Welcome to Chapter 2! I hope you guys are still with me and enjoying the story. Here's where it really gets exciting! Crutchie starts to learn a little sign language - a HUGE breakthrough. :D
I hope you guys enjoy! Please read and review. Thanks so much for all the reviews last time! Queenlmno, brighteyes421, Fanz4life, Demonwolf, Cottonballpoofs, SomedayonBroadway(!), unofficialfansie, and bexlynne (my very first – thanks a million!): Your reviews all meant so much! They all made my day to read. I was actually a bit nervous to read all of them, but you guys were amazing! Thanks to everybody who followed and favorited, too. (I encourage you guys to review this chapter as well, whether you love it or hate it!)
A quick note: This chapter is strongly based off of the experiences of Helen Keller first understanding the idea that objects have names. You might recognize some similar parallels if you're familiar with Helen's story!
Anyways, without further ado, welcome to the most exciting chapter in this story so far! Enjoy Chapter 2!
"What did I tell you about bringing more orphans back to the Lodging House?"
Jack flinches a bit, and he drops his gaze, not meeting Louis's eyes. The older boy stands there demandingly, hands on his hips, and Jack can't find the strength to look into the Manhattan leader's face. The fury radiating from him pierces Jack painfully.
"I couldn't just leave him!" he protests anyways, fixated by his hands but defiant all the same. "He would've died if I didn't bring him back, Louis! He would've - "
"He'll probably die anyways, Jack!" Louis's voice is frustrated, exasperated. Jack's head shoots up, and he starts to protest, but Louis cuts him off. "He's starving and weak and he's crippled! There's no way he survives more than a few months! And - Jack, the kid is Deaf! We can't talk to him, we can't sign to him, and he can't communicate with us at all! There's no way - "
"I'll teach him!" Jack breaks in then, his voice desperate and pained. "I'll teach him how to sign, I'll teach him how to read! I will! But - please, Louis! Don't abandon him again! Let him stay here and I'll look after him, I'll teach him. Please."
Louis stares at him, sighing. Jack can tell he is exasperated, but he's worn down. He doesn't want to put up any more of a fight.
"Fine," Louis says eventually. "Teach him. But you're responsible for him, Jack. You pay for his board, you find him food, okay? He ain't my responsibility."
Jack nods eagerly, relief filling his body. "I will, Louis. I understand."
Louis gives him a curt nod. "Don't expect any help from us," he warns. It stings, but Jack nods anyways.
"I get it, Louis. I get it."
Jack stays home that day. He doesn't even try to sell. Once the others have left, he goes back to the bunk room. The kid is still fast asleep, passed out under his blankets. Jack is sure he hasn't slept this well in months, maybe years.
Jack spends the first hour aimlessly, pacing back and forth in the room with one eye always on the sleeping kid. At eight o'clock, he shows no sign of stirring, but Jack doesn't mind; he is just glad to see the boy relaxing.
At one point Jack creeps out of the room to use the bathroom (although, he reflects ironically, he really doesn't need to be quiet around this kid). When he returns, he does a double-take, surprised at the sight of the kid wide awake and curled into a ball at the head of his bed.
The kid looks up, and his terrified green eyes find Jack's. Jack almost breaks at the sight, but he slowly makes his way over to the boy, crouching down and reaching out to him gently. No sudden moves, Jack reminds himself. Nothing harsh.
The boy still shies away from him, but it's in fear, not panic, which is an encouraging sign. As much as it hurts to admit, Jack should be expecting fear from this boy. Almost all the new kids who come to the Lodging House are afraid of touch, at least at first. The fact that the kid isn't panicking is certainly positive.
Jack smiles at the boy, who offers a hesitant grin back - but Jack can tell his heart isn't in it. Undeterred, he offers a hand to the little boy. The kid's eyes are teary with fear now, but Jack is the only person he knows in this world; and so he timidly stretches his own hand out.
The kid's palm is tiny and shaking, and it takes forever for him to reach his hand to Jack's, but when he does, the older boy could not be more relieved. He helps the child to his feet gently, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. It's the only way he can communicate with the boy at all.
Jack keeps an arm around the kid's shoulders, supporting him as he hobbles along with that crutch. Jack barely controls the impulse to shake his head. Crippled, Deaf, mute, and abandoned… what has the world done to this kid?
Jack leads the kid into the main room and sits him down on the couch, before crossing to the mostly-empty pantry and rummaging around until he finds a scrap of food: in this case, a soft but not rotten apple that he deems perfectly suitable for the kid's consumption. He brings the fruit back over to the boy, conscious of the kid's sharp eyes scrutinizing his every move. Jack kneels in front of the kid, holding out the fruit with his left hand and using his right to sign the word apple.
The kid just stares blankly, and his teeth clench in frustration when Jack repeats the sign with his hand closer to the boy's face. He clearly doesn't understand; and Jack doesn't want to push him. Not yet. That will come soon, but only after the boy has eaten. So instead, Jack just pushes the apple out towards the boy, willing him to take it, to eat.
The kid hesitates, shying in on himself, his tiny face twisting with distrust. Jack feels his heart shatter yet again. But he keeps holding out the apple - and eventually the kid gives in.
He takes it in trembling fingers, and shyly points to himself. For me? he's asking, and Jack feels himself gasp. It's barely anything, but the kid is asking something, expressing himself. It's a start; a tiny hint of a beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.
Jack nods encouragingly, pointing to the boy. Yes, he says, for you. The boy's eyebrows raise fearfully, still afraid that he's doing the wrong thing; but he takes a tiny bite of the fruit anyways.
It's clear from the way his eyes dart and widen and flash that he expects Jack to hurt him, to punish him for eating. But Jack just stays there, keeping his small smile fixed on his face and making the kid as comfortable as possible. When the boy sees that, he begins to gobble the food down, clearly starving.
The apple is finished in record time, and Jack wishes he had something else to give the boy. But there's no more food in the Lodging House, and he doesn't want to go outside and drag the crippled kid with him - or worse, leave him alone.
So Jack just sits down next to the kid, pretending not to see the boy flinch at the close proximity. Jack breathes slowly, trying to calm himself. He's put a lot of thought into how he's going to do this, and he can't afford to mess it up.
The problem is massive. The boy simply doesn't understand that objects have names; that part is clear to Jack. He can't grasp the concept that this slab of wood here is a table and is always a table and will be a table no matter what you say or think about it. And, to be fair, why should the boy understand that idea? He's never been exposed to language at all.
But Jack needs to break that wall. If he accomplishes nothing else, he must accomplish that much.
And he might as well start with that slab of wood in front of them.
Jack gets off the couch, kneeling opposite the boy and keeping his eyes directly on him. Slowly, Jack sweeps his hand across the table, knocks on the wood, rocks the furniture back and forth. Then he brings his forearms together and slowly signs table.
The kid just stares; Jack sighs, trying to remember that this is all entirely foreign to the boy. Again, he gestures to the wood, doing everything in his power to indicate the table. Then he deliberately signs the word.
The kid shakes his head, pushing himself further into the couch; he's intimidated by the flurry of unfamiliar signs and he wants to escape. Jack sees him start to close his eyes, shutting out the world.
But Jack can't let him do that, can't let a child so full of potential lock himself away. He is back by the kid's side in a second, sitting next to him. The boy shakes his head fearfully and shies away from Jack's presence.
Jack, undeterred, slowly reaches out to take the boy's arm. The kid gasps and flinches away, but Jack doesn't stop, as much as it hurts his heart to push this boy. He must make the kid understand.
Slowly, Jack forms the boy's arms into the sign for table. The kid resists every second of it, trembling and struggling against Jack's hold. Jack forces his shaking arms into the sign table twice, then releases him. Before the boy can cringe away again, he signs it himself. Table.
The boy looks up timidly, his face a mask of helplessness and confusion. But despite that, he brings his own quaking arms up and mimics Jack's sign. Table.
Jack stares at him for a second, before an enormous smile breaks out on his face. "Yes, kid!" he breathes, aware that he boy can't hear him but not caring. He just laughs and nods and smiles. "Good job!"
The kid signs the word again, and Jack keeps nodding at him and smiling. He's still not sure, though, if the boy has connected the sign with the actual object, if he realizes that the strange thing Jack has forced him to do with his arms means the rickety piece of wood in front of him.
Jack decides to try another sign now, this time the one for wall. It's simple too: two palms facing out and gently sliding apart. He runs his hands over the wall, then makes the sign for the boy; this time, the kid copies without much prompting.
Jack feels his heart swell with hope and optimism. Maybe - just maybe - the kid gets it…
Jack gestures back to the table and looks expectantly at the kid, waiting for him to sign; he even gives him an encouraging nod. The boy stares back, bewildered. Finally, he raises his hands shakily, but this time he signs wall. Jack feels his heart sink. The kid can copy the signs, all right, but he simply has no idea that they have a deeper meaning.
Come on, kid. Please just understand…
The boy cringes at the sudden look of disapproval that flashes across Jack's face, and the older boy is by his side at once, shoving the frustration aside. It's not this boy's fault, not one bit. Jack smiles at the kid, encouraging him, trying to keep his spirits up.
The boy doesn't smile back.
Jack's heart quivers, but he can't give up, not now. He has to do this, has to break through. Jack gets up, crosses the room, and takes a pen from the counter. He comes back and hands it to the boy, hoping that something a bit more tangible might help the kid make the connection - that one vital connection, between objects and words.
It's Jack's last idea; if the kid doesn't get it, he's not quite sure what he'll do, for the boy's sake or his own.
Come on, kid, Jack thinks. Please.
There is something building inside of him as the boy with green eyes does the Hands Thing, but it isn't anger. Not now. It's more… helplessness. He is out of his depth. He is scared.
The boy with green eyes is doing the Hands Thing, and forcing him to do the Hands Thing too. He is trying. He copies what the boy with green eyes is doing, keeping his arms as steady as they can be.
He is really trying to do the Hands Thing, really trying to do what the boy with green eyes shows him. But it doesn't make sense. No matter how much he mimics the boy with green eyes, it is just that: mimicry. It means nothing.
It feels strange to his unaccustomed hands. It feels strange to do what the boy with green eyes does so easily. It feels weird to copy the Hands Thing.
That is no surprise, though, is it? What feels natural to others has always felt alien to him. He is used to it. He is used to having something wrong with him. He has felt that way ever since the Other Place.
He can feel the frustration radiating from the boy with green eyes, and he shrinks away. The boy with green eyes is quickly by his side, smiling as if nothing is wrong. It eases his breathing a little, but he is still afraid. He can't bring his lips to smile.
The boy with green eyes gets up and crosses the room, and brings something back in his hand. It's small; a writing utensil of some sort. The boy with green eyes kneels in front of him, taking his fist and wrapping it tightly around the object. He trembles, not sure where this is going; but he trusts the boy with the green eyes (even if he doesn't understand him) and doesn't struggle away.
The boy with green eyes is clutching his own little fist tightly, which in turn has a tight grasp on the object. With his other hand, the boy with green eyes brings a finger to his lips and then makes a squiggle in the air. Then the boy with green eyes does it again, and again, and again.
It is another one of the Hands Things.
The boy with green eyes keeps doing the Hands Thing, keeps repeating the same motion. The boy with green eyes shakes his hand, the one clutching the object, as he does so.
Again and again and again.
He is confused. Why this Hands Thing? Why this object? Why both at the same time? It doesn't make any sense.
Again and again and again.
Why this Hands Thing? Why this object?
Again and again and again.
Why together?
Again.
Together.
He goes completely still.
Always together.
This Hands Thing and this object go together.
This Hands Thing and this object go together, and they will always, always, always go together.
This Hands Thing and this object… they mean the same thing. And they will always mean the same thing. And the Hands Thing will always mean the object. The pen.
He feels himself freeze, and he is sure he stops breathing for a moment.
Jack's hope has grown more desperate as the time passes, as the kid cannot seem to find a way to break through this box he's been placed in. This stupid, impenetrable box that doesn't need to be there.
This kid is smart. He doesn't need to be set apart from the world of the hearing. But somebody has neglected him, ignored him, not bothered to teach him how to sign. Now, when he's five years old, it might already be too late.
Jack doesn't believe it, but he finds himself growing frustrated as the boy struggles. He's not frustrated with the boy - more with the situation - but he's sure his frustration is showing nonetheless.
The child is clearly upset too. It's been a long stretch of being forced to sign meaningless signs, and it's taking its toll on him.
Last one, kid, Jack promises silently, as he presses the pen into the boy's hands. This is the last sign, then I'll let you have a break.
Jack curls the kid's fingers around the pen, before surrounding the boy's fist with his own. The child struggles briefly, but only for a moment. Soon he gives in, doesn't try to fight it.
Jack faces the boy, and he slowly signs pen, trying with all his might to convey the meaning, to show the kid what he means.
Pen.
The kid stares helplessly, shaking his head.
Pen.
Jack shakes the hand holding the pen slightly, trying to show the connection. Nothing.
Pen.
Something is happening in the boy's eyes. The confusion is still prominent, but there is something underneath it. Something moving. Something growing.
Pen.
The kid's lips part slightly, and Jack can practically hear the gears in his brain whirring. He is slowly beginning to put two and two together.
Pen.
There is understanding in his eyes, but the confusion is still stronger.
Pen.
And then the kid freezes.
He goes absolutely still for a second, gazing at Jack with a thousand different undisguised emotions, and then he flies into a frenzy. He rips his hand from Jack's, clutching the pen in a fist that is wildly shaking all of a sudden. Pen, he signs, and his eyes are trying to convey what he means. He shoves the pen into Jack's face and copies the sign, just as desperately. Pen.
Jack just nods, shivering. The awe on this child's face is incredible. Jack is sure that he has finally broken through, that he finally understands; and the older boy is shaking with relief and desperation and wonder and pride.
The boy is on his feet in a second, despite the twisted leg that makes him stumble. He turns and flings an arm out, hitting the couch; then he looks to Jack with wide, wondering eyes. Jack laughs and shows him the sign for couch. A huge smile overtakes the kid's face, and he copies the sign, radiating euphoria Jack has never seen.
Now he points at the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and Jack, giggling now, shows him light. Again the kid signs it with an indescribable awe in his eyes, and Jack is filled with absolute joy, knowing that the kid understands, knowing that he will never be locked away so harshly again. He will always have words with him.
The kid slaps the table, and Jack grins, showing him the sign from before. Table. The kid cocks his head at the familiar gesture, considering; then he laughs. Jack's heart melts. It is a bright, clear sound, like a bell peal on a cold morning. It is the purest sound he has ever heard.
The kid is a fast learner. He kicks the wall now, and correctly signs wall, recalling the gesture from earlier. Jack is amazed that he remembers it, and has gone back through his muddled memory to know what it means.
Then the kid freezes. Jack takes a hesitant step towards him, worried; then the boy comes trotting up to Jack and pats his shoulder gently.
Jack grins, sure the boy is trying to say thank you. He gives him a gentle, reassuring nod, and a smile of encouragement. But the boy doesn't stop. He pats Jack again.
What is it? Jack wonders worriedly, wanting to understand the boy but not quite able. What do you want?
The kid pats his shoulder one more time, and then Jack gets it. The boy knows the names for the objects around him, the table and wall and light. Now he wants to know the name for the child standing in front of him.
Jack fingerspells his name carefully, letter by letter. J-A-C-K. He wants to go further, wants to sign My name is J-A-C-K, but doesn't want to run the risk of confusing this boy, ruining such a perfect moment. So he settles for his name.
The kid smiles at him. J-A-C-K, he copies slowly, four separate signs but each done with such perfect, careful precision. Jack is touched beyond words.
Now that he understands that much, there is one more thing the kid must know, one more thing he needs a name for. Jack has been expecting it, and is not at all surprised when the kid raps his knuckles twice against his own skull, asking the name for himself. What am I called?
Jack considers this carefully. The kid doesn't have any other name, has never had any sort of family that has called him anything. Jack wants to call him something special, something that means more than any other name, more than Nathan or Casey or even Jack.
The kid will always have his crutch. It's endearing, in a way; it makes him somehow cute. It's unique and it makes him stand out. And it's admirable, really, that a boy injured in such a way has survived so long.
So Jack raises his fingers and spells out the boy's name gently. C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E.
The boy's eyes become even brighter, if that's possible. He stares at Jack with unconcealed wonder. Then he reaches out to tap himself.
C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E.
Tears well in both boys' eyes at that.
There is so much Jack wants to say in that moment, but he can't articulate any of it, and even if he could Crutchie wouldn't understand. So instead Jack just flings his arms around Crutchie, pulling the younger boy close, trying with all his might to show the love he has for this little boy.
It is, he's certain, a sentiment that can be expressed without words.
Don't worry, this isn't the end! Crutchie's smart, but he only knows six words now. There's a long way still to go!
If you've read this far, please PLEASE review. I would love if we could get up to 18 reviews before I post the next chapter! Talk about whatever you want - what you loved about this, what you hated, what you think is totally unrealistic, what you had for lunch today, what your sister said to you, whatever.
One last thing! You know how the Manhattan leader at the beginning is named Louis? I realized this only after I wrote this chapter, but the real leader of the 1899 strike was named Louis Bennett. Historians estimate he was thirteen or fourteen years old. (Imagine that - fourteen! I mean, I'm fourteen, and I can hardly imagine leading such a huge movement. But hey, just look at the sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds starting national revolutions from Parkland!) Anyways, I digress.
Thanks for reading! Please review, follow, or favorite, and I hope you guys have an incredible day! See you soon!