Once again, I'm reminding you of my existence while you wait for WAN.

Review Responses:

JustVildaPotter: Thanks! That's what I was trying to do! (I really should have put a little list of swimming terms at the start, sorry.) Glad you liked it!

AndrewKeenanBolgerFan: Ooh, you should do a track version of that! It would be awesome, and I'd read it.

Okay, this is practically all projection, in honor of my little brothe's 10th birthday this week. (Jacobs siblings, I'm sorry.)

Enjoy as much as you can!

Almost

October 9, 1999, 2:00 a.m.

The day hadn't started yet. On a farm, if there had happened to be one nearby, the chickens wouldn't have been up yet. It was the hour at which even the most rowdy of New Yorkers were beginning to consider calling it quits, because as they say, "Nothing good ever happens after two a.m.", which was undeniably true. And yet, Les couldn't sleep.

Why? Because it was his birthday, of all things. He had been ten years old for the last two hours, and so far, he didn't like it much. See, when a kid achieved double digits, everyone liked to make a big deal about it. They would say things like "You're a decade old!" as well as "You're almost a teenager!" and possibly "You'll be double digits for the rest of your life, unless you live to be a hundred." Phases that wouldn't bother a normal kid.

But Les was different. People saying those sorts of things did bother him, majorly. He had Leonardo DiCaprio to blame for it.

Two years before, when he was between the lovely ages of seven and eight, a few months before his parents' divorce, the Jacobs family had gone to see the movie Titanic in the theaters. At the time, it had been a brand new movie, and everyone was talking about it. It was more of a grown-up film than Les had even been allowed to see, and had included multiple scenes he hadn't been allowed to watch due to his mother covering his eyes. But he had enjoyed it well enough, for an almost eight-year-old. Or at least he had enjoyed it, until the end. When everyone died.

The death of the two main characters hadn't bothered Les initially. On the drive home, when Sarah and Davey had started a discussion regarding whether or not there was room enough for two on that door, he had joined in, joking easily along with them. In the back of his mind, the images of the tragic fate of the ship's passengers in the film had still lurked, but the concept of the tragedy hadn't irked him.

That was, until school the next day. It had begun as a normal day of class; as usual the teacher had gone off on some tangent or another, and Les had been letting his mind wander. As it happened, Titanic had still been fresh in his thoughts, and that's where the trouble had started.

As far as Les could remember, he hadn't been focusing on anything in particular. He'd simply been mentally reviewing the events of the movie, all the way until the tragic end, when all of a sudden, a nagging thought had appeared. It came out of nowhere like some shady guy popping out from around a dark corner, whispering in the depths of Les' consciousness: "Hey kid, you aren't gonna exist forever."

This was true. Les had been smart enough to know that at the time. Back then, he hadn't considered it ever, but it was the truth. Nothing lasted forever. In thinking about it, he'd been able to see the inevitability in his mind's eye, to imagine the empty blackness he was destined for. And as one would suspect, it scared him. He almost couldn't breathe at the thought of it. The worry had probably shown on his face, although nobody had ever mentioned if it had, so Les couldn't be sure. Anyway, most of the fear had been in his head.

He had tried his best to banish the thought and focus on the lesson, but still it had stayed, lurking there to remind him of his impermanence. The thoughts had remained with him all day, and progressed further when he'd returned home after school. He had looked at his mother and father, and realized they wouldn't always be there. The same thing had happened when he'd looked at Sarah, and Davey as well. All of them, including Les himself, were going to be gone someday. Knowing this felt like a glass had shattered in his brain, leaving behind nothing but terrifying ruin.

This glass he had never been able to put back together. After all, doing so was impossible. In an effort to shield those around him from sharing those fears, Les had never told anyone of his worries. He'd never shared the facts of the inevitable with any of his friends or teachers; when the thoughts hit him in class he would try to ignore them as he had tried that first day. If that didn't work- which often it didn't- he'd come up with his own distraction. Most often this involved clawing at the inside of his hands or the underside of his forearms, cursing himself for thinking what he was thinking. Just forget about it, he'd tried to tell himself, and occasionally, for small periods of time, simply focusing on not thinking about it worked well enough. But the concept would always come back unexpectedly, or the fingernail marks in his palms would be there to remind him, overruling their original purpose of a distraction. He hated it. He hated it so damn much, particularly because he could never tell anyone, as he didn't quite have the words to articulate his feelings on the whole… being dead thing, which at the time he had preferred to mentally refer to as the thing.

Which had been- and still was- another one of his problems. He couldn't bring himself to label the idea he was afraid of. Thinking or saying the word "death" caused him to start mulling over the concept on purpose, so he avoided the word at all costs.

Over the years, Les figured out how to manage his internal terrors. Sometimes this meant leaving the room or immersing himself in another subject when Davey started getting philosophical, as he tended to do fairly often. Other times, managing the fear meant ignoring the fact that he had a heartbeat, because the awareness of his pulse was likely to trigger a whole slew of mental speculation. At night, he would curl up in a ball in bed, with anything from stuffed animals to rolled-up laundry forming a barrier between his arms and his chest, just so he could have something to hug, to prevent himself from feeling the organ thumping inside him.

And he was okay, despite these weird habits. The stretches of time between each mini freakout of his had been growing longer and longer, until Les had begun spending time with the newsies. Not that he blamed them, of course. Since he never discussed it, none of the older kids knew of his fear. Therefore, it would have been irrational of him to expect them to be wary of setting off his tumultuous thoughts. They were teenagers after all, and often made light of death because they, like everyone else in the world, seemed to have accepted all that. When they did make such jokes, Les tried not to overthink it. His friends were only having fun, and he knew they meant no harm. But sometimes a worry or two would break through, and he would try to keep up composure, despite his internal panic.

But again, Les was fine with the state he was in. Used to it, even. Prior to his birthday, he had gone a solid three months (at least) without a single worry. And then came the introduction of double digits. He had longed to turn ten for ages, up until the day it actually approached, and he realized he would never be nine again. Never a singular number. That scared him, more than he thought was necessary. He didn't want to stop being a kid, because that would mean he was getting closer to… that thing. Being ten would mean becoming a teenager soon enough, which would mean preparing to be an adult, and Les was nowhere near ready for that. He didn't want to be like Davey, who had approximately two years to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, or like Sarah, who had approximately one year to plan out the rest of hers. Adulthood meant taxes, and driving, and jobs, and thousands of other responsibilities Les wasn't prepared to worry about. All of that sounded terrifying. And it hurt, being so afraid of something and having no one to share it with.

Les had wanted to share, sure, especially recently. The seniors in the group of Newsies all had their minds on the future, it being their last year of high school. Jack was still trying for college in Santa Fe, while Specs was hoping for similar opportunities in New York. The twins and Blink wanted to graduate and get jobs right away, and then there was Tommy Boy. Rather than attend college or get a job in the city, Les' friend planned to enlist in the army. For whatever reason, the eighteen-year-old thought it a fine idea to go off to some foreign country and risk hurting himself.

During that discussion, Les had been about to speak in opposition of this decision, to ask, why? Why would you want to do something so dangerous? But Blink had questioned more or less the same thing before he got the chance, and the query received an answer. Tommy Boy, instead of saying anything reassuring, had pointed out that all of the boys would be forced to sign up for the military anyway, so he might as well do it by choice. This comment had rolled gently off the other newsies' backs; nobody had dwelled on it except for Les. He, however, couldn't stop thinking over Tommy Boy's words. If the older boy's statement was any indication, he was going to leave them all at the end of the year, and Les might never see him again. But if Tommy Boy was happy in his decision, that made up for it, right?

Les couldn't be sure. He'd found himself questioning the same thing about Jack and the desert, and in doing that he came to realize the ugly truth: all of the newsies would grow up and go off to their lives at some point.

And then it would just be Les. Alone. He almost would have said he wished he could stay young forever so that he didn't have to deal with reality, if the idea of being immortal and watching everyone around him disappear hadn't frightened him more. There was no happy medium in this fear of his; it was either the inevitable horrid outcome, or the most likely impossible other option. He couldn't win.

Which was precisely why he was awake now, when he shouldn't have been. Those stupid, awful worries of his. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, his birthday, but no. His brain had to go and ruin it for him, because why should there be positivity in his life? Why should he be allowed to go one day without freaking out over a concept he had no ability to change? Les had to be the only person this damn thing ever bothered, as no one seemed to be as messed up on the inside as he was. No one.

In another room, an alarm beeped, and Les heard footsteps as Sarah got up and moved around. On the other side of his own room, Davey stirred as well, and Les lay as still as possible, watching his older brother get up and leave the room, casting a glance toward him in the process. A quick glance at the clock once Davey was gone revealed that thirty minutes had passed since Les had last checked. It was still much too early for anyone normal to be awake. But his siblings both were. What were they doing?

As silently as possible, Les sat up and pushed himself out of bed. Thankfully, he managed to barely make a sound when he pushed open the bedroom door, because Davey had left it open a crack. Les tiptoed down the hall and stopped at the end of it, observing the activity in the kitchen. Sarah and Davey were both on top of chairs at opposite ends of the cupboards, hanging a large banner that read Happy 10th Birthday, Shortstop! in some less than amazing handwriting, on top of a roughly painted blue background filled with assorted messages. Les assumed that Jack and Tommy Boy had been the ones to design the thing, while the rest of the newsies had signed it. Although it was a bit of a shame that Les had just spoiled his own surprise by sneaking out of bed, there was no way he was getting back to sleep at this point. So he stayed, hidden in the shadows as his older brother and sister tied off the banner's corners, then jumped down and retreated to the couch.

Sitting down, Sarah looked surprised to see Davey following suit. "Aren't you going back to bed?"

"Aren't you?" replied Davey, sinking onto the sofa beside her.

"Nope. My mind's awake, so I'm awake."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Sarah rested one arm on the back of the couch as she turned to face Davey. "Les isn't allowed to be ten?"

He nodded. "Bingo." With that said, he leaned his head back onto the edge of the couch so he was staring at the ceiling. "Crazy, isn't it? I mean, he's been ten almost for months now, so I should be prepared for it."

"Right?" said Sarah emphatically. "Every time he told people that, I wanted to scream, 'No, you're nine! Just say you're nine!'"

"He's gonna be a teenager in a few years," Davey ruminated. "He's gonna be in middle school! What the hell? How did that happen?"

"I know, it's like, with the strike and everything, time sort of stopped. But now we're done with all that and things have started moving again, and I dunno, he's just been nine for so long…"

"Exactly. I'm not ready for that to change."

"Me neither."

"And it's not something you ever think about until it happens. I don't remember it feeling like such a big deal when I turned ten, do you?"

"I don't know. When you turned ten, I was turning eleven." Sarah glared at Davey in annoyance. "On the same day."

Davey swatted her arm. "You know what I mean! Your tenth birthday!"

"You mean, your ninth birthday?"

"I can't control the fact that we were born on the same day, geez."

"You couldn't have waited a few more hours to exist…" Sarah sighed, but there was a joking smile on her face. "Thanks to you, everyone thinks we're twins."

"Actually, almost no one thinks that."

"Oh please. There are plenty of people that still do."

"Not anyone I know."

"You don't know that many people."

Davey threw his head back again, almost laughing but not quite. For a second time, he brought attention to the fact of the day: "Les is ten."

"Yep."

"Doesn't it scare you at all?"

Sarah shrugged. "Sure it does. Of course it scares me. He's growing up, and we'll be off to college soon- or I will, at least- and before we know it he'll be in high school and…" She broke off, staring worriedly at Davey. "Holy shit, that's terrifying."

"Yeah." With a shaky half-laugh, he met her gaze. "What I don't get, though, is why I'm just now obsessing about this."

"Well, I'm worrying about it since you brought it up, so you'd better figure it out!" Sarah exclaimed, her voice going shrill.

Unfazed, Davey yawned, and stretched his arms above his head. "Just stop thinking about it."

"Very helpful. Thanks."

"Seriously. We've gone this many years without fussing over this."

"Good point." Sarah placed her hands on her knees, taking a deep breath as she pushed herself up and off the couch. "You know, I think I will go back to bed."

"Good morning," Davey told her as he flopped onto his side. "I'll be staying out here. Don't wanna wake the birthday boy."

What if he's already awake? Les thought bitterly, quietly scoffing in indignation at the conversation he had just witnessed. As Sarah neared the hallway, he scampered back to his room, hoping neither of his siblings had seen him. Scratch that, not hoping. He knew they hadn't noticed him eavesdropping. They were too preoccupied with helping each other with their respective feelings. Nobody ever helped Les with his worries, but there Sarah and Davey were, working through a problem lickety-split. A problem they shouldn't have even had, because it was Les' birthday, and they should've been thinking of him. Or they should have, but not about him in relation to their own worries. The point was, if anyone was getting a reassuring "Don't think about it" from Davey, it should have been Les, the birthday boy who couldn't sleep.

Said boy retreated to bed, to stare at the ceiling and not contemplate anything, cursing himself for not stepping out of the shadows and expressing his own thoughts when he'd had the chance. In the end, he convinced himself that he had been about to make his presence known and tell his siblings everything. But just about doing something, he countered himself, was not good enough.

"Almost" didn't cut it.

So the ending isn't my best. But whatever. This is made up entirely of my thoughts, transplanted onto Les Jacobs. It's not meant to be a masterpiece.

Did anyone else have an existential crisis at age nine? If so, was it caused by the movie Titanic? Let me know in a review, if you don't mind!

See ya next time!