@--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------@
Racetrack followed the stormy Bright Eyes out of the room, calling her name as he went. "Jest leave me alone Race! I got tings ta do!" Racetrack grabbed her arm in a grip that she fiercely tried to get out of. "Jest leave me be! I need ta be alone!" Racetrack's grip held fast. "No, I ain't gonna let ya go. You wanna tell me whats goin' on here? Foist I leave ya alone, trustin' dat you'll keep yer head, den da next minute I walk in, you an' Spot have got yer slingshots set fer kill! Whats up with dat? How can I trust ya if ya won't listen to me?" As she spoke, Bright Eyes ceased struggling and instead glared at Racetrack, while trying to ease her arm out of his hold. "He said things he shouldn't have said Race. 'Bout me, an' you, an' me mudda. He wouldn't take 'em back, so I was jest reactin' appropriately I thought. So sorry if I didn't meet yer trust qualifications!"
Racetrack rolled his eyes and loosened his grip on Bright Eyes' arm. "If you ain't gonna listen to me den I might as well let ya do what ya want. Dat seems ta me dat dats all ya wanna do anyway, what you want." Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack, traces of anger and pain still flecked in her eyes. "Oh, so I'm supposed to do what you want me to do all the time? I'm sorry Race I cain't do dat. I love you, but I cain't make decisions based on what you want me ta do. It ain't a pictua poifect woild, an' I gotta take me chances and make me own mistakes. I also gotta pick meself up again. Dat don't mean dat you cain't help me, it jest means dat I need a little breathin' room. Undastand? It ain't disrespect or breakin' of trust or nothin', dats jest all I need." As she spoke, Bright Eyes softly laid her hand on Racetrack's limp arm as he stood, listening to her speak. "Undastand Race?"
Racetrack nodded and shrugged. "I jest love ya so much, an' I don't want anythin' ta happen to ya. Its like I don't want ya ta feel any pain 'cause I cain't stand ta see ya sad ya know?" Bright Eyes nodded, smiling. "I know, an' I undastand. Dats how I felt when I left. I didn't wanna 'cause you boys any pain." Racetrack smiled. "But dats all ova now. An' I'm gonna take ya to Tibby's. Dats one decision I'm makin' fer ya. Agreed?" Bright Eyes grinned and clasped her hand in his. "Agreed. You buyin'?" Racetrack turned in shock. "Me? Buyin'? I'm plumb broke!" Bright Eyes stopped in her tracks and put her hands on her hips. Racetrack grinned and threw his hands up in the air. "Jest jokin'! I gots some change." Bright Eyes smiled and followed Racetrack down the stairs, as the boy told her a joke he had heard at the races that day.
As Spot watched the two go down the stairs laughing and talking happily, he rolled his eyes and plopped down on the nearest bed. As he laid down in it, he pillow rustled. "Oh what now? Money? Somebody's been robbin' a bank I guess." Spot mumbled as he reached into the pillow case and drawing out the articles it contained. Inside were papers. Two of the packets, Spot recognized as stories that Bright Eyes used to tell at the Brooklyn Lodging house, stories of Ireland. He scanned them over and then tossed them on the bed, his hand reaching back inside the pillow case. Another slip of paper came out in his hand. This paper was written in pencil, with rather wobbly handwriting and a few misspellings. Spot lifted up the paper and read it, a devious grin spreading over his face as he read.
To Bright Eyes:
I'm laying here in this place,
my hands are clenched,
I'm remembering your words.
Doing the only thing that gets
me through the nights
since you've been gone.
I've been praying for daylight,
waiting for that morning sun.
So I can act like my whole life
ain't going wrong.
Bright Eyes come back to me,
I swear I'll make it right.
Don't make me spend another
lonely night, praying for daylight.
I made a big mistake thinking that
you'd never leave.
'Cause if you're getting on with your
new life where does that leave me?
Praying for daylight, hoping that I didn't wait too long,
But maybe this is just the dark before the dawn.
Deep in my heart I know,
that you love me as much as I love you.
And that you must be lying somewhere
looking up to heaven too.
And maybe, you are praying for daylight,
thinking of me too.
I love you Bright. Racetrack Higgins
Spot grinned and folded the paper carefully and slipped into Bright Eyes' room. When he stepped inside, he took the paper and slipped it on Bright Eyes' cot, knowing that she would see it when she walked in the room. But then on the spur of the moment, Spot took up a stray piece of paper and wrote a note and placed it on top of the letter, smiling to himself. "Bright Eyes' yer gonna wish like all da uddas dat you hadn't messed wit' me. Doesn't matta who we were before, jest what we are now." Spot smiled and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly as he went.
@--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------@
Bright Eyes smiled and sighed as she stepped into her room and closed the door. Racetrack had taken her to Tibby's, meeting up with the rest of the boys along the way. The boys were actually civil to me. I couldn't believe it! Bright Eyes thought to herself. Even Snoddy smiled and talked ta me. Maybe tings are turnin' betta afta all. She thought happily. Bright Eyes stopped twirling as she spied two pieces of paper on her bed. She lifted up the larger paper and read the slanted words, her eyes growing wider by the minute. She finished, her eyes glistening and her hand trembling. Only then did she remember the second piece of paper she held in her hand. She lifted it up and groaned as she scanned the familiar handwriting.
Hey Bright Eyes. My word, you seem to be breaking hearts right and left ain't ya? Does Race know why you are here? Does Race know how you really feel about him? Does Race know why you left, right afta the rally? My guess is that he doesn't. Didn't you tell me once, dear friend, that for a relationship to work, even in a friendship, you need trust? You ain't been givin' very much of that lately. Well I suggest you start, or else I can see to it that Race never wants to see your face ever again. Most humbly and sincerely yours,
Spot Conlon, Brooklyn
P.S. Maybe you could start being honest with the rest of us too, and tell us what why you and Pulitzer are such best pals all of a sudden.
Bright Eyes clutched the letter fiercely as she read the final line. Her eyes seemed to be on fire as she crunched the letter up in her fist and throwing it on her still unmade bed. The fire still burning in twin blue globes of her eyes, she threw on her coat and walked stiffly out of the door. When she reached the World building, she threw open the doors and shoved past the secretary at the front desk. When she reached Pulitzer's gilded wooden doors, she paused and knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a permissive word from the tycoon.
Pulitzer merely looked up as Bright Eyes threw herself down in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. "How are the articles coming McClaen? The people love them. Keep up the good work! Now what was it that you wanted to tell me?" Bright Eyes hesitated, then took a deep breath and began. "Listen Mr. Pulitzer, you've been more than kind by allowing my pieces to go on the front page, but some certain people don't like them as much as we do." Pulitzer looked up, confused. "What do you mean? Who doesn't like the articles?" Bright Eyes sighed. "Take a wild stab in the dark sir."
Pulitzer's forehead furrowed and he shook his head. "The Newsies, sir. The people who sell this paper and all the other papers. The ones who get our papers read." Pulitzer stared at Bright Eyes. "Miss McClaen, are you taking their side?" Bright Eyes shook her head and stood up. "No sir. I just think that things are going a little too far." Pulitzer also sighed and stood. "Miss McClaen, do you realize what your article has done for us? Of course I know of the Newsies rebelling. This has been covered since your article started being run by the paper. This story has captivated the people Miss McClaen, and our sales have risen drastically. All thanks to you. Keep up the writing, I want to put out another article for the evening edition."
Bright Eyes stared at Pulitzer. "Mr. Pulitzer, I don't know how long we can keep this up. This might get worse than better. I mean, remember the Newsies strike last year? It could be even worse than that! Mr. Pulitzer, those Newsies managed to round other Newsies up from all over New York, not just in New York City alone!" Pulitzer gazed cooly at Bright Eyes, his fists clenching and releasing as she spoke. "I am aware of who the Newsies managed to round up Miss McClaen. I am aware of what they managed to do to the reputation of this paper. Trust me. I am aware. And hang me if I ever let that happen again!" Bright Eyes gulped as she watched the transformation of the old man, and she began to step backwards toward the door, dashing out of it as she reached it. Pulitzer glared at the closed door, his eyes on fire as he remembered the things of the past.
@--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------@
Bright Eyes stepped into the back door of the theater out of breath. A large man startled her by coming out of the shadows in front of her. "Hey sorry, miss. Ya gotta go through the front doors. Dis is the back entrance fer employees." Bright Eyes nodded and put her hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey Toby, its okay. Its Bright. I came ta see Medda." Toby started and nearly dropped his box of assorted candies and cigars. "Bright! I'll tell Medda fer ya. She doesn't come on again fer anotha hour. Hold on a minute." Toby slunk back into the shadows of the theater and Bright Eyes leaned on the stairs leading up to the stage itself, listening to the act that was on at the moment. It was a trio of boys, singing what the Newsies liked to call, "songs to get drunk by."
They were finished shortly and the applause was deafening. Yells and cheers exploded, most of which Bright Eyes noticed were given by slurred, drunken voices. Bright Eyes sighed and remembered a time when her father would have gone to a place like this, would've come home and collapsed on his bed, snoring loudly, leaving his family to search his pockets for remaining money so that they could buy food. The three boys clattered down the stairs at that moment, laughing and joking, and counting the money in their hands that had been thrown up on stage. As they came, Bright Eyes shrunk back into the shadows, watching them.
"Good Lawd! I've got almost five dollas here boys!"
"Man, dats even more dan last time!"
"I've got jest about three dollas! What about you Tenor?"
"I've got about dat amount too! Dis is great! Wait till I tell da boys!"
"Yeah! Hey me an' Slick is goin' ta Tibby's, you gonna come?"
"Yeah Tenor, den we can show you a what real fun is!"
"Aw, I don't tink so boys. I told da guys dat I'd do sometin' wit 'em tonight."
"Oh, Tenor! You gotta live a little!"
"Yeah, I know. Go on. I'll see you boys later."
"See ya Tenor."
Bright Eyes watched Tenor as he sat down on the steps near where she was hiding. He sat there jingling the coins in his palm absentmindedly. Bright Eyes coughed and stepped out of the shadows. "Bright? What are ya spyin' on me fer? How'd ya know dat I was here?" Bright Eyes sat down next to the boy, who was now on his feet in guilty surprise. "Hey sit down. I didn't know dat you were here. Honest. An' I won't tell anyone if ya don't want me to." Tenor gave a sigh of relief and resumed his place on the stairs. "I would prefer if ya didn't Bright." Bright Eyes gazed at the boy, who shied from her gaze and stared at the coins in his hands.
"So have ya been comin' here instead of sellin' yer papes?" Tenor's head shot up. "What makes ya tink dat?" Bright Eyes shrugged. "I dunno. I was jest wondrin'." Tenor looked at her for a moment, and hung his head. "Yeah, I haven't even been sellin' my papes. I came here. I couldn't help it Bright! I didn't wanna sell my papes anymore because of all da fightin'!" Bright Eyes immediately put her arm around the boy. "But all da fightin's gone down now! You can sell yer papes jest like before Tenor." Tenor shook his head sadly as he leaned into the girl's arms. "Nope, I cain't. It pays better here anyway Bright. I'll jest stay at da Lodgin' House. I jest cain't sell papes anymore." At that moment, a rustle of lace intruded on the boy's speech as Medda stepped off of the steps. Tenor jumped out of Bright Eyes arms and bowed to Medda. "Love ta stay an' chat Medda, but I gotta run! You undastand."
Medda laughed whimsically at the boy. "Of course, of course! Go about your way." Tenor bowed again and raced out the back door, the door slamming behind him, leaving Medda and Bright Eyes alone. Medda stood for a moment on the landing looking Bright Eyes over, and Bright Eyes doing the same to Medda. It seemed to Bright Eyes that Medda hadn't aged at all. She wore a dress of a bright pink, and her red hair still in ringlets about her shoulders. "Well Bright Eyes? Is this how you greet your old friend?" Bright Eyes grinned and rushed into the older lady's arms, that stretched invitingly. The two held each other close for a moment before they let go and sat down upon the aged wooden stairs. "So, you are a writer. I never thought you would be." Medda said, sighing. "Yeah, its a good payin' job, but I still miss hawkin' da headlines." Bright Eyes remarked.
"Funny you should mention that. Maybe don't you think that you should just quit the World and go back to doing what you are best at?" Bright Eyes stared at Medda in shock. "Medda! What da heck you talkin' about? I love writin'! Its me life!" Bright Eyes yelled. "Its not your life Bright Eyes. Selling the papers was your life before you left. That is what you must go back to doing." Bright Eyes stood up angrilly. "You know Medda, when I came here, I was all happy 'cause I knew dat you would undastand. Well I guess I was wrong. Maybe I don't belong here any more dan I don't belong in New Yawk!" Bright Eyes stormed out the door angrily, slamming the door behind her. Medda sat, like a tree in the middle of a storm in its wake, unmoving, unstirring, before she too stood and walked back to her theater, wondering, if she had done the right thing.
Racetrack followed the stormy Bright Eyes out of the room, calling her name as he went. "Jest leave me alone Race! I got tings ta do!" Racetrack grabbed her arm in a grip that she fiercely tried to get out of. "Jest leave me be! I need ta be alone!" Racetrack's grip held fast. "No, I ain't gonna let ya go. You wanna tell me whats goin' on here? Foist I leave ya alone, trustin' dat you'll keep yer head, den da next minute I walk in, you an' Spot have got yer slingshots set fer kill! Whats up with dat? How can I trust ya if ya won't listen to me?" As she spoke, Bright Eyes ceased struggling and instead glared at Racetrack, while trying to ease her arm out of his hold. "He said things he shouldn't have said Race. 'Bout me, an' you, an' me mudda. He wouldn't take 'em back, so I was jest reactin' appropriately I thought. So sorry if I didn't meet yer trust qualifications!"
Racetrack rolled his eyes and loosened his grip on Bright Eyes' arm. "If you ain't gonna listen to me den I might as well let ya do what ya want. Dat seems ta me dat dats all ya wanna do anyway, what you want." Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack, traces of anger and pain still flecked in her eyes. "Oh, so I'm supposed to do what you want me to do all the time? I'm sorry Race I cain't do dat. I love you, but I cain't make decisions based on what you want me ta do. It ain't a pictua poifect woild, an' I gotta take me chances and make me own mistakes. I also gotta pick meself up again. Dat don't mean dat you cain't help me, it jest means dat I need a little breathin' room. Undastand? It ain't disrespect or breakin' of trust or nothin', dats jest all I need." As she spoke, Bright Eyes softly laid her hand on Racetrack's limp arm as he stood, listening to her speak. "Undastand Race?"
Racetrack nodded and shrugged. "I jest love ya so much, an' I don't want anythin' ta happen to ya. Its like I don't want ya ta feel any pain 'cause I cain't stand ta see ya sad ya know?" Bright Eyes nodded, smiling. "I know, an' I undastand. Dats how I felt when I left. I didn't wanna 'cause you boys any pain." Racetrack smiled. "But dats all ova now. An' I'm gonna take ya to Tibby's. Dats one decision I'm makin' fer ya. Agreed?" Bright Eyes grinned and clasped her hand in his. "Agreed. You buyin'?" Racetrack turned in shock. "Me? Buyin'? I'm plumb broke!" Bright Eyes stopped in her tracks and put her hands on her hips. Racetrack grinned and threw his hands up in the air. "Jest jokin'! I gots some change." Bright Eyes smiled and followed Racetrack down the stairs, as the boy told her a joke he had heard at the races that day.
As Spot watched the two go down the stairs laughing and talking happily, he rolled his eyes and plopped down on the nearest bed. As he laid down in it, he pillow rustled. "Oh what now? Money? Somebody's been robbin' a bank I guess." Spot mumbled as he reached into the pillow case and drawing out the articles it contained. Inside were papers. Two of the packets, Spot recognized as stories that Bright Eyes used to tell at the Brooklyn Lodging house, stories of Ireland. He scanned them over and then tossed them on the bed, his hand reaching back inside the pillow case. Another slip of paper came out in his hand. This paper was written in pencil, with rather wobbly handwriting and a few misspellings. Spot lifted up the paper and read it, a devious grin spreading over his face as he read.
To Bright Eyes:
I'm laying here in this place,
my hands are clenched,
I'm remembering your words.
Doing the only thing that gets
me through the nights
since you've been gone.
I've been praying for daylight,
waiting for that morning sun.
So I can act like my whole life
ain't going wrong.
Bright Eyes come back to me,
I swear I'll make it right.
Don't make me spend another
lonely night, praying for daylight.
I made a big mistake thinking that
you'd never leave.
'Cause if you're getting on with your
new life where does that leave me?
Praying for daylight, hoping that I didn't wait too long,
But maybe this is just the dark before the dawn.
Deep in my heart I know,
that you love me as much as I love you.
And that you must be lying somewhere
looking up to heaven too.
And maybe, you are praying for daylight,
thinking of me too.
I love you Bright. Racetrack Higgins
Spot grinned and folded the paper carefully and slipped into Bright Eyes' room. When he stepped inside, he took the paper and slipped it on Bright Eyes' cot, knowing that she would see it when she walked in the room. But then on the spur of the moment, Spot took up a stray piece of paper and wrote a note and placed it on top of the letter, smiling to himself. "Bright Eyes' yer gonna wish like all da uddas dat you hadn't messed wit' me. Doesn't matta who we were before, jest what we are now." Spot smiled and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly as he went.
@--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------@
Bright Eyes smiled and sighed as she stepped into her room and closed the door. Racetrack had taken her to Tibby's, meeting up with the rest of the boys along the way. The boys were actually civil to me. I couldn't believe it! Bright Eyes thought to herself. Even Snoddy smiled and talked ta me. Maybe tings are turnin' betta afta all. She thought happily. Bright Eyes stopped twirling as she spied two pieces of paper on her bed. She lifted up the larger paper and read the slanted words, her eyes growing wider by the minute. She finished, her eyes glistening and her hand trembling. Only then did she remember the second piece of paper she held in her hand. She lifted it up and groaned as she scanned the familiar handwriting.
Hey Bright Eyes. My word, you seem to be breaking hearts right and left ain't ya? Does Race know why you are here? Does Race know how you really feel about him? Does Race know why you left, right afta the rally? My guess is that he doesn't. Didn't you tell me once, dear friend, that for a relationship to work, even in a friendship, you need trust? You ain't been givin' very much of that lately. Well I suggest you start, or else I can see to it that Race never wants to see your face ever again. Most humbly and sincerely yours,
Spot Conlon, Brooklyn
P.S. Maybe you could start being honest with the rest of us too, and tell us what why you and Pulitzer are such best pals all of a sudden.
Bright Eyes clutched the letter fiercely as she read the final line. Her eyes seemed to be on fire as she crunched the letter up in her fist and throwing it on her still unmade bed. The fire still burning in twin blue globes of her eyes, she threw on her coat and walked stiffly out of the door. When she reached the World building, she threw open the doors and shoved past the secretary at the front desk. When she reached Pulitzer's gilded wooden doors, she paused and knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a permissive word from the tycoon.
Pulitzer merely looked up as Bright Eyes threw herself down in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. "How are the articles coming McClaen? The people love them. Keep up the good work! Now what was it that you wanted to tell me?" Bright Eyes hesitated, then took a deep breath and began. "Listen Mr. Pulitzer, you've been more than kind by allowing my pieces to go on the front page, but some certain people don't like them as much as we do." Pulitzer looked up, confused. "What do you mean? Who doesn't like the articles?" Bright Eyes sighed. "Take a wild stab in the dark sir."
Pulitzer's forehead furrowed and he shook his head. "The Newsies, sir. The people who sell this paper and all the other papers. The ones who get our papers read." Pulitzer stared at Bright Eyes. "Miss McClaen, are you taking their side?" Bright Eyes shook her head and stood up. "No sir. I just think that things are going a little too far." Pulitzer also sighed and stood. "Miss McClaen, do you realize what your article has done for us? Of course I know of the Newsies rebelling. This has been covered since your article started being run by the paper. This story has captivated the people Miss McClaen, and our sales have risen drastically. All thanks to you. Keep up the writing, I want to put out another article for the evening edition."
Bright Eyes stared at Pulitzer. "Mr. Pulitzer, I don't know how long we can keep this up. This might get worse than better. I mean, remember the Newsies strike last year? It could be even worse than that! Mr. Pulitzer, those Newsies managed to round other Newsies up from all over New York, not just in New York City alone!" Pulitzer gazed cooly at Bright Eyes, his fists clenching and releasing as she spoke. "I am aware of who the Newsies managed to round up Miss McClaen. I am aware of what they managed to do to the reputation of this paper. Trust me. I am aware. And hang me if I ever let that happen again!" Bright Eyes gulped as she watched the transformation of the old man, and she began to step backwards toward the door, dashing out of it as she reached it. Pulitzer glared at the closed door, his eyes on fire as he remembered the things of the past.
@--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------@
Bright Eyes stepped into the back door of the theater out of breath. A large man startled her by coming out of the shadows in front of her. "Hey sorry, miss. Ya gotta go through the front doors. Dis is the back entrance fer employees." Bright Eyes nodded and put her hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey Toby, its okay. Its Bright. I came ta see Medda." Toby started and nearly dropped his box of assorted candies and cigars. "Bright! I'll tell Medda fer ya. She doesn't come on again fer anotha hour. Hold on a minute." Toby slunk back into the shadows of the theater and Bright Eyes leaned on the stairs leading up to the stage itself, listening to the act that was on at the moment. It was a trio of boys, singing what the Newsies liked to call, "songs to get drunk by."
They were finished shortly and the applause was deafening. Yells and cheers exploded, most of which Bright Eyes noticed were given by slurred, drunken voices. Bright Eyes sighed and remembered a time when her father would have gone to a place like this, would've come home and collapsed on his bed, snoring loudly, leaving his family to search his pockets for remaining money so that they could buy food. The three boys clattered down the stairs at that moment, laughing and joking, and counting the money in their hands that had been thrown up on stage. As they came, Bright Eyes shrunk back into the shadows, watching them.
"Good Lawd! I've got almost five dollas here boys!"
"Man, dats even more dan last time!"
"I've got jest about three dollas! What about you Tenor?"
"I've got about dat amount too! Dis is great! Wait till I tell da boys!"
"Yeah! Hey me an' Slick is goin' ta Tibby's, you gonna come?"
"Yeah Tenor, den we can show you a what real fun is!"
"Aw, I don't tink so boys. I told da guys dat I'd do sometin' wit 'em tonight."
"Oh, Tenor! You gotta live a little!"
"Yeah, I know. Go on. I'll see you boys later."
"See ya Tenor."
Bright Eyes watched Tenor as he sat down on the steps near where she was hiding. He sat there jingling the coins in his palm absentmindedly. Bright Eyes coughed and stepped out of the shadows. "Bright? What are ya spyin' on me fer? How'd ya know dat I was here?" Bright Eyes sat down next to the boy, who was now on his feet in guilty surprise. "Hey sit down. I didn't know dat you were here. Honest. An' I won't tell anyone if ya don't want me to." Tenor gave a sigh of relief and resumed his place on the stairs. "I would prefer if ya didn't Bright." Bright Eyes gazed at the boy, who shied from her gaze and stared at the coins in his hands.
"So have ya been comin' here instead of sellin' yer papes?" Tenor's head shot up. "What makes ya tink dat?" Bright Eyes shrugged. "I dunno. I was jest wondrin'." Tenor looked at her for a moment, and hung his head. "Yeah, I haven't even been sellin' my papes. I came here. I couldn't help it Bright! I didn't wanna sell my papes anymore because of all da fightin'!" Bright Eyes immediately put her arm around the boy. "But all da fightin's gone down now! You can sell yer papes jest like before Tenor." Tenor shook his head sadly as he leaned into the girl's arms. "Nope, I cain't. It pays better here anyway Bright. I'll jest stay at da Lodgin' House. I jest cain't sell papes anymore." At that moment, a rustle of lace intruded on the boy's speech as Medda stepped off of the steps. Tenor jumped out of Bright Eyes arms and bowed to Medda. "Love ta stay an' chat Medda, but I gotta run! You undastand."
Medda laughed whimsically at the boy. "Of course, of course! Go about your way." Tenor bowed again and raced out the back door, the door slamming behind him, leaving Medda and Bright Eyes alone. Medda stood for a moment on the landing looking Bright Eyes over, and Bright Eyes doing the same to Medda. It seemed to Bright Eyes that Medda hadn't aged at all. She wore a dress of a bright pink, and her red hair still in ringlets about her shoulders. "Well Bright Eyes? Is this how you greet your old friend?" Bright Eyes grinned and rushed into the older lady's arms, that stretched invitingly. The two held each other close for a moment before they let go and sat down upon the aged wooden stairs. "So, you are a writer. I never thought you would be." Medda said, sighing. "Yeah, its a good payin' job, but I still miss hawkin' da headlines." Bright Eyes remarked.
"Funny you should mention that. Maybe don't you think that you should just quit the World and go back to doing what you are best at?" Bright Eyes stared at Medda in shock. "Medda! What da heck you talkin' about? I love writin'! Its me life!" Bright Eyes yelled. "Its not your life Bright Eyes. Selling the papers was your life before you left. That is what you must go back to doing." Bright Eyes stood up angrilly. "You know Medda, when I came here, I was all happy 'cause I knew dat you would undastand. Well I guess I was wrong. Maybe I don't belong here any more dan I don't belong in New Yawk!" Bright Eyes stormed out the door angrily, slamming the door behind her. Medda sat, like a tree in the middle of a storm in its wake, unmoving, unstirring, before she too stood and walked back to her theater, wondering, if she had done the right thing.
