[Pretend]
[by mondie]
[started: Feb. 17, 2003]
[disclaimer: I don't own the newsies or Kloppman, yada yada yada. If you don't know which characters are Disney's and which are my own, I'd be happy to enlighten you. But, really, if you don't know which characters are in the movie and which aren't, you have NOT watched the movie enough times. Shame, shame.]
[chapter 1: wash day]
[chapter written: Feb. 17, 2003]
When things go wrong I pretend the past isn't real
-Linkin Park, "With You"
:
It was wash day. Mush's favorite day, in fact. Once a month, the owner of the newsboys' lodging house, a certain Mr. Kloppman, would climb the creaky old staircase up to the boys' dormitory, strip the sheets off all the bunks, then take them downstairs to wash them all. The sheets wouldn't be dry before night came, so the boys would have to sleep directly on the scratchy fabric of the cheap mattresses. If a boy were so unlucky to be new in the joint or so young he hadn't made much money yet, that meant a very chilly night without covers. But Mush was sixteen now, and he'd had his three-layer thick blanket for three years now. It had cost him, too—nearly four dollars, and he'd had to save up for a year to get that much.
It wasn't just the fact that he could gloat about his blanket which made wash day so special in his eyes. It did have something to do with the coarse, lumpy mattress, though Mush couldn't quite pick out what it was exactly. He just knew vaguely that, as much as he'd despised his childhood, the feeling of the thick, cutting mattress, scratching against the bare skin of his firm chest, brought a sense of relief that he hadn't known since the days when he'd lived with his father.
It had been ten years since he'd seen his father, and still the thought of that scar-bathed, sneer-filled face sent a shiver racing across Mush's body. Mush inwardly abused himself for letting that terrorizing picture fill his mind again. He'd promised himself never to think on the wretched man again…
He was the only one up in the bunkroom so far, because all the other boys hated wash day and were keeping themselves down in the lobby so the rumor wouldn't prove itself true and ruin their night. Of course, they each already knew the rumor was true—Kloppman didn't have anywhere to hang the sheets but around the lobby—but if there was one thing to be said about this particular group of Manhattan newsies, it was that they could pretend and lie well enough to believe it themselves.
Mush fingered the rough material of his mattress lovingly, glad no one else was up here just yet. It felt so deliciously crude beneath his fingertips. Yes, it was just the kind he'd slept on, the kind which brought comfort to him when he was living with his father… Immediately the jeering eyes, cruel and a hardened black, burned their way onto the projection screen in Mush's mind. He panicked a moment, grabbing a handful of the mattress and almost letting out a yell— …But it was okay now. He could hear Kloppman downstairs, yelling at the boys to go up and get to sleep. Racetrack, insisting that the game of rummy wasn't done yet. Kloppman again, louder, ordering Racetrack specifically to go upstairs and lead the way for the others. Cowboy, laughing. The eyes faded from Mush's mind, and just as the other boys burst in the door, bringing the smell of sweat and boyhood with them, he could breathe again.
Racetrack was grumbling Italian words under his breath so rapidly no one could understand what he was saying (not that anyone would have understood anyway, because Race was the only newsie who spoke Italian), but Mush was sure that they were the kind of words that would make the ladies in Little Italy screech and box Race in the ears. Mush allowed a slow grin. It was always such fun selling in Little Italy with Race.
"Get to bed!" Kloppman's ancient voice hurtled up the stairs. "Sleep, sleep, sleep! The papers are already getting ready to be sold! Get to bed, get to bed!" There was a pause, and then he added, "Oh, and whoever stole the sign-in book from the front desk… I want it back, now!"
Groaning and hurrying to finish up a few last conversations while simultaneously ignoring anything to leave Kloppman's lips, boys headed to the bunks they'd claim as their own for the night. Kid Blink, Mush's best friend, ended up in the one right below him.
"'Ey, Mush?" he called, as Cowboy tried to wrestle a few of the more awake younger newsies into their beds.
"Yeah, Blink?"
"I don't wanna hear you up there moanin' yer heart out tonight like yer having sex with the most beautiful girl in all a' New Yawk," Blink warned in a loud, too-sensible to be truly his tone kind of voice. Mush buried his head in his arms. Blink was the most outspoken newsie about sex, and it was his current favorite topic. Kid Blink grinned and continued the torture of his shy, sweet-tempered best friend. "Jus' cuz dere's no sheets, it ain't no reason to go all crazy in love wit' yer bed. A naked bed ain't the same as a naked girl, Mush."
The explosion of laughter barreled through the room and attached itself firmly onto Mush's shoulders. He closed his eyes in disbelief, and was glad to hear Kloppman's patronizing voice yelling from downstairs, accompanied by loud thuds of a broom handle on the ceiling.
Mush slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, and the bunkroom became instantly silenced. Kloppman obviously thought he'd done this miraculous deed, because the thick sound produced by the jabbing broom handle was cut short. Silence as rich and ample as warm maple syrup blanketed the room, as all the boys awaited Mush's rebuke.
A smile carved itself upon his face, splitting his cheeks into their usual apples. His eyes twinkled with daring mischief as he quietly countered, "I wasn't gonna say nothing, but I do believe I noticed you coming out of an alley yesterday, pulling up yer pants and buckling yer belt, Kid Blink."
Kid Blink grinned. "Yeah, so what?" he asked casually. "Me an' Rachel—"
"You and Rachel nothin'," Mush interrupted. "Cuz followin' you out of the alley was none other than Oscar Delancey, himself!"
The noise was twice as loud for this folly. Kid Blink's ears turned bright red, though he tried to hide it with a grin. "It ain't true! You know it ain't, fellas!" he yelled loudly over the others' laughter.
"Yeah, right, Blink," Specs called from across the room. "We all know you love only fellas."
"What?!" Kid Blink said, his eyes growing wide. "Shaddup, ya scum! Yer WORSE than scum!"
This apparently was too much for Kloppman. Everyone froze as the unmistakable creak of the stairs sounded. Immediately every head went to a pillow, every candle was blown out. By the time the old man reached the room, not a sound was emanating.
"That's better," Mr. Kloppman said angrily. "Get yer sleep! Or get out of my lodging house!" He descended back downstairs, grumbling about the newsies these days and their lack of respect.
Five minutes of anticipating silence, then Snitch's voice whispered loudly, "Hey, anyone besides me need to write down in the sign-in book that you paid?"
"I knew it was you who stole it!" Kid Blink crowed. The noise picked back up again, and Swifty started a poker game on the bunk he was sharing with Race.
"Hey, Mush, sorry 'bout what I said earlier," Kid Blink said after a few minutes, realizing that Mush hadn't joined in with the after-dark festivities as usual. There was no answer, and so he stood up and tried to make eye contact with his friend. Mush's eyes, however, were firmly clamped shut and light snores were issuing from between his pursed lips.
"I WON!" The joy in Swifty's voice after finally winning a hand set off a whole other set of laughter. Swifty was notoriously bad at poker, and yet always ended up starting the game.
Kid Blink looked back to his friend's face and smiled. "If you can sleep through this, Mush, you got my blessing."
"I'M GONNA CALL THE BULLS ON YOU KIDS!" Kloppman yelled downstairs, and there was the loud crash the boys had learned was the sound of Kloppman's favorite book being thrown across his room.
One last look at Mush's angelic slumbering face, and Kid Blink felt a deep unsettlement in his soul. He looked around quickly to see what the other guys were doing. Everyone had climbed out of bed and were congratulating Swifty. No one watching… Acting as rapidly as he could, Blink bent closer and lightly brushed his lips on Mush's forehead. Mush didn't stir. Whistling innocently, Blink hurried over to where Swifty sat, nearly crying with happiness. "Congratulations, Swifty!"
:
The rough burlap material covering the thin mattress poked through the thin shirt Johnny wore to sleep. Not that he ever really slept, though. Sleeping was for weak people. And if there was one thing Johnny knew, it was that he would never allow himself to be weak.
An owl was hooting nearby, its hollow call filling every fiber of Johnny's skinny, malnourished body. He felt hollow, too. But it had stopped hurting, the lack of food. It had become normal now…
Johnny hated the dark, but he wouldn't light the candle. His father didn't like it when Johnny wasted expensive things like candles, and Johnny was even more scared of his father than the dark. Besides, he had learned that if he turned just right every twenty minutes, the light of the moon covered at least part of his body, and then he wasn't in the dark anymore. He twisted and could see out of only a little bit of the window, but it was enough. Tiny little pinpricks in the woven blanket of the sky, letting in the glow of light hidden behind the hole-filled veil of night, the stars were some of his best friends. He decided he'd count them until his father came home. It was a usual activity.
The little shack was not the best environment for a six-year old, but Johnny's father wasn't one to really care about his son. They lived on the grounds of a sprawling, beautiful mansion, which was also the site of Johnny's place of employment. He was a 'groundskeeper,' as he called it. It meant he kept the yards pretty, and picked the apples when they were ripe, and all the sorts of things that rich people don't like to do but must have done to impress their friends. Sometimes he brought Johnny along with him when he went to pick apples in the orchards. Those days Johnny loved his father the most. He'd sit high in the branches and throw down the crisp red fruit to his father's waiting hands. Sometimes his father would praise him, and would tell him that they were a perfect team. So Johnny supposed that it was true, sometimes he did love his father.
But never at night.
At nighttime, his father was different. It scared Johnny. He hated everything about night once his father came home—the darkness, the shallow breathing, the foul smell of cheap liquor, the stinging pain of his father's belt across his fair skin. Johnny's father hated the in-between color of Johnny's skin. Johnny's mother—he had seen her three times, and she was beautiful—was the daughter of the man who owned the mansion. She had concealed her pregnancy with Johnny by wearing her corset extra-tight, and when he'd been born, she'd given him to Johnny's father so she wouldn't get in trouble. Johnny liked to think about his mother. Then Johnny's thoughts turned back to the sins of his father in the night, and then the flickering fear that accompanied the worst pain of all shot through his body. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, and he pretended that it had never happened before, and would never happen again. If he pretended just enough, maybe his shattered dreams would become real. Maybe… maybe…
The doorknob eased open. Johnny's father was a quiet man, a man slight by build who hardly spoke two words but to Johnny. Johnny kept his eyes squeezed shut, hoping his father would believe him asleep.
"Hey. Boy. Wake up."
Eyes closed. Eyes closed. Don't let him hurt you. Be strong. Be a man. Johnny's thoughts paraded through his mind, and he repeated them over and over.
"I told you to wake up! Don't you disobey me!"
Liquor already on his breath. There wouldn't even be down time tonight, where Johnny could pretend as hard as he could while his father drank liquor. No time to pretend hard enough…
A hand upon his shoulder, forcing him onto his back. Keep your eyes closed. Firm hand, and cold too, and big enough to nearly fit all the way across Johnny's small waist. Be a man.
The hand was gone now, but the mattress suddenly sagged on the other end. Johnny's father had sat down. The old wooden cot holding the mattress screamed in protest, and Johnny lay his end, scared to move. Eyes closed. Pretending.
The hand was back. This time around his arm, his arm so thin it could break any minute. Johnny felt his chest seize up in fear, and the next instant, found himself on the dusty floor. He moved to pick himself up. "Don't move, boy," his father warned. "And take off your clothes."
Pretend! Pretend! Pretend! Johnny's thoughts had turned to screaming sirens inside his head as the silently and methodically removed his thin shirt, thin pants. It was cold. He shivered, and looked hopelessly at his clothes beside him.
"Lay down," his father told him. "On your stomach." Oh, God! Pretend! There were cuts on Johnny's stomach, from the night before, when his father had whipped him with his belt. The dust on the floor mixed into the cuts, making Johnny's eyes water. He shut them again, pinched them shut. Pretend!
The clink of metal that Johnny knew too well—the clink that was his father's belt buckle being loosed. The soft sound of falling cloth, and the thud of the belt's buckle hitting the ground. The smell of liquor, the shallow breathing descending on Johnny as surely as his father's body doing the same. Pain! PAIN! Pretend! Pretend! Be a man! Hot tears, bitter tears, mixing with the dust that was flying into Johnny's face. The mud formed there on his cheeks a hasty, solid reminder of everything pain-filled and wrong.
"Oh, God!" his father yelled, and the heaving and the pain continued, and Johnny's eyes filled with more tears. Pretend! It hurt… it hurt so bad… Eyes closed! Oh, God! Eyes closed!
Eternity passed. Finally Johnny's father got off of him. He pulled on his pants and left the shack, leaving the door hanging open behind him. Half-paralyzed with fear, Johnny sobbed as he pulled back on his thin clothing. Pretend it never happened, he told himself. Pretend like tonight never happened.
But as much as he tried, he knew that tonight had happened. Still crying, he crawled back onto his cot. The rough, cold burlap material of the mattress cover soothed his burning flesh. The rough material of the mattress was somehow the only thing that could bring Johnny piece of mind after the events his father evoked upon him. The mud still smeared across his face. A tribute to his father.
:
When Mush awoke, the bunkroom had finally fallen to the snores of the other boys. Silence and darkness peered at him from every corner. He struggled to remember his dream, his fingers dreamily tracing the edge of his mattress. Only one word stuck out: pretend.