So Far Away
Chapter 1
A New Day
It was summer in New York – not the kind of summer where the children rejoiced and wasted away their days playing and swimming, at least, not for the newsies. For them summer was just another time of the year where they worked long hours for miniscule pay. Despite the sweltering heat, or the unforgiving humidity, their workday went on, and didn't dare stop for such a cause as the weather. Summer for the newsies was different than summer for any 'normal' child. They slaved away, selling their creativity - the headlines that originated in their own minds, eating whatever stale meal they could afford, and returning home, or what they only knew as home, after a long day on their feet to a poor establishment known in the city as a lodging house. Some made enough selling the daily editions that they didn't have to go back and sell in the evening. Others… weren't as fortunate.
It was in this city that a million different stories could be told – each one unique, yet in a way, each one the same. In a melting pot such as New York, there was also a deep sense of unity. The woikin' boys of New Yoik as Jack Kelly of the Lower Manhattan Newsies so eloquently stated once, was a group – a union. And it didn't stop at working boys. Girls of all ages flooded into the job market. Young girls that were forced to grow up much too fast, just as their male counterparts, became newsies, worked in factories, and worked in less than reputable establishments if it meant seeing another day. The next day will be better. It was a common phrase among a particular group of girls that worked in a factory downtown, and it was the only thing that ensured them that one day, this statement would really come true. It has to get really bad before it can get better. These working children lived for that 'better day'. They lived to see that moment where the name street trash no longer applied to them. But until that day came upon them, they would work – work from dawn 'til dusk, for their next meal, and their next semi-warm place to spend the night.
Many never made it to that next day. Many preferred the easy way out, and many were just unfortunate enough to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The number of children dying each day was so overwhelming, that if a child was a street rat, the police seemed more relieved than angry that another innocent soul was taken from their city. It was one less child to catch stealing food, one less to yell at when caught sleeping on the front stoop of a business, and one less to worry about getting in a gang fight or god forbid, injuring a highly respected member of the community.
It was wise never to get too attached to one human being, especially in a world such as New York City. Life was too unpredictable there. Too many things could happen in the mere blink of an eye. Some friendships last, others dissipate, and some end in tragedy. While in one second, a person could be your best friend, in the next, they could turn against you, stabbing you right in the back they once helped to support. It was a life of survival in New York City – survival of the fittest. Weaklings, unless surrounded by a strong pack, never made it for more than a year, at best. If you couldn't talk or fight your way out of a situation, you hid, and made sure to hide well, or you made friends with the people who could fight, and stayed behind them, through thick and thin. Friendships tested, lives taken, morals stretched, New York City could either be one of the best experiences of a child's life, or it could be the very end of their existence.
****
The sun wrestled with the tall buildings that cascaded over the dark city. It would only be a matter of minutes before the man-made structures lost to the bright orb, and light would shine over New York, awakening all its inhabitants.
A seemingly perfect day, hardly any clouds loomed over the cityscape, giving the sun complete control over its domain. The familiar sounds of horses trotting on the cobblestone echoed in the alleyways. The streets began to fill with life. Carts along the sidewalks were set up for the day, market owners began to arrange various vegetables and fruits in their displays right outside the shop doors, and newspapers rolled hot of the presses.
While city life seemed monotonous on the outside to travelers, the people who lived here knew differently. Each day proved to be a new challenge or a new adventure. Surely each day had the presence of monotony. For the working children, they awoke around the same time, went to work for the same task all day long, and worried over when would be their next meal or where they would sleep. But deeper than that was the adventure and mystery that livened their souls. They knew life wasn't easy, but they also knew that standing by and letting life take control would make it ever harder on them. Some had the courage to stand up and point their life where they wanted it to go, and these children also had the courage to show others the way to do just that.
A perfect example of such courage lay in the Newsboys lodging and girls boarding houses across the city. Children from all walks of life were brought together in these institutions that housed some for the short period of a day, and some for years. It was in several of these houses that new adventures were just about to begin for some very unsuspecting lodgers.
****
"You gotta be outta yer cotton-pickin' mind," the short Italian grumbled, his face implanted in the shallow, off-white pillow beneath him. "Mornin' ain't for another half hour, at least," he asserted groggily.
"Yeah, a half hour ago, Race," interjected Jack, his greasy, brown hair pointed in every direction and his face red from burying it in his pillow as he slept. "Get up before we throw ya off dat bed," he warned with a slight hint of a smirk.
"Mmph, fine," came a muffled and rather annoyed reply. I just had ta screw up at da tracks, a coise. Racetrack pulled himself from beneath his ragged sheet and sighed. He sat up on the edge of his bunk and thrust his chin into his coarse hands. Life had turned particularly unlucky for the gambler lately. Due to an unfortunate amount of non-winning bets, Racetrack found himself completely broke, and the only way to make up for that was to work himself to the bone. He sold morning, afternoon, and night editions now, and would continue to do so until he could afford to have a decent meal again.
"Jesus, Race ya look like ya got hit by a cart last night in yer sleep," noted Kid Blink as he combed his fingers through his sandy blonde hair.
"Aw, stuff it," Race mumbled, his hands rubbing the sleep out of his reddened eyes.
"Quit yer dawdlin' and get movin'!" Jack yelled from the bathroom, his face newly-covered in shaving cream.
"Why do you shave anyway, Jack?" grinned a brown, curly-haired boy named Mush. "What exactly is dere ta shave off in da foist place?" he smirked.
Raising his fist, which happened to be covered with white shaving cream, Jack glared at Mush briefly as the muscular boy ducked for cover. It was common for at least one of the newsboys to be plastered with the substance in the morning, and Mush didn't want to be this morning's casualty.
To the ignorant onlooker, the newsboys' lodging house looked like a veritable scene of complete chaos in the morning, but to the boys it was a carefully timed routine. This was part of their monotony, and they have become so good at keeping out of each other's way that if you watched carefully, you would have sworn they choreographed their entire morning.
Sinks were pumped non-stop as several boys dared to take quick baths, the stall doors to the few bathrooms swung back and forth briskly, and soon the boys filed downstairs, the old, wooden steps aching beneath the pounding of a hundred feet.
It was the same each morning. On the way to the newspaper distribution center the boys did everything possible to awaken their still-tired bodies. From jumping off barrels to fencing with walking sticks, the newsboys made it a mission to stay lively in the morning. We gotta get our brains woikin', Jack once stated. And to do dat, we gotta keep movin'. They all knew how bad the headlines could be, and motivation was key in their line of work. If a boy was groggy when he bought his papes, he was less likely to sell his stack, but a boy who was alive and ready usually sold them all. One might think selling newspapers didn't take smarts or a philosophy, but the children knew better. They knew that they had to set any morals aside each day and improve the truth in order to survive, and that was just the way life had to be.
~~
We're lying! A new boy to the group once indignantly stated.
No, replied Jack. We're survivin'.
****
"Good lordy, is it mornin' already?" Fade sighed, tossing her dark brown curls to the side. Mornings never faired well with her.
Filly snorted. "Well if ya hadn't stayed out so long last night, mornin' would have met ya on better terms." Grabbing a comb, Filly began the task of sorting through her thick hair. She always had a slight smile on her face while doing so, because it was well known to her that the other girls envied that very feature. From far away it looked to be just a plain, dark brown color, but on closer inspection, one could marvel at the red highlights that complimented her tresses.
To be envied in a boarding house was something kept sacred, and usually secret. Pride had been stripped from these girls so many times in the past, and when it was even hinted that someone else looked up to you or envied you for something, you held that dear to your heart.
Hopping down from her top bunk, a girl with deep, emerald eyes and long brown hair laughed at the pair. "Look, we haven't even been up fer five minutes and already they're goin' at it."
Fade scoffed. "Shut it Mischief! She's da one in the bad mood already." Squinting her dark eyes, she glanced around the crowded room, watching as one by one, the girls removed themselves from their beds.
Leaning against the doorway to the washroom, Blaze crossed her arms, a white towel in one hand, and a brush in the other. She waited a moment, then tossed her dirty blonde hair to the side before opening her mouth. "Enough!" she bellowed in a perturbed voice, her dull, blue eyes scanning the room to see from where the ruckus had originated. "Get up! We ain't got much time ta get ready. We're already runnin' behind. You girls wanna go hungry when they fire ya from yer jobs, or ya wanna have a nice meal tanight?" As quickly as she had appeared in the doorway, Blaze once again disappeared into the confines of the washroom.
A barrage of sighs and mumbles filled the room, each girl knowing Blaze was exactly right. While they liked having someone around to keep them on task, they hated being reminded of how hard their life really was. Sometimes it was easier to be lazy - to forget their troubles and just stop caring, but doing that had consequences that none of them wanted to face. Eating a decent meal and sleeping someplace safe was too important to them, and thus so, they had to be reminded of reality.
"Yeah girls, don't wanna lose dose jobs," Busy Body snickered from her bed in the corner of the pale-colored room. Turning on her side, her blue eyes watched in enjoyment as the others readied for their workdays. Out of the group, her day was the only one that started later, and from time to time, she liked to point out that fact whenever the others were in a particularly crabby mood.
"Just because ya landed a job wid Medda don't mean ya gotta rag on us because we actually gotta be up early," Irish Flare spat, her ice blue eyes glaring at Busy Body from across the room. When Busy Body didn't give her the satisfaction of a reply, Irish Flare turned on her heel and went back to pulling her raven back hair into a loose bun.
Mornings in the boarding house never went without some conflict. The girls weren't as agreeable to teasing as the boys were, especially in the earlier part of the day. While males were supposed to appear tough as if words meant nothing, females had a harder time of keeping emotion hidden, and it seemed conflict found an inviting home in the mornings of the girls' boarding houses. Sleep was a prized commodity in a working child's life, and when not enough rest was attained, tempers were shortened, and words were sharp.
It was this part of the morning that the girls formed several small groups. Part of the diversity at the boarding house was the different occupations the girls held. While Blizzard, Wish, and Autumn headed towards a factory downtown, Fade, Midnight, Filly, Mischief, Lee Lee, Satine, Mix, and Moneybags trekked to the distribution center, Firecracker to Tibby's, Estrella towards the book store, BC to a laundry service, and Irish Flare to Sheepshead Bay where she worked at the racetracks.
Then there was Blaze. She made sure to wait until the last girl left, stating that it was her job to make sure they all went to work. With Busy Body asleep again in her bed, Blaze headed off to work herself – to a job no one knew about. Out of all of the girls, Blaze was regarded as the one with the most mystery. She wasn't really their leader, but more of a motherly figure to the girls. She did everything she possibly could for them, that was, except for answer questions about her personal life, especially her work habits.
~~
Why do you live in Manhattan if ya woik at da tracks so far away? Busy Body inquired when Irish Flare was in one of her better moods.
Nodding, Irish Flare flashed a hint of a smile. You stay where ya got people watchin' yer back.
****