Author's Note: Tomorrow is the deadline for newsiesdrabbles, and here is my entry for the word challenge: memory. I also tried for a bit of slash in this piece because I feel like I'm ready to be more rounded in my fiction writing. Let's see how it comes out. It's small but baby steps first, eh?
Disclaimer: The characters of Newsies are the copyrighted property of Disney.
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In Memory
06.15.06
Some of the ugliest things took the longest time to make
And some of the easiest habits are the hardest one's to break
And I'm not asking for value nor the pain but I am asking
For a way out of this lie
- In Memory, Shinedown
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Jacobs
- 1900
Just as he had done for the past few months, after his selling of the evening edition, he found his way to the small Jewish cemetery and slipped inside. The caretaker had long since stopped trying to kick the boy out for visiting after hours; all he ever did was sit beside a small grave in the back. He was harmless.
The marker was not elaborate and only told who was buried there and their years. A small bush that had been planted beside it had covered half of the stone so that only a portion of the information was visible. But that was alright; with the tears welling up in his eyes, he couldn't make out the engraving if he wanted to.
Slowly he drew himself to his knees and looked at the simple grave marker. It had been the entire Jacobs' could afford. Jewish tradition dictated that the body be returned to the ground as soon as possible; the sudden death used up most of the family's meager savings. The cost of the burial, the wooden coffin and the simple grave stone was all that they could give to their child. The disease had been too quick; they hadn't the time to prepare for such a tragedy.
As he eyed the worn stone, he was overcome by memories. That was the reason behind his daily treks to the cemetery; this was the only time he could drop the façade of being the leader and be what he really was: a heart-broken kid.
The other boys wouldn't understand, after all. Would they truly understand what love was?
The first kiss had been magical. Neither one of them had expected it to happen but, when it did, they knew it was meant. It was almost if they were drawn to each other. And while that kiss was the first of many, stolen moments in time, he would never forget that first one. The feel of those lips pressed against his, the texture of such soft and clean hair. He almost felt dirty, taking these things for himself. But, as he was assured, he was almost as perfect himself.
As the memories came, the tears ceased. He was a man, after all, and he hadn't let them dribble down his cheeks; he was now being blinded by the built-up moisture. With a quick swipe of the back of his hand, his fingers too full of topsoil - it was a habit of his to run his fingers across the earth that separated the pair of them - to do the job, he banished the wetness.
With a deep breath, Jack Kelly rose himself up to his feet. It was late and he knew he had to be back to the Lodging House soon or he risked being locked out for the night. Being disallowed to enter the House was a punishment he knew was fitting for tardiness but what would he do? He had no one to grant night time visitsto anymore.
His hand was dirty and splotched with the tears he had fought to hide. Rather than stick it back into his trouser pockets, rather than hide his visit to the cemetery, he kept his palms flat against his side. If any of the other fellows did not know where he went after selling, they were fools. Apart from those few days he had spent with the Jacobs' following the funeral, he had stopped by the cemetery every night since the incident - since the death. It was the least he could do.
He smiled wistfully down at the dirt. Memory after memory flashed before his eyes but he knew that they were not enough. The day would come when he would run out of fresh memories; they had not had enough time together.
But, if there was one thing he would do, it would be to keep those memories alive. Reaching out, he pushed aside the brush of flowers that threatened to cover the marker. Sarah had planted it there; she had said, while holding Jack's hand – poor girl, he thought, I'm sure she knew but she never said anything – that he was beautiful person and, even in death, should grace the world with beauty.
He sighed and the sight of the name of the marker threatened to bring his tears back. But he wouldn't cry. David wouldn't want that from him. So, instead, he followed the practice Sarah taught him. He pulled a small, rubbed, stone out of his pocket and tossed it on top of the pile at the base of David's grave. For Jack, each of those stones held a memory.
David Jacobs
1884 – 1900
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End note: I tried not to make it overtly obvious about who had died til the end. That was just me being a poop ;) Anywho, I just wanted to make a note about the burial customs noted. In the Jewish faith, the family and mourners sit shiva for a period following death – that would be what Jack referred to as sitting with the Jacobs. Also, they bury the body as soon as possible – no later than two days – and do not hold a week. And, while some people may leave live flowers at a grave, others "put stones on the grave instead. Putting a pebble on the grave is an expression of someone having visited to pay respect for the deceased person."