~Spotlin

I was awkwardly awake this morning and everybody else at my sleepover was asleep, so I figured it was a good time to write a one-shot. Do you agree?

Babies are for women old and mature enough to handle them. Not for dumb teenagers like me who don't even have any idea how to be a mother and never intended on having a child in the first place. But in my defense, the father was Spot Conlon.

"Calvin, please go to sleep!" I pleaded as I rocked my baby boy. Our roommates, the Vance's, were usually supportive and gave me tips on parenting, but the older couple had used up all of their patience and actually were trying to find another place to live.

"I'm home, Emma." Spot said in a tired monotone as he tossed his keys on the dresser and laid down on the bed.

"Hi, Spot." I said just as Calvin began to settle down.

I put Calvin in his small crib and tucked him in. I wished that I had something better for him. It was enough that Spot and I could only afford to live in a semi-private room in a shared apartment, but we had to raise a kid in it. It was like my childhood all over again.

"Where 'er our roommates?" Spot whispered.

"Out lookin' fer anuddah place ta live."

"Alright," Spot got up and grabbed his keys. "So's youse won't need any help den."

"What?" I asked, trying to keep my voice down. "W-where 'er ya goin'?"

"I'm gonna find some 'a da old newsies," Spot said in a rush as he opened the front door and stepped out.

Careful not to step out and leave my baby alone, I hung onto the door frame and said just loud enough but not too loud to wake Calvin, "Spot, get back heah!"

Spot strode back and swiftly kissed my cheek, "Don't wait up!"

"You son of a bitch!" I blurted out. Spot came to an abrupt stop and slowly turned around, looking just as surprised as I was. Without any other ideas and knowing I couldn't just say that I take it back, I quickly jumped back and slammed the door, waking up Calvin. I would have put something heavy in front of the door to stall Spot, but I had to run to the other room to calm my son.

In less than two seconds, Spot came flying through the door and slamming it shut, yelling over the baby's cries, "WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?"

"NOTHIN' DAT SHOULD BE NEWS TO YOU!" I screamed back. "YER DA REASON DAT DA VANCE'S IS MOVIN' OUT ON US!"

"ME? IT'S CHARLIE'S FAULT!"

"CHARLIE? WHO DA HELL IS CHARLIE?"

Spot stopped for a second and rubbed the back of his head, "OK, I knew dat wasn't right when I said it..."

"You don't even know yer son's name?"

"Well-"

"Get out! Jus' get da hell out!" I said to him while with one arm pointing to the door.

"No! Dis is my home an' if anyone should go, it'd be you an' Cole!"

I groaned loudly and walked straight past him to the door while calling back, "Calvin! Yer son's name is Calvin! An' maybe we will go!"

Spot jumped in front of me and blocked the door, "Wait wait whoa whoa whoa." he locked the door and leaned back on it. "Where do ya think yer goin'?"

I took my keys off of the hook on the wall next to me and held Calvin closer to me, "Youse said dat if anybody should go it'd be me an' Calvin!"

Spot ripped my keys out of my hands and stuck them deep in his pants pocket and took a step closer to me, "No no no. I said dat if anybody should go it'd be you an' Calvin. But you ain't goin' nowhere!"

"An' why should I take dat kinda shit from you?" I demanded, hoping that one of those particular words wouldn't be Calvin's first.

"Because yer my wife an' dat's what I tol' ya ta do." he turned me around by my shoulders and put a hand on my back and led me back to our room. "Now put 'im ta bed an' den come back out cuz we gotta talk." he strictly told me. I've wanted to punch him directly in the nose a few times before, but never as much as I did right then. He must have a lot of nerve talking to me like that.

I closed the curtain separating our room from the main room and sat down in the questionably squeaky rocking chair in the corner next to Calvin's crib. Instead of ranting in my head again about how unstable my baby will grow up to be and how much he's going to hate me when he becomes a man, I gently rocked him and tried to put my mind in a happier place. I began to try and remember what I ever saw in Spot Conlon. I seldom looked at him and saw the man that I fell in love with.

Then, while starting to notice Calvin's cries less and less, I remembered the night I actually fell for Spot...

It was 1899 and I was just another stupid fifteen year-old that ran away. I had been a newsie for a few months already and I was in a fine circle of friends, but that was before I formally met Spot. It wasn't before there was a rumble between some of the Brooklyn and Long Island newsies and Spot was hurt that I was actually alone to talk with him.

"Emma! We got a project for you!" two of my friends called when they set foot into the lodging house. Curious but not at all worried, I hopped off of my top bunk and nimbly glided downstairs.

I came to a less than graceful stop when I saw Spot Conlon in the doorway with a bloodstain on his right shoulder. I took his left arm and reeled him in and pulled the collar of his shirt down the length of his injured shoulder to take a closer look. Luckily, it wasn't very deep. I was known as the newsie nurse, even though it really didn't suit me at all. All that I did was clean cuts, put ice on bumps and bruises, rub out sore muscles, and give sick boys medicine. If somebody came to me with a broken bone or a serious gash, I swear to God I would faint.

"Are dere any othahs like dis?" I asked one of the boys that called for me.

"Nah, it was supposed ta be a fair fight 'ntil some numb-scull whipped out 'is blade." he answered.

"OK," I carelessly returned as I let go of Spot's shirt and told him to follow me.

"Look, I'm fine," Spot insisted after I closed the door to the sick room. "Jus' put a bandage around it 'er somethin'."

"I will," I said while wastefully rummaging through the drawer for a couple of clean rags. I paused for a moment and remembered the laundry I did the same afternoon. I headed for the window and finished, "Aftah I clean it a little."

I heard a sigh back inside from my patient as I tried not to slip off of the fire escape reaching for two of the rags from the clothes line I had stretched from our building across to the one next to it. I successfully had what I wanted and got back to Spot, who had been watching me the whole time.

"Ya really know what yer doin', huh?" he casually asked.

I walked back across the room to the cabinet and got a bottle of peroxide and put it on one of the rags. "Ain't dat da reason youse guys haven't kicked me out yet?" I sat behind him on my knees. "Take off yer shirt."

Spot pulled off his grey checked shirt and dropped it onto the floor. "Well, youse is kinda like a mom ta us, I guess."

"I guess somebody has ta be,"

I was about to start dabbing Spot's shoulder when he interrupted and asked, "Will it sting?"

"No, it'll jus' bubble a little." I gently dabbed Spot's cut with the rag and put my free hand on his other shoulder. Spot shivered a bit. "What?" I asked.

"Yer hands 'er cold."

I took my empty hand away, "Oh, sorry,"

"No no," he reached back over and got my wrist and put it back where it was. "I like it,"

I barely refrained from giggling and losing it like any other teenage girl would.

Soon after I was finished and Spot was good to go, so I went back out to the clothes line to pick out his navy blue shirt he asked me to get. When I got back and handed it to him, he slipped the arms on and unexpectedly laid down on the bed. "So what's yer story?"

"My story?" I echoed while I put away the peroxide.

Spot sat up and leaned himself on the wall behind the bed. "Yeah,"

"Well, dere ain't much to tell," I sat on the edge of the bed next to his legs.

"Nah, I'm sure dere is," he insisted.

I sighed and told him in an almost steady voice, "My pop left my mama an' me alone in our apahtment in Manhattan while I was still a little goil. Aftah dat, my mama had ta get a real job an' I became a newsie as soon as I could. It was kinda nice cuz I made so many good friends while I was a newsie, but every day, I'se had ta come home an' listen ta my mom complain about 'er day an' how life would be easier if she was alone. So one day aftah she went ta work, I packed up all 'a my stuff," I took in a shallow breath and contained myself, "an' I left. Soon enough, I ended up heah in Brooklyn."

Spot nodded, "Dat's rough,"

"What's yer story?" I scooted fully onto the bed and sat next to Spot.

Spot looked down at himself and realized that he still hadn't buttoned up his shirt and began to as he told: "I stahted out as a newsie jus' aftah school. An' I remembah dat I used ta brag ta all 'a da street rats an' guttahsnipes dat I had it made: a family, a home, school, an' bein' a newsie all at once. I couldn't ask fer anythin' more. But ya know when somethin' sounds too good ta be true, it prolly is. So I come home ta my apahtment one day expectin' ta see my ma ovah da stove an' my pop readin' a newspapah, but I open da door an' everythin' is packed away in boxes. I look at my ma an' she says, 'Oh, I didn't know you'd be home so soon' an' I says, 'So where we goin'?' den my pop says 'Yer mama an' me 'er goin' ta Connecticut' an' den I got real confused an' I looked back an' fourth at 'em an asked, 'Well where am I goin'?' an' den dey look at each uddah like dey didn't even t'ink about dat paht, an' befoah dey had time ta make up an answer, I left." when he finished, I looked down and realized that Spot had stopped buttoning up his shirt when he reached the key necklace he was wearing and had been holding onto it for most of his story.

"Oh," was all I could think to say.

After a brief moment of silence, Spot swung his legs off of the bed and headed for the door, leaving me behind. His hand gripped the knob, but before he twisted it, he turned around on his heel and leaned back on the door, "An' yer name is Ella?"

"Emma," I corrected.

"Emma," he repeated. "Good, I like Emma bettah," he smiled at me and let himself out.

It was his charm that I fell in love with. And the fact that I told my life story that normally would take up to a month or so for me to tell the very first night I met him. But then almost three years later, he was the spitting image of the man I wanted to avoid being with. Then I remembered that I was still rocking his son, who was nearly asleep. I decided that for the last couple of minutes before he was asleep, I would sing him "Beautiful Dreamer".

Timing was on my side as the song ended and Calvin was out cold and tucked into his crib. I stood there for another moment to look at my beautiful baby boy. He looked a lot like his father, which both ached my heart and warmed it.

Reluctantly, I stepped away from Calvin and went back into the main room. I saw Spot standing next to the window with his arms crossed. He saw me in the reflection and turned around. For the first time in a while, he genuinely smiled at me.

"I heard you sing our song." he was referring to the lullaby I just sang for Calvin.

"It stopped bein' our song when you stopped bein' da Spot Conlon I married."

Spot sat down on the Vance's the ratty old sofa. "Did ya expect me ta stay da same?"

I came closer to him purely because of the fact that I wanted Calvin to stay asleep. "I expected ya ta keep yer promise."

"What promise?"

"When I foist tol' ya dat I was gonna have yer baby! Youse said dat you was always gonna be dere when I needed ya, dat you was gonna be brave fer me, dat you was gonna take care 'a all t'ree 'a us, an' dat you wasn't gonna be like da fathah I had!"

Spot leaned his elbows on his knees and twiddled his thumbs, "I did, didn't I?" he said shamefully.

"Yeah," I squeaked, looking up at the ceiling and blinking a few extra times.

Spot saw me trying to refrain from crying and stood up. I stayed where I was, but I stared at the floor instead of him. Spot lifted my chin, "But I kinda am. I mean, I made a choice ta marry you an' stay wid you. I'm keepin' a roof ovah yer head. It may be a stupid gross roof, but it keeps you an' Calvin warm, huh?"

"What about bein' a fathah?" Spot away from me and slightly cringed. "Huh?" I went on. "Youse is away doin' whatevah youse wanna do like yer still a kid whenever youse get a chance, but I can't! I need you here wid me! All I get is da Vance's, an' dey're movin' out on us! An' don't go actin' all honorable fer sayin' dat you married me ta support me cuz you know as well as anybody else does dat you married me cuz you was da only boy I evah was wid an' everybody knew dat! You jus' wanted to save yer name so you dragged me down ta city hall an' had it done when we was barely sixteen!"

"Do you have any idea what it was like fer me?" Spot snapped. "Fer all 'a da boys dat was supposed ta be undah me an' respect me ta go around an' ask me ta hand out cigars an' if it's a boy 'er a goil? On top 'a dat, I had ta bust my ass findin' someone ta hire me an' find a place fer all 'a us ta live!"

"What about me! You wasn't da one who looked like youse swallowed an entire watahmelon! Den all da goils I knew completely kicked me ta da side 'a da road an' called me a stupid whore an' dat I was jus' a baby myself! I had ta learn how ta be a mama when I nevah had a real mama ta learn from!"

We both ran out if words to say. Both if us found ourselves just staring at each other. All of the sudden, we met eyes and pulled together like the strongest of all magnets.

And though he was a childish man and I was just turning eighteen in a month and already had a year-old son, I felt like we finally were an adult couple. It took three years, but we were finally there.

Spot leaned his head on mine and held me tight. Unexpectedly, I heard a sniff.

I looked up at him, "You cryin'?"

Spot blinked away the tears in his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry,"

"No no," I took the back of his head and pulled it back where it was, "I like it,"