"When I grow up
I will be tall enough to reach the branches
That I need to reach to climb the trees you get to climb
When you're grown up."
...
Christopher Morris was the runt of the elementary schoolyard.
Little ten-year-old rosy-cheeked Christopher Morris walked home from school nearly every day for a week in a teeny tiny pout. He would step up to the front door and give it a hard knock. His beautiful blue-eyed mother would hurry to the entrance and let him in. And he would rush straight into her arms.
"Oh, Honey..." Rebecca Morris would softly murmur. "It's okay."
"I don't wanna go to school no more," he confessed this time into her sleeve. "I don't. I really, really don't."
His mother closed the front door with her free arm and pulled him back by his shoulders. "Well, I'm not so sure about that," she smiled gently. "You love Miss Blume. You love reading and writing."
Christopher looked at the floor. "Mama, I don't like being called 'Pipsqueak' all the time. The boys are being real mean, jus' cuz I'm not tall enough to play ball with 'em."
Rebecca's smile faded. "I see," she pondered. "Who cares what some nasty boys at school say?" She asked. "Don't I always tell you to keep a stiff upper lip?"
Shaking his head, Christopher retorted, "I'll never be big enough for them."
She tipped her son's chin up and looked at him for a long time, eyes crinkling in thought. "Come with me," she told him, and she began leading him through the cramped living room of the silent house and out the back entrance.
"Where are we going?" He asked as he stumbled out of the porch screen door. The back of the house lay on a miniature valley that had not been built on yet. From it, you could see the state for miles. It was a wonderful view.
His mother set a steadying hand on his back and pointed to the outskirts of the heart of the city.
"You see, down there, into Central Park?"
Christopher nodded. It was a puddle of glowing green amongst a sea of gray.
"You see those trees?"
Another nod.
"They're pretty tall, aren't they?"
Another nod, coupled with a confused "Uh-huh."
Rebecca crouched by his side, as if telling him a secret. "Now, do you know how long it took them to get that tall?"
Christopher shook his head. "Uh-uh."
"A hundred years," she replied in wonderment. "For some, two. Can you imagine that poor gardener?" Putting her hands on her hips, she spoke in a nasal southern twang. "'We're comin' up on year sixty-five, and y'all are still pipsqueaks! How in the world are we ever gonna get this park open to the public?!'"
Both mother and son laughed.
"But what I mean to say," she managed, "is that you're about to catch up. Believe me. Some people's - or plants' - growth takes longer than others'. But when you don't like what's going on right now, you can always look to the future. Soon you'll grow up so tall that you'll be able to scale the treetops."
Christopher squinted to better make out the park below. "Even THOSE treetops?"
"As long as you won't get caught by security, why not?" She grinned. "We'll make a day of it. Family only. You'll climb that tree and look down upon the rest of New York."
Christopher hoped that wouldn't be too long away. It was a challenge he could only dream of conquering. And he loved the thought of, for once, not being so tied to the ground. Up above the bullies. Up above his troubles. Up above the world.
Just him and his family.
And his mother was just enough family for him.
"You promise?" He questioned. "When I grow up?"
Rebecca nodded. "When you grow up."
...
Christopher Morris grew up.
After a tug-a-war between his home and hospital that lasted four years, an armed robbery at the jewelry store, and a new snicker-filled nickname, he at least felt like he had grown up plenty.
So running away didn't feel so much like running away as it did moving.
To Central Park.
"Not much business 'round here," Specs muttered as he and Jack Kelly wandered the mostly-bare paved walkways, the leaves above casting intricate shadow patterns upon the ground. His fingers coiled absently around the strap of his bag. "Maybe we should go."
"Nah, you got it all wrong, Specs. Ghost town like this today needs entertainment." He lifted a rolled-up paper. "Your choice. 'Political Scandal - Governor's Affair with Pretty Blonde,' or 'Post Office Attacked By Wild Gorilla'?"
"How about 'Governor's Affair with Wild Gorilla'?"
Jack patted his back with a smirk. "Atta boy."
Just before the Jack could begin hawking his fibs, Specs tapped his shoulder and indicated a boy just down the fork in the road, clinging to the bottom of a massive oak, a wooden crutch abandoned in the grass by his side.
"Hey!" Jack called, and he ran over to the scene. Specs soon followed. "Hey, whaddya think you're doin'?"
The boy fumbled his good foot into a knot in the bark and reached a low-hanging branch. He could do this. He had to do this. He had to get up and away, fast.
Jack slowed as he reached the tree. "Hey, Bud, I really wouldn't try that."
Disregarding the comment, he fumbled until his left hand snatched the next branch and slid his good foot up to a higher ledge. He was a full six feet up. Now just one more thing.
"Hey! Crutchie! Get down!" Jack snapped this time.
"Not you, too!" Christopher shouted. "That's not my name!"
Jack took a step forward, towards the tree. If he could talk him down carefully before he hurt himself... "Okay, easy, Kid, easy..."
Christopher yanked up his hip to plant his loose ankle against another knot.
Time suddenly slowed as both of his legs fell out from under him.
His breath flew right out of him in an involuntary yell. He lost his grip on the left branch and grabbed tight onto the shaking right one.
"Specs!" Jack roared, hurriedly gesturing him over to where the boy dangled. Specs immediately obeyed.
"I got it!" Christopher declared. "Leave me alo-"
The twig snapped.
The next thing Christopher felt was flying.
Then being abruptly caught on his back by two pairs of arms.
"Jesus, Kid," Jack said, "what the hell was that?"
Christopher threw himself back onto his foot, a single hand on Specs only for balance. "Better question is who the hell are you?"
"My question first, Kid. You gotta gimp leg, why put yourself in that much danger?"
"I coulda done it!" He shouted, face glowing red. "I-I gotta climb this tree! I gotta do it jus' once!"
"Kid-"
"I-I-I ain't broken!" His voice began to crack.
"Kid!"
"I'm all grown up, Ma!"
He stopped then, after that climax of a scream. Water rimmed his eyes. The other boys were speechless.
"I jus' wanna climb this damn tree," he bit. "For my mama. For me. It's stupid. I know."
Jack exchanged looks of concern and knowing with Specs. He then lifted the ebony-haired boy's crutch from the ground, brushed off the dirt, and gingerly tested the waters to see if he'd let him put it back under his arm. The boy allowed it and stared at him.
What now?
"Kid..." Jack began softly, "Did you lose your mother?"
"I dunno that I wanna tell you."
Specs engaged another glance with the clan leader. They both thought the same thing.
"You're all alone," Jack muttered. "Ain't you?"
Christopher looked to the grass.
"There's a place you can be safe, ya know," he offered. "We ain't got nowhere else to go, and that's where we's stayin'"
Christopher glanced up with the littlest spark of hope. "What's your name?"
"I'm Jack," he said. Then, gesturing to his friend: "And that's Specs."
"Just 'Specs'?" Christopher asked.
"Yeah," Specs replied. "Lots a' boys use nicknames. I dunno. It jus' kinda stuck better than 'Russell Woodspeck'."
"An' what do we have the pleasure a' callin ' you?" Jack questioned of Christopher.
The boy looked at the two others, and then down at his crutch. He didn't want to share his name. He really didn't. But, at the same time, part of him appreciated what they were trying to offer him. He wanted to trust them.
"Crutchie's fine," he told them. "I really don't mind it by now."
Jack decided not to spit in his hand for the shy new guy but held it out for a shake anyway. "Okay, Crutchie," he began as the younger kid returned. "Ever hear about the Newsboys Lodging House?"
...
And so Crutchie grew more, the prideful, somewhat selfish kid he once was remembering the teachings of his childhood. He learned to be strong again. He learned to look for the good in everything again.
And he learned that sometimes growing up doesn't mean doing things all by yourself, but, by taking down prideful childhood walls, allowing people to help you with their talents and returning the favor whenever you can.
And so, he and the newsies got along pretty well.
"This ain't your usual sellin' route, Jack. The headline THAT lousy?"
"What, doncha want a change a' view yourself one of these old days? Doncha know that it's your birthday?"
"Yeah, thanks, Jack, I'd totally forgotten the day a' my birth."
"Hey, remember Henry? Two years in a row we had to remind him?"
"He REALLY needs to get it together."
"The park's pretty quiet today, can you believe it?"
"Yeah, pretty odd... Jack, look! A mockingbird!"
"Crutchie, that's a pigeon."
"No, look! A tiny mockingbird, right there! Look how cute 'e is!"
"Pigeon."
"You're no fun, ya know that, right?"
Jack smiled as the two strolled down the brick, grass-laced sidewalks of Central Park on that Sunday afternoon.
"We'll see about that."
The chatter continued for another quarter mile until Crutchie stumbled upon an area that gave him goosebumps- the exact same crossroads, dotted with large trees, where he had been rescued by the newsies. Where he had run away to. The memories came flooding back to him in wave after crashing wave.
"Jack," he murmured. "Isn't this where..."
His voice trailed off as Jack nudged his head around to face a particularly tall old oak. Specs stood at the foot of it. Something resembling a wooden swing draped off of one of the much thicker branches, supported by a crude pulley system.
"Wanna go for a climb?" Jack asked goofily.
Crutchie rushed over to the structure to get a closer look. "Holy cow... Did you guys do this?"
"Yep," Specs replied, leaning back on the trunk with his arms folded.
"How long did this take you?"
"Long enough."
"Is it safe?"
"Probably."
"Is it legal?"
"Probably not."
Crutchie glanced between Jack and Specs with the silliest grin on his face before scooping them both into a group hug.
"You fellas are the bestest friends I could ever ask for!"
Jack laughed. "Ya can't thank us 'til you've tried it. Let's give it a swing!"
...
Crutchie clung onto the swing as Specs pulled him up from below, and Jack climbed right alongside him until the both reached a branch they liked. The crippled boy adjusted himself directly onto the bark with his legs hanging ten feet high, and Jack hopped over next to him.
Specs joined them, and up there they stayed for a long while, talking for a bit but spending more time contently silent. Crutchie loved it with every cell in his being. The freedom of his legs swinging through the air. The complete isolation from the rest of the world, even if just for a moment. The circle of compassion that he felt, being up there with the other boys that he loved like brothers and that cared so deeply for him in return.
So he closed his eyes and leaned against the trunk, just listening and feeling everything that was perfect about this treetop. And really, it was never about the treetop itself.
"This is amazing," he murmured after a time to Jack, who sat next to him. Specs was a little further down the branch, picking idly at some leaves. "This is jus' amazing."
Jack grinned. "Ya jus' need to disconnect every once in a while, am I right? Lord knows I hafta do that all the time."
Opening his eyes, Crutchie grinned right back. "It feels like I'm flying," he told him. "Up this high in the sky... I don't gotta worry about what's on the ground. It's amazing. So thanks a big ton."
"No problem."
Crutchie kicked the air a little more. "I kinda jus' wish we could do this all the time, but I get that the swing gets a little tedious."
"Ya know you're welcome to join me on the roof any night, right?"
Glancing up, Crutchie asked, "What? But, Jack, that's your private thing. I really don't wanna intrude."
"Ain't intrudin' if I invite you," Jack shrugged. "An' honestly, you've always been welcome. You're my brother, Crutch."
"Brother," he repeated. If Crutchie's previous smile could have grown any bigger, it did now. "You're my brother, too."
"Well, thank God. A one-sided brother would make for a pretty awkward family tree," Jack sarcastically quipped.
Crutchie chuckled, but those words still rung in his head.
Brother.
Family.
He just loved, for once, not being so tied to the ground. Up above the Delanceys. Up above his troubles. Up above the world.
Most of all, he loved that it was just him and his family.
And maybe Jack was just enough family for him.