A Glimmer of Hope
By: Moneybags
Sara hurried through the busy streets of Manhattan. It was early October 1899, particularly cold for that time. It was late evening, and if she wasn't in the boarding house for the factory workers by 9, she wouldn't get a bed because of the first-come-first-serve policy there.
"Get outta da way, ya street rat!" Some man shouted at her as she went by. He was, not surprisingly, well dressed, and in a hurry. Sara just continued on her way. Ya know, just 'cause we don't have good clothes, don't mean ya gotta pick on us. It seemed that everybody picked on the kids who had to work for and make their own living. Some guy who had sold her a pretzel for lunch had even given her a hard time. It was all she could spare if she ever wanted to get out of here. With a daily income of twenty-five cents, by the time she got through the day she was down to about five cents. The lodging was five cents, and then she had to get lunch or dinner, which dinner was around fifteen cents, and a pretzel was a few cents. Sometimes she
could save five cents a day, but that rarely happened.
She looked up just in time to try and avoid a collision with a boy about her age, Sara guessed. But the boy was looking down and managed to walk right into her. "I'm sorry." Sara replied, not expecting a reply. He mumbled something, but she couldn't hear what it was, and looked at her but then got swept away into the crowd. Oh well, what can ya expect o' people dese
days? Sara got a pretty good look at him. He had an eye patch, and she remembered him holding a small stack of papers. Well, Sara, concentrate on w'ere youse goin'. Don't wanna end up in a mess wit some oddah person. Maybe Michele'll be at da boardin' house. She always cheers me up somehow.
When she finally reached the boarding house, Sara went in to make sure that there was still room, and saw Michele's name on the list. Michele was one of the very few friends Sara had, and was one of the first girls to introduce herself when Sara had first come. She also had helped Sara get adjusted to life here.
As Sara went into the girls' bunkroom, she looked around. There were the usual five girls playing poker, and about ten more on-lookers and ten other girls were sleeping, talking, or doing something else. Sara headed over to her usual bunk, and was soon visited by Michele.
"So," Sara started, "dija find anythin' else 'bout ya muddah and faddah?"
Michele just nodded with a worried statement on her face. "I'se seen dem. Dey didn't see me, an' I intend ta keep it dat way. Deys're lookin' for me again. If dey find me, I dunno what I'm gonna do. But it's gettin' too risky ta stay here."
"Where do ya think ya gonna go?" Sara asked reluctantly.
"Well, I'm thinkin' 'bout goin' ova ta da Bronx, gettin' a job dere, an' as soon as I get meself enough money, I'm getting' outta here for good." Michele saw the look on her friend's face. "Yeah, I don't wanna go, but-"
"Naw, ya gotta go. Dere ain't no oddah way. I undastand. If I hear anyt'in' 'bout ya parents I'll letcha know."
"T'anks."
"Don't mention it." Sara suddenly remembered about the boy she had bumped into. "Hey, guess what I ran inta tiday?"
"What?"
"A newsboy!" They both burst out laughing at the inside joke from long ago. When Sara first came into the factory, she and Michele had connected pretty well. Michele helped Sara find her way around the city, and one-day she pointed out a newsie, only Sara misheard Michele and thought she said moesie. So needless to say that when they figured all this out, they were
both hysterical. "Naw really, I'm serious. He had an eye patch too." Michele quieted down, wanting to know every detail.
"What kinda hair?" She asked dreamily.
"Oh, he was just ya type. His one eye was definitely blue, and I t'ink he got sandy blonde hair." Sara knew that her friend would want to know everything. "He was taller den me, not by much dough. I'se guessin' he's 'bout our age, fifteen or sixteen, it's hard ta tell, ya know, only saw 'im for a split second."
"Yeah, but youse all ready gave me all dose details. What else?" Sara just gave her that look, to tell her to shut up. "Oh, I'm sorry." Michele said teasingly, who gave Sara that fine! Don't tell me look.
"Well, he was yer typical New Yawker. Aftah we ran inta each oddah, he looked at me. Din't say nuttin'. Must've snapped outta a day dream or somethin'."
"And . . ." Michele said, her voice trailing off.
"What do you want me to do? Ohh, I know, I'll just magically know where he is, find him, and drag him back here just so ya could look at him. Alright, master?"
"No, slave, that isn't good enough." Michele snapped back, and sat up straight like a queen.
"Ohh, I forgot. Nuttin's ever good enough for ya." Sara mumbled, rolling her eyes as well.
"Just shut up an' tell me more." Michele commanded her slave.
"No! I'll never give in to your wicked ways!"
Just then, Mrs. Brewster came in. "C'mon, girls. Ya gotta get to bed. Can't have youse fallin' asleep in da fact'ry tamorraw. I'm coming in at five- thirty in da mornin' to wake youse up." The factory had put her in charge of running one of the boarding houses (or flophouse, as they were also referred to) and keeping the girls in order. She was always grumpy, but tolerable. Most girls just ignored her and kept out of her way.
After Mrs. Brewster left the room, the girls did their goodnight rounds. Sara said goodnight to Michele, and several other girls who she knew. Then she climbed into her bunk, and presently fell asleep, thinking of what she always thought about and regretted- not watching her brother.
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By: Moneybags
Sara hurried through the busy streets of Manhattan. It was early October 1899, particularly cold for that time. It was late evening, and if she wasn't in the boarding house for the factory workers by 9, she wouldn't get a bed because of the first-come-first-serve policy there.
"Get outta da way, ya street rat!" Some man shouted at her as she went by. He was, not surprisingly, well dressed, and in a hurry. Sara just continued on her way. Ya know, just 'cause we don't have good clothes, don't mean ya gotta pick on us. It seemed that everybody picked on the kids who had to work for and make their own living. Some guy who had sold her a pretzel for lunch had even given her a hard time. It was all she could spare if she ever wanted to get out of here. With a daily income of twenty-five cents, by the time she got through the day she was down to about five cents. The lodging was five cents, and then she had to get lunch or dinner, which dinner was around fifteen cents, and a pretzel was a few cents. Sometimes she
could save five cents a day, but that rarely happened.
She looked up just in time to try and avoid a collision with a boy about her age, Sara guessed. But the boy was looking down and managed to walk right into her. "I'm sorry." Sara replied, not expecting a reply. He mumbled something, but she couldn't hear what it was, and looked at her but then got swept away into the crowd. Oh well, what can ya expect o' people dese
days? Sara got a pretty good look at him. He had an eye patch, and she remembered him holding a small stack of papers. Well, Sara, concentrate on w'ere youse goin'. Don't wanna end up in a mess wit some oddah person. Maybe Michele'll be at da boardin' house. She always cheers me up somehow.
When she finally reached the boarding house, Sara went in to make sure that there was still room, and saw Michele's name on the list. Michele was one of the very few friends Sara had, and was one of the first girls to introduce herself when Sara had first come. She also had helped Sara get adjusted to life here.
As Sara went into the girls' bunkroom, she looked around. There were the usual five girls playing poker, and about ten more on-lookers and ten other girls were sleeping, talking, or doing something else. Sara headed over to her usual bunk, and was soon visited by Michele.
"So," Sara started, "dija find anythin' else 'bout ya muddah and faddah?"
Michele just nodded with a worried statement on her face. "I'se seen dem. Dey didn't see me, an' I intend ta keep it dat way. Deys're lookin' for me again. If dey find me, I dunno what I'm gonna do. But it's gettin' too risky ta stay here."
"Where do ya think ya gonna go?" Sara asked reluctantly.
"Well, I'm thinkin' 'bout goin' ova ta da Bronx, gettin' a job dere, an' as soon as I get meself enough money, I'm getting' outta here for good." Michele saw the look on her friend's face. "Yeah, I don't wanna go, but-"
"Naw, ya gotta go. Dere ain't no oddah way. I undastand. If I hear anyt'in' 'bout ya parents I'll letcha know."
"T'anks."
"Don't mention it." Sara suddenly remembered about the boy she had bumped into. "Hey, guess what I ran inta tiday?"
"What?"
"A newsboy!" They both burst out laughing at the inside joke from long ago. When Sara first came into the factory, she and Michele had connected pretty well. Michele helped Sara find her way around the city, and one-day she pointed out a newsie, only Sara misheard Michele and thought she said moesie. So needless to say that when they figured all this out, they were
both hysterical. "Naw really, I'm serious. He had an eye patch too." Michele quieted down, wanting to know every detail.
"What kinda hair?" She asked dreamily.
"Oh, he was just ya type. His one eye was definitely blue, and I t'ink he got sandy blonde hair." Sara knew that her friend would want to know everything. "He was taller den me, not by much dough. I'se guessin' he's 'bout our age, fifteen or sixteen, it's hard ta tell, ya know, only saw 'im for a split second."
"Yeah, but youse all ready gave me all dose details. What else?" Sara just gave her that look, to tell her to shut up. "Oh, I'm sorry." Michele said teasingly, who gave Sara that fine! Don't tell me look.
"Well, he was yer typical New Yawker. Aftah we ran inta each oddah, he looked at me. Din't say nuttin'. Must've snapped outta a day dream or somethin'."
"And . . ." Michele said, her voice trailing off.
"What do you want me to do? Ohh, I know, I'll just magically know where he is, find him, and drag him back here just so ya could look at him. Alright, master?"
"No, slave, that isn't good enough." Michele snapped back, and sat up straight like a queen.
"Ohh, I forgot. Nuttin's ever good enough for ya." Sara mumbled, rolling her eyes as well.
"Just shut up an' tell me more." Michele commanded her slave.
"No! I'll never give in to your wicked ways!"
Just then, Mrs. Brewster came in. "C'mon, girls. Ya gotta get to bed. Can't have youse fallin' asleep in da fact'ry tamorraw. I'm coming in at five- thirty in da mornin' to wake youse up." The factory had put her in charge of running one of the boarding houses (or flophouse, as they were also referred to) and keeping the girls in order. She was always grumpy, but tolerable. Most girls just ignored her and kept out of her way.
After Mrs. Brewster left the room, the girls did their goodnight rounds. Sara said goodnight to Michele, and several other girls who she knew. Then she climbed into her bunk, and presently fell asleep, thinking of what she always thought about and regretted- not watching her brother.
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