Chapter Two
Why did he have no character…Everyone else had something distinguishing…Something that set them apart, that made them a person. Jack wanted to go to Santa Fe, Crutchy was just…well he was Crutchy. There was Race with his cards and Blink with his girls…and then there was Bumlets. Nobody knew him, he was just, 'da one wid da hair.' And he hated it, he hated everything, why was he so unlucky? What was the reason that he couldn't perform? It would make his life amazing, perfect, all that he wanted. Yet it wasn't happening, he couldn't justify it. He just trudged through his life doing what he needed to.
He was right, it had been a good day…in one sense-he'd sold all his papers. In the other sense he'd had frustration building up inside him all day, stiffening his muscles. He'd had to get it out somehow, so he'd put his heart and soul into selling the next paper he'd just told himself that if he could sell one more then everything would be okay. Like the leaves in the river, he'd been convinced that if he put one more wish aside to float down that stream then they'd all come true. Little did he know that he'd just been putting himself into them, his hopes were always dashed, he'd sometimes wished for stupid things, fairytale endings and magic spells, things that he'd heard about but never seen. Maybe that was what powered the burning desire inside him to be on stage, he'd be playing someone else, someone who lived surrounded by the things he'd wished for. And now as he stood on the bridge and cried that tear he made one last wish, he wished for someone to care.
It was like he was hiding in the stars up there, it was so dark and no one could see him, standing alone on that bridge. When he died would anyone remember who he was? Would anyone care that there'd been a newsie called Bumlets who had stupid dreams? They'd forget, he knew that. Maybe that was what he was afraid of, that one day the fact that he had ever existed would not matter to anyone.
Why did he have no character…Everyone else had something distinguishing…Something that set them apart, that made them a person. Jack wanted to go to Santa Fe, Crutchy was just…well he was Crutchy. There was Race with his cards and Blink with his girls…and then there was Bumlets. Nobody knew him, he was just, 'da one wid da hair.' And he hated it, he hated everything, why was he so unlucky? What was the reason that he couldn't perform? It would make his life amazing, perfect, all that he wanted. Yet it wasn't happening, he couldn't justify it. He just trudged through his life doing what he needed to.
He was right, it had been a good day…in one sense-he'd sold all his papers. In the other sense he'd had frustration building up inside him all day, stiffening his muscles. He'd had to get it out somehow, so he'd put his heart and soul into selling the next paper he'd just told himself that if he could sell one more then everything would be okay. Like the leaves in the river, he'd been convinced that if he put one more wish aside to float down that stream then they'd all come true. Little did he know that he'd just been putting himself into them, his hopes were always dashed, he'd sometimes wished for stupid things, fairytale endings and magic spells, things that he'd heard about but never seen. Maybe that was what powered the burning desire inside him to be on stage, he'd be playing someone else, someone who lived surrounded by the things he'd wished for. And now as he stood on the bridge and cried that tear he made one last wish, he wished for someone to care.
It was like he was hiding in the stars up there, it was so dark and no one could see him, standing alone on that bridge. When he died would anyone remember who he was? Would anyone care that there'd been a newsie called Bumlets who had stupid dreams? They'd forget, he knew that. Maybe that was what he was afraid of, that one day the fact that he had ever existed would not matter to anyone.
