AN/R: This is the first chapter I wrote after I reopened the file last month.. unfortunately, it might be a little while after this before I write another chapter. I'm not quite sure if I want to bring Jack back just yet or not; if I do, chapters will come more quickly because I already have Jack-related ones from last summer stored away (including my favorite one, heehee). We'll see where my Muse takes me, though. It'll probably be a few more chapters. Thank you SO MUCH to everyone that's reveiwed, especially Carrots, who's reviewed just about every chapter.. you're great, thanks so much.
Holding Over Water -- Chapter 6
The rest of 1894 isn't worth much mention. Arrow settled down and started listening to Raff, who, though he was no Boxer, was doing his best to keep everything together. I fell in line quickly too, of course, because it was Raff, to whom I owed my life just as much as I owed Boxer. I had my birthday, but that was never a big deal because I never celebrated it with the newsies. They didn't even know when it was. But I think they realized I was thirteen when I stared cursing like a sailor on a regular basis.
1895 came in cold, just like the beginning any other New York year. Winter always made me remember the time when I was freezing, and the fact that this was my first winter without Boxer around didn't help either. My mother and Boxer. The fact that the two most important people ever put in my life were gone hurt. When Boxer left, I knew that he had taken something from me that I had been beginning to lose with my mother's death, and without that, it wasn't much use trying to go beyond existence. I became an empty shell come December. Every morning, I'd get up and sell my papes (on a street corner, since the harbor was frozen solid), but then I'd come back to the lodging house and crawl into bed for the rest of the day.
On New Year's Day, I was selling the special January 1st, 1985 edition with Duke, who had asked to tag along with me that day. Since he was younger and cuter, I let him do the business. I just stood on the sidelines, in between the snowbanks, ready to hand him his next pape. He didn't mind, since I was sharing some essential pointers with him that he had never learned when he first started. Duke finished around mid-afternoon, and though he tried to insist, I wouldn't take the half of the profits he wanted me to. He'd sold nearly a hundred and fifty papes on his own that day, and I wouldn't even let him give me the money for my hundred papes that I'd given him to sell. The kid deserved every cent of that. He'd worked hard, especially when that winter wind whipped in his face.
We were on our way home when it began to snow lightly. We weren't far from Tibby's, so we decided to take a stop there and get some hot chocolate. Though I wouldn't let Duke give me any money, I did let him trick me into letting him pay.
"Youse doin' real good, Duke," I told him as we sat in a booth next to the front window. "Yer gonna be a great newsie. Already are, actually."
"Thanks, Spot," he said sheepishly. "It's really nice of ya ta teach me."
"Newsies help each udder," I told him, taking a sip of my hot cocoa. "I don't want anyone starvin', 'specially when they're good kids like you."
Duke only smiled as we finished the contents of our mugs. For a moment, I was afraid that I was going to be like Boxer to him, and then end up leaving one day and breaking his heart as a result. But Duke was a good kid with a level head on his shoulders, and I had no outlandish dreams like working the fights in Chicago like Boxer did.
"We should go," I told him as I gazed out the window. "The snow ain't gettin' any bettah."
Duke nodded. We paid and left, making the walk back home to the Lodging House. On the way, I noticed something curled up in a snowbank and had sudden flashbacks to my youth. It was a boy, about the same age as I had been, but in what at least looked like warmer clothes. I tapped Duke on the shoulder to point him out and we approached the boy cautiously.
"Hey," I said quietly, nudging his shoulder with my hand, "you okay, kid?"
The kid turned over with a slight groan, a plaid scarf falling from his face to show red hair flecked with white from the snow - and a real bad black eye. All that at eight years old.
"Jesus," I breathed. I felt his forehead, to be safe...but no fever. "C'mon, kid," I said, taking his freezing hands.
"'e could be someone's kid," Duke warned me.
"Looks like they're beatin' him, whoever they are."
The boy said nothing as I hoisted him up to his feet and I began leading him in the direction of the lodging house, eventually just scooping him up into my arms when it looked like he couldn't walk much anymore. Duke followed silently, looking around as we walked, possibly for the kid's father. When we were almost close enough to step into its door, Duke tugged on my jacket nervously.
"Spot," he mumbled, pointing behind him. "Lookit."
There was an older man stalking towards us, looking raving mad. I stopped and let him approach us, the kid still in my arms. When he was close enough, he pointed at him.
"That is my _son_," the man scowled. Ah, so here was the culprit.
"You give 'im that black eye?" I asked.
"That's not your business."
"I think it is," I told him.
"Give him to me so I can take him home," he demanded, ignoring me and my comments.
"No," I said flatly. "I ain't givin' him to ya, especially since youse is beatin' him."
"What I do with my son is none of your business. You're just a street-rat newsboy."
"Spot..." said Duke nervously from behind me. "You should give 'im back."
"I ain't doin' that, Dukey..." I set the kid down next to him. "I'll fight ya for him," I told the father. "An' I'll do more damage to you than youse done to yer son."
"I bet you don't even know how to fight," the father smirked. Perhaps an angry man with ignorance is more dangerous to himself than anyone else, even more dangerous than an angry man with a passion to fight. If only he knew he was talking to a boy who had been taught by the most experienced fighter in Manhattan.
"If you're willin' to go through wit it, I am."
"Does a kid you don't even know the name of mean that much to you?"
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Josiah."
"Yeah, Josiah means that much," I told him.
"Then take him," the father said. "You'll see that he's just a good-for-nothing anyway."
He spit in Josiah's direction and stormed off in the snow, his footprints marks in the snow that would be covered up and forgotten sooner than I would forget the child he had just left me. I went back over to Duke and the kid and scooped Josiah back up in my arms.
"So, Josiah," I said to him. "Wanna be a newsie?"
He said nothing, only nodded slowly.
"First thing we've got to do is give you a nickname, then. Everyone's got one...I'm Spot, and he's Duke." I could see Josiah's freckles peeking through the snow that had landed on his cheeks. "Youse got some specks on yer face, ya know."
He nodded again.
"You got 'em all ovah?"
His response was a nod.
"We'se'll call ya Speck then, okay?"
Yet another nod.
"Hey, say somethin', wouldja?" I asked as we stepped into the door to the Lodging House.
"Put me down," he mumbled.
I laughed and set him down on his feet so he could go enter on his own.
"Bettah," I said as I took the pen to the book and signed three names - mine, Duke's, and Speck's.
"We've got someone new?" Mr. Johansen asked, looking down at Speck.
"Josiah Robertson," Speck introduced.
"His name's Speck," Duke told Mr. Johansen.
"Speck Robertson. Sounds like a newsie to me," Mr. Johansen said with a smile. "Get in a fight?" he asked, peering at his black eye.
"Something like that," I told Mr. Johansen. I saw Speck yawn. "I'm puttin' him ta bed, if that's no problem."
"The Lodging House is always open, Spot, especially to newcomers. Taking him with you in the morning?"
I paused to consider it, and then grinned.
"Maybe. If he can get up at dawn."
Mr. Johansen laughed.
"We'll make sure of it," he said.
For Speck, it was the beginning.
Holding Over Water -- Chapter 6
The rest of 1894 isn't worth much mention. Arrow settled down and started listening to Raff, who, though he was no Boxer, was doing his best to keep everything together. I fell in line quickly too, of course, because it was Raff, to whom I owed my life just as much as I owed Boxer. I had my birthday, but that was never a big deal because I never celebrated it with the newsies. They didn't even know when it was. But I think they realized I was thirteen when I stared cursing like a sailor on a regular basis.
1895 came in cold, just like the beginning any other New York year. Winter always made me remember the time when I was freezing, and the fact that this was my first winter without Boxer around didn't help either. My mother and Boxer. The fact that the two most important people ever put in my life were gone hurt. When Boxer left, I knew that he had taken something from me that I had been beginning to lose with my mother's death, and without that, it wasn't much use trying to go beyond existence. I became an empty shell come December. Every morning, I'd get up and sell my papes (on a street corner, since the harbor was frozen solid), but then I'd come back to the lodging house and crawl into bed for the rest of the day.
On New Year's Day, I was selling the special January 1st, 1985 edition with Duke, who had asked to tag along with me that day. Since he was younger and cuter, I let him do the business. I just stood on the sidelines, in between the snowbanks, ready to hand him his next pape. He didn't mind, since I was sharing some essential pointers with him that he had never learned when he first started. Duke finished around mid-afternoon, and though he tried to insist, I wouldn't take the half of the profits he wanted me to. He'd sold nearly a hundred and fifty papes on his own that day, and I wouldn't even let him give me the money for my hundred papes that I'd given him to sell. The kid deserved every cent of that. He'd worked hard, especially when that winter wind whipped in his face.
We were on our way home when it began to snow lightly. We weren't far from Tibby's, so we decided to take a stop there and get some hot chocolate. Though I wouldn't let Duke give me any money, I did let him trick me into letting him pay.
"Youse doin' real good, Duke," I told him as we sat in a booth next to the front window. "Yer gonna be a great newsie. Already are, actually."
"Thanks, Spot," he said sheepishly. "It's really nice of ya ta teach me."
"Newsies help each udder," I told him, taking a sip of my hot cocoa. "I don't want anyone starvin', 'specially when they're good kids like you."
Duke only smiled as we finished the contents of our mugs. For a moment, I was afraid that I was going to be like Boxer to him, and then end up leaving one day and breaking his heart as a result. But Duke was a good kid with a level head on his shoulders, and I had no outlandish dreams like working the fights in Chicago like Boxer did.
"We should go," I told him as I gazed out the window. "The snow ain't gettin' any bettah."
Duke nodded. We paid and left, making the walk back home to the Lodging House. On the way, I noticed something curled up in a snowbank and had sudden flashbacks to my youth. It was a boy, about the same age as I had been, but in what at least looked like warmer clothes. I tapped Duke on the shoulder to point him out and we approached the boy cautiously.
"Hey," I said quietly, nudging his shoulder with my hand, "you okay, kid?"
The kid turned over with a slight groan, a plaid scarf falling from his face to show red hair flecked with white from the snow - and a real bad black eye. All that at eight years old.
"Jesus," I breathed. I felt his forehead, to be safe...but no fever. "C'mon, kid," I said, taking his freezing hands.
"'e could be someone's kid," Duke warned me.
"Looks like they're beatin' him, whoever they are."
The boy said nothing as I hoisted him up to his feet and I began leading him in the direction of the lodging house, eventually just scooping him up into my arms when it looked like he couldn't walk much anymore. Duke followed silently, looking around as we walked, possibly for the kid's father. When we were almost close enough to step into its door, Duke tugged on my jacket nervously.
"Spot," he mumbled, pointing behind him. "Lookit."
There was an older man stalking towards us, looking raving mad. I stopped and let him approach us, the kid still in my arms. When he was close enough, he pointed at him.
"That is my _son_," the man scowled. Ah, so here was the culprit.
"You give 'im that black eye?" I asked.
"That's not your business."
"I think it is," I told him.
"Give him to me so I can take him home," he demanded, ignoring me and my comments.
"No," I said flatly. "I ain't givin' him to ya, especially since youse is beatin' him."
"What I do with my son is none of your business. You're just a street-rat newsboy."
"Spot..." said Duke nervously from behind me. "You should give 'im back."
"I ain't doin' that, Dukey..." I set the kid down next to him. "I'll fight ya for him," I told the father. "An' I'll do more damage to you than youse done to yer son."
"I bet you don't even know how to fight," the father smirked. Perhaps an angry man with ignorance is more dangerous to himself than anyone else, even more dangerous than an angry man with a passion to fight. If only he knew he was talking to a boy who had been taught by the most experienced fighter in Manhattan.
"If you're willin' to go through wit it, I am."
"Does a kid you don't even know the name of mean that much to you?"
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Josiah."
"Yeah, Josiah means that much," I told him.
"Then take him," the father said. "You'll see that he's just a good-for-nothing anyway."
He spit in Josiah's direction and stormed off in the snow, his footprints marks in the snow that would be covered up and forgotten sooner than I would forget the child he had just left me. I went back over to Duke and the kid and scooped Josiah back up in my arms.
"So, Josiah," I said to him. "Wanna be a newsie?"
He said nothing, only nodded slowly.
"First thing we've got to do is give you a nickname, then. Everyone's got one...I'm Spot, and he's Duke." I could see Josiah's freckles peeking through the snow that had landed on his cheeks. "Youse got some specks on yer face, ya know."
He nodded again.
"You got 'em all ovah?"
His response was a nod.
"We'se'll call ya Speck then, okay?"
Yet another nod.
"Hey, say somethin', wouldja?" I asked as we stepped into the door to the Lodging House.
"Put me down," he mumbled.
I laughed and set him down on his feet so he could go enter on his own.
"Bettah," I said as I took the pen to the book and signed three names - mine, Duke's, and Speck's.
"We've got someone new?" Mr. Johansen asked, looking down at Speck.
"Josiah Robertson," Speck introduced.
"His name's Speck," Duke told Mr. Johansen.
"Speck Robertson. Sounds like a newsie to me," Mr. Johansen said with a smile. "Get in a fight?" he asked, peering at his black eye.
"Something like that," I told Mr. Johansen. I saw Speck yawn. "I'm puttin' him ta bed, if that's no problem."
"The Lodging House is always open, Spot, especially to newcomers. Taking him with you in the morning?"
I paused to consider it, and then grinned.
"Maybe. If he can get up at dawn."
Mr. Johansen laughed.
"We'll make sure of it," he said.
For Speck, it was the beginning.
