly as my eye caught something. A fruit stand. A bin of cherry red apples and a vendor looking away. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. He shouldn't be so careless. I grinned as I slowly crept closer, trying to act as casual as possible incase someone were to spot me. I crouched next to the shadow of the stand and right as an older gentleman was walking past I quickly stepped out bumping into him and flying backwards into the overflowing stand. The man merely grumbled something about street rats as he dusted himself off, but the scene had caught the eye of the street vendor.
"Hey! Whats goin' on heah!" he growled as he turned and saw me. I tried to hide a sly grin, having done this many times before, and instead gave him a lopsided frown.
"I'm s..so sorry. I...I was jist walkin' past an' dat man. I didn't see 'im comin' an' I...I" Just as I had expected my slow stuttering and young appearance caused the man to sigh and bend over closer to me.
"Just git outa heah alright kid?" Was that a grin I saw on his face?
A year ago I could have never imagined myself acting this way. Feeling so confident as I stole from this man. Using my innocent look to get away with things. In reality I'm terribly shy and reserved. Always have been. I guess that hunger and desperation can change many things about a person.
I slowly backed away, keeping my gray eyes wide and watery, looking at the kind man fearfully, and turned to continue down the street. As I rounded the corner I reached in my coat pocket pulled out an apple, tossing it once in triumph. I couldn't help but grin as I walked down the street and bit into it, but my grin faded as I remembered my circumstances and sighed. Happiness never lasted.
Ever since I left the orphanage, I had been looking for him. I knew it was what mom would want me to do. I had no idea where he was, possibly with my father, or even if he was alive. It became a habit of mine to ask anyone who I happened to run into if they knew of him. Not once did even slight recognition flash in anyone's eyes at the name. Sometimes I would pull out a photograph. It had always sat on my mothers bedside table. After she died I took it from the frame and stuffed in my pocket. It was a simple portrait of my mother, father, and him. My brother.
I sighed as I tossed the apple core into an alley and reached into my pocket. Gazing down at the picture as I had so many times before. I tried to imagine what he was like. It worried me to think he didn't know of my existence, but even more that he did, and didn't care. I stared down at the small gray photo, my eyes turning to my mother. Though it couldn't be seen in the black and white photograph, she had soft brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. My dark blonde hair came from my father, my bright eyes from my mother. The only thing different about my mother in this picture from how I remembered her was that she looked happy. Truly happy. I felt a tear fall from my eye as I tried to remember her. I reached up to wipe it away when suddenly I flew backwards to the ground, dropping my picture. Realizing I just ran into someone I sighed. great.