Latin name, Luna
Hundreds of thousands of miles away from here.
No signs of water or life or atmosphere.
This is the truth about the moon.
The facts are black and white,
and yet I couldn't think of one while watching it tonight.
I saw the words all fly away, so fast, so far
Til every letter, every number had turned into a star,
and was the moon especially bright?
I really can't recall
and this was the first time the facts of the matter
didn't matter at all.
Shall I try to deny
all I've known for a moment that's gone.
Would my heart let me be
someone different from me from now on?
No. I learned the truth about the moon.
The facts I learned are right.
I only wish it made me feel like the lies I learned tonight.
Lies from that dreamer, that dime novel cowboy who believes in a fantasy called Santa Fe.
Given name, Jack,
someone who seems to get by with a smile.
Having no substance he compensates with style.
This is the truth about the boy,
there's nothing more to say.
Though when I looked into his eyes I could not look away
and if I first thought he was who he claimed he was,
it's just because that kind of boy
must be good at what he does,
but then as gentle as a breath
his hand was touching mine.
Then I discovered a feeling that somehow
I could not define.
Fly away, Santa Fe.
You're the seed of a dream not a plan.
Lovely dream, still it seems
Like the dream of a boy, not a man
So, at least I don't shed many tears down here in my cocoon,
where I'm protected by my facts, like the truth about the moon.
Moon, a natural satellite of the Earth.
The same size no matter where you are.
Latin name, Luna. Lovely name, Jack
.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
David glanced down from the spot of moonlight on the ceiling he had been staring at to see Les watching him. The room they shared had been quiet before this, with the exception of their breathing and Les figuring out ways to manoeuvre his injured arm that didn't hurt. The sling had been fashioned from a spare bit of cloth their mother had lying around, and though she had been worried, she hadn't asked many questions they couldn't lie their way around.
"Who says I'm thinking about anything?"
"Your hat," he replied without missing a beat, and David glanced down to see that he had been running a fingernail over the stitching of the hat in his hands for who knows how long. Les was deceptively observant, which he had learned many times over. His eyebrows were raised, as if to say, don't make me ask again.
"I'm thinking about the strike," David admitted, setting his hat down on his chest and letting his eyes rest on the moonlight. "What you asked earlier. Jack, and where he went."
Les's face was confused and silvery-blue in the moonlight. "What did I ask earlier?"
"You asked if we were doing the right thing," he murmured, amazed that his brother could have forgotten when the words had been in his ears all day. "I just - I didn't know, in that moment, if we were. I've been turning it over in my head since then, and I've been worrying over what I should do next. Jack is gone, and I don't know what to do."
"Sorry for making you worry," he whispered, with too much concern in his young eyes.
David laughed and shook his head. "Oh, I'd be worrying without those words. At least now, I have a focus. We need to make sure that this is the right thing for everyone. Striking leaves us all in danger. You heard what happened to Crutchie. I don't want that happening to you, or anyone else."
"That's another thing I don't get," Les admitted, forehead wrinkling slightly. "Why is it called the Refuge if it's so bad? Doesn't refuge mean safe place?"
"It was probably supposed to be," David explained, suppressing his darker thoughts on the subject. He had become more cynical as of late, and he found that he didn't like it. "People like Snyder are paid to bring in kids, so it's probably overcrowded and they probably don't have enough food for everyone. They might not have enough blankets or beds, and I wouldn't be surprised if some of the kids were nasty."
"And the guards beat them up," Les said in a small voice. "I heard they whacked Crutchie real good with his own crutch."
David had been hoping to avoid this discussion. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and nodded. "I heard that too."
He imagined Crutchie, who had been kinder to him than he had deserved, who hadn't been disrespectful even to Mr. Wiesel, in the conditions he had described to Les. He imagined Crutchie in the conditions he had imagined but not shared, and tried to keep his face empty of any anger in case Les was looking.
"So now you know what could happen if we lose the strike," Les told him, drawing his eyes back to him. He was propping up his head with his one uninjured arm, staring at him. "What happens if we win?"
"If we win, we get prices back to where they were and we can go back to work," David told him, "and that shows the people in power in this city that we are not afraid of them. We won't be pushed around just because we're kids. We have a say and we're louder than all of them combined. The strike isn't just about the price of papes, it's a challenge to every single kid working in New York. They can't lock us away and pretend we don't exist when all that they are depends on us doing our jobs."
"Wow," said Les, a smile spreading across his shocked face, "you're really mad about this, aren't you?"
That startled a laugh out of him. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Aren't you?"
"Yeah, but not like that," he enthused. "I'm more scared than I am mad."
"Don't be," David assured him, turning on his side to look him in the eye. He may not believe what he said, but he would make damn well sure that Les had no doubts. "We're going to win, and that's a promise."
Les met his eyes solemnly, then nodded. "I hope."
"I know," David lied, and when Les glanced away, he turned his eyes back to the moonlight on the ceiling.
He wondered what Jack thought about the moon tonight after the time he had waxed poetic to David about how the moon must look in Santa Fe, unashamedly yearning to leave. David had been somewhat distracted by the sight of the mundane Manhattan moonlight shining on his face, but he still remembered the conversation.
He wondered where Jack was now.
"What about the other things on your mind?" Les asked, and David lifted his head off of his pillow to shoot him a look of surprise and indignation.
"How do you do that?"
"You get this weird sort of serious, thoughtful look," he answered, completely in earnest. "It doesn't look good on you."
"Thoughtfulness isn't a good look on me?" David asked, and laughed again. Les had a way of knowing what was wrong, making him laugh, and drawing it out that was positively uncanny. "You're right, though. I'm thinking -"
He stopped, wondering if it would sound innocent, and decided that it probably would. "I'm thinking about Jack."
There was a short pause, then Les took a breath and said, "Race said some of those scabs you talked out of selling papes started spreading rumours that Jack could've helped Crutchie and didn't."
David considered this and frowned. "That doesn't sound like something he'd do."
Les shook his head, looking genuinely upset. "He was really scared when Snyder showed up. Worse than that time we saw. He kept trying to get me out of the way, and his hands were shaking."
"Being scared doesn't mean doing nothing to help a friend," David contradicted him gently, trying to ease his mind. Les looked dangerously close to tears. "I don't think there was a single newsie who wasn't scared. Courage isn't not being scared, it's being scared and doing it anyways."
"Maybe," Les said, but it wasn't an agreement. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "I think Jack might've left."
"We know he left," David reminded him. "It's why we're having this conversation."
"I know, but I mean really left." Les hesitated, then confessed, "I think he's gone to that place he keeps talking about."
David considered this. Jack, for all of his boastfulness, was a scared child inside. He had built a life inside his head for a version of himself that wasn't so skittish and cynical, and it was only a matter of time before he ran towards it and ended up disappointed. For all his talk of sleeping cities and making an honest living, he was a natural at embellishing headlines and lying his way through fifty papes a day. Perhaps it was himself he was lying to.
And now, he was somewhere dreaming a place he could never be happy in while the other newsies were waiting for him to lead their second attempt at a strike. David should've expected this. For all he knew, Jack really had run at the first sight of Snyder exactly as he had with David and Les, allowing Crutchie to be taken away.
He had thought Jack was brave, standing tall and refusing to give in. He had thought that Jack was better than him. Maybe Jack hadn't been the only idealistic one, imagining something to hide behind.
"It's possible," David agreed, with a gnawing feeling inside him that leaving was precisely what Jack had done. "Why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling," Les shrugged, and followed David's eyes to the moonlit ceiling.
Les's feelings were usually spot on, and David had learned to trust him when he said things like this that he had no reason to know. The kid was insightful in ways that made him shudder to think about, and it was no wonder that he was a natural at selling papes. If Les was so sure that he was willing to voice his doubts about Jack, then he probably had taken off already.
"If that's so, then they'll need someone else to lead them," he thought aloud, not expecting any kind of answer.
Les frowned. "That's you, you nitwit."
"Language," David said absently, then, "what?"
"That's you, you nitwit," Les repeated happily. David rolled over and threw the hat in his hands at his brother. Unaffected, he continued. "Why wouldn't you lead them all?"
David smiled in a self-depreciating sort of way. "Why would I? I can't even get respect from you, never mind them, and I certainly can't convince people of anything."
"Do you remember yesterday, or was it all just a blank?" Les inquired innocently.
When the other newsies were doubtful about the strike and Jack's words hadn't been enough to banish their fears, it hadn't been any sudden inspiration that had gripped David to talk of seizing the day. They were thoughts he had had, but it had been that intense look in Jack's eyes that had made him speak up. He wasn't a brave person, but Jack brought out something in him that he didn't know what to make of.
It wasn't bravery, exactly. Jack made him fearless and that was scarier than anything else for someone like David, whose caution usually prevented him from doing exactly the sort of thing that he tended to do around Jack. The fearlessness was exhilarating, but it terrified him that he wasn't scared to do these things.
"That's different," he replied without explanation.
Les raised his eyebrows again. "How? You had an idea, you said it, and you got people believing you."
"Because - I -" David stuttered to a halt. Les looked smug. "You can wipe that smirk off your face."
"Never," Les refused.
"It's because I'm the rational one. I think things through before I do anything, and that's not what's needed," he tried to explain. "They need Jack. He speaks from the heart, not the head."
Les let out a long sigh. "So you're not really mad in your heart about all the working kids getting pushed around by authorities?"
"Of course I - Les - I'm - that doesn't mean -" David spluttered, lost for words.
"You're welcome," Les chirped.
He was going to have to lead them in their strike. Jack was off somewhere, having left the newsies to their fates. There had to be something deeply wrong with David if he could be so infatuated with an immature con artist who let his dreams live in a city he'd never seen. But Jack, despite his disappearance, was the kind of person who stood up for what he believed in.
Now, it was David's turn to stand against the injustices alone, and he didn't know if he could do it. He wasn't brave or strong or even loud, all of which were necessary qualities to lead a group like the newsies of Manhattan.
He wasn't brave or strong or even loud, but he could pretend he was all three if it meant they would stand with him. If nothing else, Les would shout the others into submission and give him time to speak. David could pretend to be the leader that they needed as long as their leader was gone. It didn't matter that they had lost if they won the next day of striking.
A glance at Les told him that his brother was annoying and smug, which was nothing David didn't know already. He was grinning at him in a we both know I'm right way that made him want to throw his hat at him a second time, but it was on the floor and he didn't feel like getting off of his bed.
"Did you see the kid Spot Conlon sent over?" David asked instead of hitting his brother, smiling a bit. "He just came over to say that the next time we do something like that, Brooklyn has our backs."
"Use them," Les said immediately, and it was jarring to hear a command like that in the voice of a nine-year-old. "What can you do with Brooklyn?"
David thought for a moment. "If Brooklyn is in, we've got Richmond, Flushing, Queens, Woodside, and the Bronx. That's every regular newsie from every paper in New York. I know where Manhattan stands with the strike, but I need to know if the others need more convincing. We need a meeting. Better yet, we need a rally."
"And I know where we can hold it where everyone can come, and Jack might even find us," Les said, suppressing his glee. David raised his head again, meeting his eyes. "Ms. Medda's theatre."
"You only want to go back there because you want to see what girl's legs look like, you peeping tom," David scolded him, hating that the mention of Jack made him hopeful. "It's not decent to stare at women like that."
"Ms. Medda said it was okay," Les defended himself.
"Ms. Medda isn't trying to bring you up to be a respectable member of society," David retorted.
Les rolled his eyes. "Respectability is overrated."
"It might be, but that's no reason to lose your manners," David pointed out. He remembered the look on Les's face from the previous day again and could almost hear him ask if they were doing the right thing. Quietly, he sighed. "Would you stay away from the rally if I told you to?"
"Why would I do that?" Les asked indignantly.
David felt his own lips twitch into a smile. "Because I want to know that you're safe."
"I want to know you're safe, too," he retorted, and glared at him with all the fury he could muster. "I'm going no matter what you say, you nitwit."
"Language," David repeated. "I know the other newsies swear a lot, but it doesn't give you the right. You're coming with me, but you're staying out of the action if there is any."
Les shrugged and held back a yawn badly. "Sure thing."
It was late, he realised, and they both needed sleep if they were going to have to deal with all of New York's regular newsies in one place "Can you sleep now?"
"I think so," Les nodded, and flopped on his back. It was hardly a graceful move, and David bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. "Night, Davey."
"Goodnight, Les," he replied, and his eyes found the moonlight on the ceiling again.
This moonlight wasn't enough for Jack, apparently. Having a family of newsies and people like Medda Larkin helping him out wherever they could wasn't enough. The moon was bigger in Santa Fe, he had insisted, staring up at New York's night sky like it would never be enough to satisfy him.
David himself hadn't been enough to keep him in New York. Les and Race and Specs and all the others who were determined to fight for their rights as workers hadn't been enough. Losing Crutchie must have destroyed Jack, but if it had been Les who was taken, running away would never have been an option. David would have stood his ground and fought in any way he knew how to get him back. That, he thought, was the difference between them.
He turned on his side to watch Les pretend he was asleep in the hope that sleep would come. He was an innocent in this and David hated having him in danger, but Les was as much a newsie as any of the others. He deserved a chance to stand up for what he believed in, and he would hardly stay away of his own accord. David needed to keep an eye on his brother, which he couldn't do if he was sneaking away to help at every opportunity.
He had thought Jack had felt the same protective instinct for the other newsies, but his flight from the authorities had shown clearly that he hadn't felt anything of the sort. David had thought that the newsies were like brothers, until Crutchie was taken and Jack had run away.
Santa Fe would disappoint him, David was sure. Jack wasn't the kind of person who could settle down in a small town and be happy doing nothing important. The moon was the same size no matter where it was seen from, a new place wasn't enough to make him a new person, and he would be crushed when he found that out for himself.
Jack could have his dreams and his disappointments. The moon was plenty big enough for David in Manhattan, and he had a rally to organise.