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Walk a Mile on My Route

* Part Five *


Ant ran for what felt like hours. Passing building after building, he had no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that he had to get as far away from the other Newsies as possible.

When he finally fell to his knees in complete exhaustion, he began to cry. It wasn't fair. How could they use him like that? He had actually started to trust them too. Guess mum and pop were right. Making friends is only asking for trouble. Rolling over in the grass of central park and gazing up at the sky, he could still hear the words Jack and Spot had said.

"'E don't even look like da ol' Antoine neidah..."

He sat up suddenly and stumbled over to a bench. In the hazy glow of a park light that had just been lit for the evening, a flat object caught his eye. Plucking it out of the grass, he was surprised to discover that it was a lady's hand mirror. "Gosh. Someone's gonna be missin' dis in da mornin'." Turning it over, the glassy surface reflected back the face of a boy that Antoine vaguely knew. High cheekbones, sandy brown hair, hazel eyes... it was him. But, it wasn't, really. For one thing, his hair had grown out a bit and was tousled. Not to mention that it was bit bleached by the sun. How long had he been Jack Kelly's prisoner anyway? Months? Years?

His skin was dirty... and a little tanned too. An ink smear here, a smudge of dirt there, and a scabbed over cut on his forehead. He'd gotten that the day he'd chased after Racetrack and Jack to get his wallet back. To tell the truth, he hadn't really thought about it much. It had stung, but there had been a million other, more important things on his mind at the time.

Ruefully, he realized that Spot and Jack were right. He didn't look like his old self. A small twinge in his leg was all he needed to remind himself of the other feature that was far different from the way he was before. His leg. It wouldn't ever be the same, that was for certain. It had healed up some, he knew, but not enough to walk without a pronounced limp. He would need much more time to heal, if even that would be enough. "Who am I now anyways? I ain't dat boy who rolled outta a carriage, winin' and moanin', but I ain't no street kid neidah. I don't belong nowhere."

The couples taking a late night stroll in the park passed by without a sideways glance. They were dressed so fine and matched so perfectly. It was almost like they were little dolls on display for all the world to see. I used to be like that. Not caring what went on around me. Mum and Pop made me the perfect little socialite airhead.

So, did he want to go back? He could see clearly what they were really like now, and yet--- something wanted to be a part of that lifestyle again. Why? Well, what was his alternative? He couldn't go back to the Newsies either. How could he stay with people who he couldn't trust? His parents' friends were backstabbers and liars too, but at least they were upfront about it.

"Excuse me, boy." A voice penetrated the haze of deep thought Antoine was floating through.

"Yeah? Somethin' I can do fer ya?" He replied without looking up.

"You can move, little ruffian." A female voice, companion to the first, obviously, spat down at him. "You can move before I call the policeman on you."

Miserably, Ant grabbed up his crutch and prepared to limp away. He glanced up, adjusting his cap, and nearly fell over backwards in surprise. Mum! Pop!

Beulah, his mother, was staring down her perfectly powdered nose at him. "Well? Do you wish to spend the night in jail?"

She didn't recognize him. It hurt worse than when Morris had busted him across the mouth with that set of brass knuckles. As a matter of fact, he would have probably preferred a good bust across the chops to this. "N-no." He mumbled and stepped aside. "S'all yours, lady."

As he watched, his parents took the bench and proceeded to ignore him completely. Never mind a "thank you". Never mind a "Gosh, are you okay? That leg looks bad". He cleared his throat a little, and both turned with irritation. "You haven't left yet?" She humphed.

"No ma'am." Ant squeezed his crutch. He had to make sure that they got a good look at his face, so he took off his checked cap as well.

His only reward was her sneer of distaste. "I was serious about calling the police, child."

"What'd I evah do, 'sides sit down fer a minute?" He asked what he felt was a fair question.

"You were born." His father, Stanley, verbally slammed him down with three of the most painful words he could have chosen.

Definitely would rather take the knuckles right about now. He bit his lip to keep the tears from flowing. Didn't they recognize his voice at least? "'Scuse me, den."

"'Den'? You street urchins can't even speak proper English. The word is 'THEN'. You might wish to try it some time." Stanley's steely cold glare stabbed Ant like a knife.

Isn't that what I said? "'Course dat's da right woid." He paused to really listen to what he had said. Well, I'll be darned. Looks like I picked up that accent too. Add another item to the list of changes. In his head, it all sounded the same, so he never noticed the change in his voice. Made sense though, since that was all he heard 24/7.

"'Woid'. I do believe my ears are bleeding." Stanley got to his feet. "GET OUT!"

Ant was about to reply when another voice joined in the conversation. "Sorry. Didn't know dis was yer park."

Jack? But I left you--- Ant's mind whirled as Cowboy approached the bench.

Beulah inched away from Jack towards the far end of the bench. "Stanley... there's another one of them! Keep him back!"

"Stay away from my wife, you hear? You already killed my boy. I won't have you harm another in my family." He clutched her protectively.

"Ah, keep yer shirt on." Racetrack popped up behind the bench and clapped Ant's dad firmly on the back. "Jack 'ere don't bite. Neidah does Pursestring... 'less ya make 'im."

Ant didn't like to admit it, but he was almost glad to see the other Newsies coming to his aid. At least now he wasn't alone to take the verbal abuse. There was more than enough to go around.

"I'll have you all thrown in jail, you hear?!" Stanley's voice rose in pitch.

"Awww. Whatcha wanna do dat fer?" Mush walked out from behind a tree.

Kid Blink followed close behind. "Da jails is highly overrated in dis town."

"You would know!" Beulah's voice quavered, somewhere between a shout and a squeak.

"Nah. Kid ain't nevah been ta jail more den a day 'er two." Jack smiled. "Now Snitch on da uddah 'and---" Jack trailed off as the aforementioned Newsie joined the gradually growing group.

Stanley and Beulah were slowly becoming aware of the fact that they were surrounded. "So what are you going to do? Mug us, you band of uneducated, low-life---"

"I wouldn't say that we're all uneducated. Some of us come from actual families who sent us to school." David's voice offered a stark contrast to the accents around him. "We just don't have the same financial means that you do. If something happens -- say, an accident at work that disables the father in the family -- we're left with little choice but to work for a living. That doesn't, however, make us any less human than you."

Sensing that he might have found someone to confide with, Stanley inched towards David. "You're different from the rest of them, I can see that. Now, be reasonable. We're just out for a nice evening stroll, you see. We don't want any trouble."

"Really? Because what I saw didn't look like a simple walk through the park. It looked like you trash-talking a kid who just wanted to sit down for a minute." David wasn't about to back down. "That sound about right?"

The two glared indignantly. "That's not it at all." Beulah muttered a small, pathetic protest.

Jack walked up beside David with a smile on his face. "'E's a good talker, Dave. Stuff dat 'e says makes a lotta sense. If youse even got 'alfa brain, ya'd know ta listen ta what 'e's sayin'.... and get da hell outta 'ere."

"Y-you mean you'll let us go?" Beulah spluttered.

"'Course. We weren't nevah gonna keep yah." Spot Conlon called out from the lighted walkway, lined on either side by his boys. "Now I'd listen tah da Cowboy. Get outta 'ere."

The two scrambled to their feet and practically ran off down the sidewalk, casting glances at the Brooklyn Newsies all around as they ran.

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"Ain't nevah seen nobody run dat fast b'fore." Mush tried to keep from bursting into giggles. "'Cept maybe you, Purse."

Ant shook his head, still reeling from the experience. Wasn't every day that you found out your parents were complete creeps. "Nope. Nevah."

Racetrack snagged Mush by the arm. "We'll meetcha back at da lodgin' 'ouse, 'Kay? S'late an' Kloppman won't keep da doors open forever." He glared poignantly at Mush.

"Y-yeah! 'Course! We'll tell Kloppman dat youse is still comin'." Mush followed Race and Blink out of the park.

Ant was left to think, the others having headed back before the trio left. It was a lot to process. Spot and Jack had explained what he had overheard, but he was still shaken. He was an orphan now by default. Where did you go from there?

"Purse?" Jack's voice caught Ant off guard.

"T'ought ya went back wid da uddahs."

"Doubled back ta make sure you was alright."

"Gosh, let's see. I've 'ad m'own parents not recognize me, an' more dan dat, insult me t'night." Ant picked up his pace. "Yessir. I'm "alright"!"

"'Kay, so youse got a reason ta be bittah, but ya got us, at least. Ya always gots us."

"Yeah. I guess I know dat... now."

Silence hung between them as they walked along. There wasn't much else to say. Sometimes the quiet said more than words ever could. Staring up at the stars and taking in the cool night air was more therapeutic than anything Jack could have said at that moment.

"Jack? Dis is gonna sound stupid. 'Ow long 'ave I been 'ere?" Ant broke the silence as they neared the lodging house.

"Hmm. Somethin' like t'ree weeks. Why ya ask?" Jack replied absently.

THREE WEEKS? Wow. Time sure flies when you're selling newspapers. Ant was taken aback by how much he had changed in such a short period of time. Hardly seemed possible. "No reason. Jest t'inkin' 'bout 'ow fast t'ings can change."

"People, ya mean?"

"Guess so."

"Maybe youse always wanted somethin' different. Ya wasn't gonna let yerself t'ink dat way, but at night, when ya dream---"

"I don't dream." Ant replied evenly.

"Doncha? We all dream, Poi'se. Some when dey're asleep, an' some out loud fer all ta 'ear."

Ant could have sworn he heard Jack mumble something about Santa Fe under his breath, but brushed it off.

"Da point is, you was unhappy somewheres deep down inside. Given da chance, da real you came out." Jack finished, then smirked. "Listen ta me. I'm soundin' like Dave now fer God sake! All phil'sophical an' stuff."

"Jack--" Ant began.

"COWBOY!! COMIN' IN?! KLOPPMAN'S GONNA LOCK DA DOOR!" Boots bellowed from the top window of the Newsboys Lodging House.

"BE DERE IN A MINUTE!" Jack yelled back and turned to Ant. "What is it?"

Thanks for everything. I get it now. This IS where I belong. Ant thought, but tagged Kelly on the arm instead. "Race ya inside!" He took off for the door.

"'Ey! Ya cheater!" Jack chased after him.