Thanks to Kora for the new title.
Chapter 3:
"Emily, why did you bring this boy here?" My mother asked.
"Oh, I just ran into him in Central Park. I thought I'd bring him up
for some tea, Ma. What wring with that?" Emily answered her.
"Well, I don't like you bringing strangers into this house unannounced.
Especially street-er, boys in his profession." So she didn't remember me.
But she kept looking at me. I caught a glimpse of that same questioning face
I saw in my sister.
"I'm sawry lady. I'll leave." I started for the door when I heard
her say:
"No, no. Excuse my poor manners. Please, sit down. Join us. I was
just making Emily something to eat before I leave for work." She gave me a
weak smile and pulled out a chair from their dinner table. I sat.
"Thanks ma'am." You ever notice how ma'am sounds a lot like mom?
"Mama, this is-oh I'm sorry. I didn't even ask you for your name."
"Oh, I'm-Um, Spot. Spot Conlon. And yoah Emily."
"Yes. Yes I am." She threw me a quick grin and turned to help her
mother.
"I'm Clara Brown." My mother told me. No, you're mama, I thought to
myself, but I didn't say anything. I just looked down at the wooden table top
in front of me, with a very concentrated look.
We had beef soup and some homemade bread. It was the best food that
had ever graced my tongue. The orphanage food was almost always gruel, except
Christmas, when they gave us a miniscule slab of turkey.
When we finished dinner I asked if I could help clean up, but I was
told I was a guest, and helping was not allowed. I excused myself to the
washroom, which was next to Clara's bedroom. I couldn't help but peek inside.
I saw a book with a lock on the side of her bed. I skimmed the apartment to
make sure the family was busy, and walked into the chamber. Picking up the
book, I noticed the lock was easy to pick, so I grabbed a pin from her dresser
and did what I had learned so many years before.
The lock opened without a sound, and I peered inside. There was one photo-
graph. One tattered old snapshot from one of the first cameras ever made.
There I was, with my mother and father. We were so happy in the picture. I
can't imagine how they could afford to take such a photograph, but the thought
didn't stay in my head for very long. There was someone at the door.
"What on earth are you doing in here?" I heard a loud voice cry. I
spun around to see my mother standing in the doorway. "Well, answer me, boy."
She said, with such an accusing tone, that made me want to run up and yell
"What am I s'pose to do?! Ya left me!!" But I didn't I just walked past her
and out of the apartment.
The second the door slammed shut I was running down the hall to the
exit of the apartment building. I ran down the streets of Manhattan back to
Central Park. I ran straight to the place I was standing before the night's
events unraveled into what had just happened. I ran straight into Jack.
"Hey Spot, who's chasin' ya?" He asked.
"No one. Move. I'm going back ta da lodgin' house. See ya layder."
I told him.
"Ya just ran me down like dat, and youse gonna tell me nuttin's wrong?
Spot, I might not be as smawt as somma da guys, but I knows when sumthin's
wrong." What a guy huh?
"I ain't gonna talk about it, so get outta my way." I started to walk
past him.
"Wait!" Some one yelled. But it wasn't Jack. It wasn't any guy.
It wasn't anyone my age even. I stood right where I was, not turning around,
not opening my eyes. I just stood there. She had followed me.
"Spot, you wanna tell me who did broad is?" Jack inquired. I didn't
answer him.
"Child, would you leave your friend and I alone for just a moment. I
promise I won't hurt him. You can stand over by that tree and wait if you'd
like." She told him.
"Look lady, I don't know what yoah deal is, but-"
"Just do it, Jack." I said to him. He marched over there with a
scowl on his face. I grinned inwardly to myself; cowboy had actually listened
to me. "Whaddya want?" I asked her.
"Benny?" No one had called me that in a long time. I didn't let them.
As soon as I knew she wasn't coming back I changed my name. Maybe not legally,
but no one called me Benny anymore.
"You got the wrong guy, lady." I told her in a cold, monotone voice.
"Tell me, why were you in my room. Why did you look at that picture?"
"I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at da time."
"I don't believe you."
"Dat's a shame."
"Benny, it is you, isn't it? Don't lie to your mother." I turned to
see if Jack heard what she had just said, but he was too busy trying to climb
the tree.
"You ain't my muddah. My muddah died along time ago."
"Really?" She asked, unconvinced. "When?"
"When I was five." We just stood there glaring at each other for a
few minutes. Then Jack fell out of the tree. It would have been funny, if
it weren't for the situation I was in. I ran to help him. He wasn't hurt,
but he said he was going back to the lodging house, and he'd meet up with me
later-and that he'd get to the bottom of this. Poor bum.
As soon as Jack was out of site I said:
"What's yoah problem, lady? I ain't hoid from you in six yeahs. It
ain't my fawlt yoah new kid can't walk. I ain't meant to meet huh ouwa
nuthin'."
"Ben, you don't know how hard it's been for me these past few years."
"Foist, don't cawll me dat. Second, where da hell do you get off--?"
"Benny, don't use such language, please."
"I said don't cawll me dat."
"I'm your mother and it's the name I gave you." She said with a smirk. She thought she was getting off easy, like we meet and all's forgiven. She had another thing coming.
"How many times I gotta tell ya? You ain't me muddah."
"That hurts, son."
"You left me. Ya took my on'y family away from me. I lived in dat
owaphinage foah awll dose yeahs, hopin'-no, prayin'-dat you'd come back.
But you didn't. And ya took my sistah with ya."
"I'm sorry. I had nothing else to do."
"How? I'm ya son."
Chapter 3:
"Emily, why did you bring this boy here?" My mother asked.
"Oh, I just ran into him in Central Park. I thought I'd bring him up
for some tea, Ma. What wring with that?" Emily answered her.
"Well, I don't like you bringing strangers into this house unannounced.
Especially street-er, boys in his profession." So she didn't remember me.
But she kept looking at me. I caught a glimpse of that same questioning face
I saw in my sister.
"I'm sawry lady. I'll leave." I started for the door when I heard
her say:
"No, no. Excuse my poor manners. Please, sit down. Join us. I was
just making Emily something to eat before I leave for work." She gave me a
weak smile and pulled out a chair from their dinner table. I sat.
"Thanks ma'am." You ever notice how ma'am sounds a lot like mom?
"Mama, this is-oh I'm sorry. I didn't even ask you for your name."
"Oh, I'm-Um, Spot. Spot Conlon. And yoah Emily."
"Yes. Yes I am." She threw me a quick grin and turned to help her
mother.
"I'm Clara Brown." My mother told me. No, you're mama, I thought to
myself, but I didn't say anything. I just looked down at the wooden table top
in front of me, with a very concentrated look.
We had beef soup and some homemade bread. It was the best food that
had ever graced my tongue. The orphanage food was almost always gruel, except
Christmas, when they gave us a miniscule slab of turkey.
When we finished dinner I asked if I could help clean up, but I was
told I was a guest, and helping was not allowed. I excused myself to the
washroom, which was next to Clara's bedroom. I couldn't help but peek inside.
I saw a book with a lock on the side of her bed. I skimmed the apartment to
make sure the family was busy, and walked into the chamber. Picking up the
book, I noticed the lock was easy to pick, so I grabbed a pin from her dresser
and did what I had learned so many years before.
The lock opened without a sound, and I peered inside. There was one photo-
graph. One tattered old snapshot from one of the first cameras ever made.
There I was, with my mother and father. We were so happy in the picture. I
can't imagine how they could afford to take such a photograph, but the thought
didn't stay in my head for very long. There was someone at the door.
"What on earth are you doing in here?" I heard a loud voice cry. I
spun around to see my mother standing in the doorway. "Well, answer me, boy."
She said, with such an accusing tone, that made me want to run up and yell
"What am I s'pose to do?! Ya left me!!" But I didn't I just walked past her
and out of the apartment.
The second the door slammed shut I was running down the hall to the
exit of the apartment building. I ran down the streets of Manhattan back to
Central Park. I ran straight to the place I was standing before the night's
events unraveled into what had just happened. I ran straight into Jack.
"Hey Spot, who's chasin' ya?" He asked.
"No one. Move. I'm going back ta da lodgin' house. See ya layder."
I told him.
"Ya just ran me down like dat, and youse gonna tell me nuttin's wrong?
Spot, I might not be as smawt as somma da guys, but I knows when sumthin's
wrong." What a guy huh?
"I ain't gonna talk about it, so get outta my way." I started to walk
past him.
"Wait!" Some one yelled. But it wasn't Jack. It wasn't any guy.
It wasn't anyone my age even. I stood right where I was, not turning around,
not opening my eyes. I just stood there. She had followed me.
"Spot, you wanna tell me who did broad is?" Jack inquired. I didn't
answer him.
"Child, would you leave your friend and I alone for just a moment. I
promise I won't hurt him. You can stand over by that tree and wait if you'd
like." She told him.
"Look lady, I don't know what yoah deal is, but-"
"Just do it, Jack." I said to him. He marched over there with a
scowl on his face. I grinned inwardly to myself; cowboy had actually listened
to me. "Whaddya want?" I asked her.
"Benny?" No one had called me that in a long time. I didn't let them.
As soon as I knew she wasn't coming back I changed my name. Maybe not legally,
but no one called me Benny anymore.
"You got the wrong guy, lady." I told her in a cold, monotone voice.
"Tell me, why were you in my room. Why did you look at that picture?"
"I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at da time."
"I don't believe you."
"Dat's a shame."
"Benny, it is you, isn't it? Don't lie to your mother." I turned to
see if Jack heard what she had just said, but he was too busy trying to climb
the tree.
"You ain't my muddah. My muddah died along time ago."
"Really?" She asked, unconvinced. "When?"
"When I was five." We just stood there glaring at each other for a
few minutes. Then Jack fell out of the tree. It would have been funny, if
it weren't for the situation I was in. I ran to help him. He wasn't hurt,
but he said he was going back to the lodging house, and he'd meet up with me
later-and that he'd get to the bottom of this. Poor bum.
As soon as Jack was out of site I said:
"What's yoah problem, lady? I ain't hoid from you in six yeahs. It
ain't my fawlt yoah new kid can't walk. I ain't meant to meet huh ouwa
nuthin'."
"Ben, you don't know how hard it's been for me these past few years."
"Foist, don't cawll me dat. Second, where da hell do you get off--?"
"Benny, don't use such language, please."
"I said don't cawll me dat."
"I'm your mother and it's the name I gave you." She said with a smirk. She thought she was getting off easy, like we meet and all's forgiven. She had another thing coming.
"How many times I gotta tell ya? You ain't me muddah."
"That hurts, son."
"You left me. Ya took my on'y family away from me. I lived in dat
owaphinage foah awll dose yeahs, hopin'-no, prayin'-dat you'd come back.
But you didn't. And ya took my sistah with ya."
"I'm sorry. I had nothing else to do."
"How? I'm ya son."