So here's my first ever fan fic! Yay!
I appreciate comments or any sort... 'cause I'm kinda "new" to this... It doesnt matter if you've got an account or not.
Disclaimer: I dont own Newsies... Its the other way around...
"Then Keeler rounded second, his foot slipping on the bag. Could he make it to third? The crowd was all a-hush, wanting him to stay on second. But Keeler's a man of risk. He dove for third, just as the Shortstop came in with the ball to tag him out. A cloud of dust erupted around the base, and when it cleared, Keeler and the Shortstop were both on base", I told Twitch.
"Well???" he asked, in excitement, "Was Keeler safe?"
I raised an eyebrow at Twitch, causing the moment to be more suspenseful, "Well, Keeler was always a man of risk. And that isn't always a good trait to have."
Twitch gasped, "He didn't make it?"
"Aw, come on, Shortstop! Tell da kid what happened! You're da only one dat saw it!" somebody said from behind me.
"Aw, Race", I said, "I'm only havin' some fun."
"Did he make it, Shortstop?" Twitch pleaded, "Please! Tell me!"
I pulled Twitch in close, "Of course he make", I said tapping his nose, "He is Willie Keeler after all."
Just then, a voice called out from the deli across the street, "Amelia!!"
I sighed, getting up from the dirty ground, "See ya guys later."
"Bye, Shortstop!" Twitch said, "See you tomorrow!"
"See ya, Shorty", Race said, smirking.
I shot him a playful glare, while fixing my skirt, so that it didn't look like I had been hanging around with the guys again. I picked up my basket of bread that ma asked me to get and walked across the street to join her.
. . .
When ma and I got back to the apartment, it was almost sundown. Dad would be home from the factory soon, and we had to get dinner ready.
Ma asked me to get out the bread that I had gotten earlier, and to put it out on the counter. Ma then had me slice up the bread and put it back into the basket. She then sent me down the hall, with the bread, to Mrs. Colandrea.
"Buona sera, Signora Colandrea" (Good evening, Mrs. Colandrea), I said as she opened the door.
"Buona sera, Amelia" (Good evening, Amelia), she replied, just as she does every night. Mrs. Colandrea was a widow. Her husband had died only a few months ago. And I had been bringing her bread ever since, because she still had six children to feed. Only one of the Colandreas spoke any English. And that was Emilio, who was a year younger then me, and the only reason that he knew English was that I taught him.
I gave her the basket of bread that I had sliced up. And she thanked me, kindly. Just as she always had.
Just then, Celso came up to the door, next to his mother. Celso was only about nine, the same age as Twitch.
"Salve, Celso" (Hey, Celso), I said to him.
"Salve, Amelia!" (Hey, Amelia) he replied.
"Lavare I piatti, Celso" (Go wash up, Celso), Mrs. Colandrea said to her son. He looked up at her, and did as he was told.
I could here the rest of the Colandreas getting ready for dinner, as the widow thanked me for the bread again. I told her that it was no problem and that if she ever needed anything, we were just down the hall. Of course, I told her this every night. But it always held true. Ma wasn't one to let anyone go hungry.
Once I was done with that, I went back to our own apartment, and helped ma finish making lasagna.
. . .
After dinner, ma, dad, and I gathered in the small parlor. Ma put a record onto the phonograph that we had. Dad picked up the evening edition of the New York World. And I sat with my cross-stitching. I had been working on a plaque for Mr. Colandrea's memorial, and I was taking my time on it, making sure that it was perfect.
"Oh, Robert", Ma said, breaking the silence.
Dad looked up from his paper, "Yes?"
"Do you remember this song?"
He listened for a few seconds. It was a song that I had never heard before, but it defiantly was of my parent's generation.
"The song we danced to at our wedding", Dad said sweetly, as if remembering it.
They both sighed, listening to the sweet music as it slowly filled up the room. Then, Dad got up from his chair and held his hand out for Ma. She gladly took it and they began to waltz. Right there in the parlor. They were having fun, smiling, and looking each other in the eye, longingly. I smiled too. I loved it when my parents were like this. All happy, and in love.
And just before the song ended, I got up and walked over to the phonograph. Neither of my parents saw me get up. They were too busy. But I was standing there, with a wicked grin on my face. I quickly picked up the record, and put another record into the phonograph.
My parents jumped when they heard the transition. Ma even gasped.
She then looked at me and asked, "Scott Joplin?"
I nodded, smiling. And then Ma smiled, too.
Dad then took my hand and pulled me in, and we started dancing. All three of us.
. . .
Next morning, Dad had to get up really early for work. So, Ma and I had the day to ourselves again.
It started out with Ma teaching me on "being a lady". I paid close attention to my lessons, making sure that I got everything exactly right. Because, one day, I would be married. And I needed to know how to be a good wife. Then were my lessons on reading and writing. Ma said that just because I had to be a good wife, didn't mean that I had to be a stupid one. So, I learned my grammar, and how to use predicate nominatives. It was a long lesson, because I do not enjoy grammar. But I got through it and we moved onto the chores of the day.
We went out onto the streets of Brooklyn. Living in Park Slope was very convenient, but all three of us (Ma, Dad, and I) wished that we lived in Little Italy, in Manhattan. We were an Italian-American family, and we wanted to be around others that were like us. All we had were the Colandreas (and don't get me wrong, we were very close to them).
But everyday, Ma and I would travel across the Brooklyn Bridge to Little Italy, because that's where you found the best Italian foods in all of New York.
Ma sent me out to get bread again.
So, I took the money that she gave me and headed off, in search of bread…and my friends.
So, that's the first chapter... I'm not sure if I'm proud of it yet...
Again, I appreciate comments or any sort! Doesn't even matter if you've got an account or not. I'll take your comments anyway.
References...
Brooklyn Superbas: The baseball team of Brooklyn between the years: 1899 and 1910. (There's a huge history of them... look them up if you're into baseball!)
Willie Keeler: an outfielder for the Brooklyn Superbas in the 1899, 1900, 1901, & 1902 seasons. (Stats: Batting ave: .341, Hits: 2,932, Runs scored: 1,719.)
Scott Joplin: Ragtime songwriter. Wrote Maple Leaf Rag. (You can find it on .... link on my profile...)
for now,
newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.