The wind teased at his clothes, lightly tugging him forwards. Forwards, yes, but away from the newsboy barracks. Away, yes, from his heart and from a sight he couldn't bear to see. The cold breeze tore lightly at his bare arms, nipping at his ears.
** * **
"I love you," he said to me one night. I didn't know whether to hit him for being strange or kiss him because I was the same way. He whispered it again, in my ear. "I love you." His warm breath tickled and I fought back the urge to laugh. Instead, I said aloud what I had never even thought to myself.
"I love you, too."
** * **
He clutched the blanket tightly, his chest tight and his breathing constricted. Breathe in, breathe out, he thought to himself, but the simple task of taking in air pained him. His friends were around him, some worrying and fussing, others pretending like nothing was going to happen. He knew something was going to happen. Why didn't they tell him something was wrong?
** * **
"Somethin's wrong," Jack said to me. "Da boys an' I, well, we know dat you ain't da same as us. We aren' goin' ta beat ya' up, if ya' might be t'inkin' dat, but we wants ya' ta know... dis is a warnin'. If you try anythin' wit' us, don' hold us accountable fer what we did... 'cause I warned ya'."
I nodded, grinning silly. "I won't do anythin' ta you or da oddahs, Jack. I gots someone. Dutchy." I stopped grinning and slapped a hand over my mouth. "I didn' say dat. He doesn' want anyone ta know." I knew Jack could see my fearful expression and anxious eyes, and he agreed not to tell anyone.
** * **
The wind picked up a little. He put a hand on his head; conscious of the fact his cap might blow away if a stronger gust of air chose to blow. He kept walking in the opposite direction of his home, the opposite direction of his lover. He walked past a spot they had often ducked into to steal a forbidden kiss. He walked past the restaurant where they had shared stories and secrets.
** * **
"I have a secret," he said to me. I stopped peddling papers and looked at him. "I have a secret," he repeated. I shrugged and followed him into Tibby's, a small restaurant where he and I liked to muse about our day over a cup or two of strong coffee. Confused, we sat at our usual table, hidden in a shadowy corner.
"Well, what's youh secret?" I asked, a little agitated that he'd pulled me away from my work when I was doing so well.
"I'm sick," he paused, sadness crossing his usual cheery, immature features. "I might not get better."
** * **
His breaths got shorter, fewer. He sucked in air greedily when he could manage it and made himself cough and wheeze. It was getting late, the others were falling asleep. Only his closest friends stayed up with him, and the owner of the Lodging House. But not the one person he wanted to see most. How could he let go without one last embrace?
I gave him a huge hug. He remembered my favorite kind of sweets, a peppermint stick candy from the local general store. He spent his day's pennies on me. On
me. I loved him."Don't die, Snitch," he murmured when my mouth was full of peppermint. "Promise me." I looked up and saw in his face that he'd been thinking it about for a long time. About my sickness and the way I woke up coughing at night. I didn't say anything to him. I couldn't promise.
** * **
The wind was pushing harder now, shoving him roughly away, further and further away. Until it was too far to go back and make it in time. He felt invisible fingers prodding him on. He probably looked drunk, the way he staggered every time the wind slightly changed direction. He could feel it. He was so sensitive to it. He wanted to go back, he yearned to go back. But it was too late. It was just too late.
** * **
"It's too late for me, Kloppman says." He gave the news without sugarcoating it. "I'm going to die, Dutchy." I grabbed at him and kissed him, there, just us two, alone, in the Lodging House. The winter sun beat down on us through an open window. Even so, he pulled on his blanket. The sun wasn't enough to even melt the ice and snow outside, how could it make us warmer?
"You promised," I protested.
"I never promised," he replied, the child gone from him. And I knew he hadn't.
** * **
He let out one last heart-breaking wheeze. Helpless to stop it, his friends let tears pour down their cheeks. He looked almost at peace, with no worries. But they could see the one worry. Where had he been? When they all knew about the love they had shared, how could he have not been here as he died? When the coughing started and when it had stopped, he was nowhere to be seen.
** * **
I started coughing again, and I could feel his footsteps as Dutchy left. Each step pounded in my mind, though he'd left as quietly as he could. I knew he left every night when I started coughing, before the other boys could wake up and ask me if I was okay. I knew he didn't want to see me hurting.
It was bad this time. I felt so weak, but I knew I had to keep breathing if I wanted to make it one more day. I tried very hard, but it matched me, breath for breath. I went into a fit of coughing and wished he were here. The wind rustled the trees outside. I wished again, but if wishes came true, I wouldn't be dying.
** * **
He stopped walking. The wind continued to urge him on, fighting his motionless body. Dust from the streets billowed around his feet. He loosened his grasp on his cap and it tumbled away, carried by the wind. Another swirl of dust engulfed him, and, as it cleared, he was no more. He vanished in a single breath.