Standard disclaimers apply. I own my Newsies ticket and my mistakes. Addition disclaimer: I am not responsible for emotional scarring ...
The strike has given him a new perspective on life, changed him with all of the injustice and hurt he's been forced to witness. Hell, he's even caused some of it, and that's the realization he can't bear. But with that new perspective has come a new priority: he wants out. That's all he can hope for now.
Once Santa Fe was an immeasurable distance away. The pennies that he painstakingly counted by moonlight didn't seem to help close the gap, especially since he usually ended up spending his meager funds on the kids, anyway. He couldn't have stomached living his dream if it was at the expense of his boys. And it always seemed so far, unattainable – what difference did it really make if it was pushed back a little further?
Now it isn't far; it's just a step. One tiny shift of his foot and he can be there, in a place where people don't leave or die or crush kids they feel are beneath them underfoot. He can be free of the smog and smothered dreams that is New York City, free of the burden and this unbearable guilt. It probably wouldn't even hurt.
Him. It wouldn't hurt him. But he can clearly picture who it would hurt, and the image burning behind his eyelids causes him to stumble back away from the edge.
Who would by Race a new pair of shoes without him? Who would make sure Davey and Les aren't overwhelmed by working life? Who would get that whiny reporter her story? Who would tell Romeo about made-up places to help him fall asleep?
Who would save Crutchie from the Refuge?
So he climbs down instead of falling. He drags himself to Medda's basement to paint the Santa Fe in the west rather than the one in the clouds, because he doesn't trust himself with heights and he doesn't want to see the broken expressions on his boys' faces. When morning comes he makes it as far as Newsie Square, then turns around once he realizes there are kids there despite everything they worked for, but only half the number there would normally be. Yet he doesn't go back to the roof. It's even more important that he doesn't give up now that he knows they all have.
So he paints, and, for the first time in years, he prays. For all he knows God doesn't even exist, or only cares about those who actually matter like the gods of this cursed city do. That would certainly explain why there's been no divine intervention in his life up through this point. But on the off chance that someone is listening to Jack Kelly, the poor homeless newsboy who now has blood on his hands, he prays for a light at the end of the tunnel. He prays that one day, he'll find a Santa Fe that's easier to reach. He prays that he'll be sent something he can finally believe in, and maybe, just once, he won't be let down in the end.
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Much love,
KnightNight7203