The morning sun awoke him, as did the chill in the air. Race shivered
violently, but gathered his things, after checking to make sure they were
all there, and set off. The city was awakening, and Race knew he had to get
out of the area, heading towards the less decent parts of the city.
As he walked, he thought of his options. He couldn't go to the lower East side, too many old memories. He couldn't go to Brooklyn, Spot would know in an instant. Not the Bronx, he couldn't go back, that was where he had come from. Queens, maybe, Richmond Island, maybe. He'd heard they were thinking of renaming it anyway. Then of course, there was always, leave New York.
But he couldn't' do that. New York was his home, it had always been. He'd been born in Naples, true, but he'd come to New York as a bright eyed, curious four year old. And he had been here ever since.
He sighed and decided that the best thing to do was to keep walking. Didn't matter where he went as long as he kept walking. He looked at the ground, and took the first step, moving his feet forward. He did not look back; keeping his gaze ahead at the crowd of people he was pushing his way through.
He adopted the cold air of someone who knew the city and knew his way around. Some one who was not to be messed with. And the others took that hint, no one bothered him, no one stopped him. No one, but one person.
Race bumped into someone as he walked, and he felt swift hands sneak into his pockets. Being an experienced pickpocket himself, he reached down with faster fingers and grabbed the deft fingers before they could leave. He spun around, prepared to give the child a piece of his mind when he stopped. The boy was one he knew quite well, David's little brother, Les.
"Race?" he asked, staring in wonder at his older friend. Race dropped his hand and glanced up. Where Les was, Jack or David wasn't far behind. Sure enough, both boys were now hurrying down the street.
Race felt frozen for an instant as he made eye contact with the blue eyes of his old friend. Jack's mouth dropped and he paused, only a few feet away. Race took that opportunely to flee.
He spun on his heels, and took off in a full out run. He could hear Jack and David calling to him, but he flew down the street, going at top speed. They were chasing him, he was sure, but he did not turn around to check.
He dove into a deserted alley and looked around. He could hear them coming and he grabbed the fire escape, climbing up it experiencedly. He pulled himself up onto the roof and ran across the rooftop to the door. Then, he made his way down the stairs, coming out in a back alley.
From there, he turned into the main street and headed off, towards the upper part of the city once again.
Jack was not chasing him anymore and Race slowed down, letting himself stop to rest on a doorstep to catch his breath. Why had he run? He didn't know, but he didn't want to go back and have the others give him that I told you so look, along with the cold glances and stone hearts that were sure to meet him, the polite but cold greetings and the exclusion from everything. He didn't want it. He didn't want them to know that he had been wrong.
That night he slept in an alleyway, guarding his precious food against rats, both animal and human.
By the time the snow fell, Race had lost track of the days in which he'd lived on the streets. His supply of food was long gone and he wandered the streets, his shirt pulled tight against him, rummaging through garbage pails for food.
He knew which place to go, he knew which place handed their food out to beggars, he knew when the nuns were open for business, and he knew where to sleep. He'd sold the satin pillowcase, and traded it for an old burlap sack he'd found. It had bought him a few days food.
He had no money, and his stomach rumbled all the time. He wandered, as if lost, which he was sure he was. His fingers were numb and he had long ago lost any feeling in his toes.
He could hardly remember what it was like to be warm, he thought, as he made his way through the streets, kicking the snow as he went, lacking the energy to lift his feet. To be warm, in front of a fire, with his friends all around him. He could hardly remember what it was like to have food.
When had he last eaten? He couldn't remember. There had been that apple, stolen yesterday, or was that the day before? He shook his head, trying to shake some of the snow from his hair, and failing.
The world was white, all white in the falling snow, and he only saw the sidewalk as he trudged forward, his arms around himself, trying to keep some warmth, however little he could find.
He was tired, he thought, so very tired. He had no energy, none, and there was a darkness that kept creeping up on him, fading his sight until he could see nothing. It came and went as he stumbled along, outlining his line of sight.
He stumbled, almost falling into the snow. He threw his hands out to catch himself and he did so. He lay there, on his hands and knees, breathing deeply for a moment, feeling so strangely weak.
The cold air bit into his cheeks, drawing the air from him in frightingly deep gasps. The snow that touched his hands and knees sank into his skin, chilling him to the bone. He winced as the wind picked up and managed to pull himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them in tight to his chest, trying to do anything to block the cold.
He curled up on the doorstep, and leaned his back against cold wood. He held himself tight, trying to reserve what little heat he could find. The cold building behind him did give off a little from the warmth inside.
Race took a deep shuddering breath, wishing for the first time since he was nine years old, for his mother. He wanted her to take him in her arms, and whisper that things were going to be alright. That he was her little baby, and he didn't have to be a man just yet. He was still only a boy, just a boy, who was forced to grow up far too fast.
From somewhere in the distance, Race heard singing. Singing a song that seemed so familiar, so perfect. The tune was familiar, but he couldn't make out the words.
"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay."
Race stumbled to his feet and began to follow the music, not knowing where it might lead him, but he knew that he needed to be warm. And where there was singing there were people.
"The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle til morning is nigh."
But there was something else that drew him towards the music, something he couldn't explain. He knew that he would be welcomed there, he knew that was home. His fevered brain was too numb, too cold to ask why, but in his heart he knew they were singing for him.
"Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And take us to heaven, to live with Thee there."
He stumbled down a side street, now blinded by snow, following the sound of the music, and wanting nothing more than to sing along. He made his way along, straining for the last few strands of the music before he fell to the blackness that was struggling against him.
But it was almost too much to ask. The music was gone and Race was alone again. His cold numb fingers grasped at his coat, pulling it tighter, as he sunk down on a doorstep, suddenly feeling so cold and so alone.
He closed his eyes, and tried once more to hear the angelic music that had called him home. But it had faded into the whiteness of the night, leaving him alone once more in the silence.
And there, in the snow covered streets, all alone, Racetrack fell asleep, not knowing, that it was Christmas Eve, not knowing that in two very different worlds, there were people who were looking out their windows a and begging him to come home. One old woman who knelt before her bed, her rosary in hand, one child who knelt beside her, her lips moving quickly in prayer for her brother, and one boy, one boy who was really a man, who stood at the window and stared into the blinding storm, not knowing that the brother he sought was so much closer than he thought.
As he walked, he thought of his options. He couldn't go to the lower East side, too many old memories. He couldn't go to Brooklyn, Spot would know in an instant. Not the Bronx, he couldn't go back, that was where he had come from. Queens, maybe, Richmond Island, maybe. He'd heard they were thinking of renaming it anyway. Then of course, there was always, leave New York.
But he couldn't' do that. New York was his home, it had always been. He'd been born in Naples, true, but he'd come to New York as a bright eyed, curious four year old. And he had been here ever since.
He sighed and decided that the best thing to do was to keep walking. Didn't matter where he went as long as he kept walking. He looked at the ground, and took the first step, moving his feet forward. He did not look back; keeping his gaze ahead at the crowd of people he was pushing his way through.
He adopted the cold air of someone who knew the city and knew his way around. Some one who was not to be messed with. And the others took that hint, no one bothered him, no one stopped him. No one, but one person.
Race bumped into someone as he walked, and he felt swift hands sneak into his pockets. Being an experienced pickpocket himself, he reached down with faster fingers and grabbed the deft fingers before they could leave. He spun around, prepared to give the child a piece of his mind when he stopped. The boy was one he knew quite well, David's little brother, Les.
"Race?" he asked, staring in wonder at his older friend. Race dropped his hand and glanced up. Where Les was, Jack or David wasn't far behind. Sure enough, both boys were now hurrying down the street.
Race felt frozen for an instant as he made eye contact with the blue eyes of his old friend. Jack's mouth dropped and he paused, only a few feet away. Race took that opportunely to flee.
He spun on his heels, and took off in a full out run. He could hear Jack and David calling to him, but he flew down the street, going at top speed. They were chasing him, he was sure, but he did not turn around to check.
He dove into a deserted alley and looked around. He could hear them coming and he grabbed the fire escape, climbing up it experiencedly. He pulled himself up onto the roof and ran across the rooftop to the door. Then, he made his way down the stairs, coming out in a back alley.
From there, he turned into the main street and headed off, towards the upper part of the city once again.
Jack was not chasing him anymore and Race slowed down, letting himself stop to rest on a doorstep to catch his breath. Why had he run? He didn't know, but he didn't want to go back and have the others give him that I told you so look, along with the cold glances and stone hearts that were sure to meet him, the polite but cold greetings and the exclusion from everything. He didn't want it. He didn't want them to know that he had been wrong.
That night he slept in an alleyway, guarding his precious food against rats, both animal and human.
By the time the snow fell, Race had lost track of the days in which he'd lived on the streets. His supply of food was long gone and he wandered the streets, his shirt pulled tight against him, rummaging through garbage pails for food.
He knew which place to go, he knew which place handed their food out to beggars, he knew when the nuns were open for business, and he knew where to sleep. He'd sold the satin pillowcase, and traded it for an old burlap sack he'd found. It had bought him a few days food.
He had no money, and his stomach rumbled all the time. He wandered, as if lost, which he was sure he was. His fingers were numb and he had long ago lost any feeling in his toes.
He could hardly remember what it was like to be warm, he thought, as he made his way through the streets, kicking the snow as he went, lacking the energy to lift his feet. To be warm, in front of a fire, with his friends all around him. He could hardly remember what it was like to have food.
When had he last eaten? He couldn't remember. There had been that apple, stolen yesterday, or was that the day before? He shook his head, trying to shake some of the snow from his hair, and failing.
The world was white, all white in the falling snow, and he only saw the sidewalk as he trudged forward, his arms around himself, trying to keep some warmth, however little he could find.
He was tired, he thought, so very tired. He had no energy, none, and there was a darkness that kept creeping up on him, fading his sight until he could see nothing. It came and went as he stumbled along, outlining his line of sight.
He stumbled, almost falling into the snow. He threw his hands out to catch himself and he did so. He lay there, on his hands and knees, breathing deeply for a moment, feeling so strangely weak.
The cold air bit into his cheeks, drawing the air from him in frightingly deep gasps. The snow that touched his hands and knees sank into his skin, chilling him to the bone. He winced as the wind picked up and managed to pull himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them in tight to his chest, trying to do anything to block the cold.
He curled up on the doorstep, and leaned his back against cold wood. He held himself tight, trying to reserve what little heat he could find. The cold building behind him did give off a little from the warmth inside.
Race took a deep shuddering breath, wishing for the first time since he was nine years old, for his mother. He wanted her to take him in her arms, and whisper that things were going to be alright. That he was her little baby, and he didn't have to be a man just yet. He was still only a boy, just a boy, who was forced to grow up far too fast.
From somewhere in the distance, Race heard singing. Singing a song that seemed so familiar, so perfect. The tune was familiar, but he couldn't make out the words.
"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay."
Race stumbled to his feet and began to follow the music, not knowing where it might lead him, but he knew that he needed to be warm. And where there was singing there were people.
"The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle til morning is nigh."
But there was something else that drew him towards the music, something he couldn't explain. He knew that he would be welcomed there, he knew that was home. His fevered brain was too numb, too cold to ask why, but in his heart he knew they were singing for him.
"Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And take us to heaven, to live with Thee there."
He stumbled down a side street, now blinded by snow, following the sound of the music, and wanting nothing more than to sing along. He made his way along, straining for the last few strands of the music before he fell to the blackness that was struggling against him.
But it was almost too much to ask. The music was gone and Race was alone again. His cold numb fingers grasped at his coat, pulling it tighter, as he sunk down on a doorstep, suddenly feeling so cold and so alone.
He closed his eyes, and tried once more to hear the angelic music that had called him home. But it had faded into the whiteness of the night, leaving him alone once more in the silence.
And there, in the snow covered streets, all alone, Racetrack fell asleep, not knowing, that it was Christmas Eve, not knowing that in two very different worlds, there were people who were looking out their windows a and begging him to come home. One old woman who knelt before her bed, her rosary in hand, one child who knelt beside her, her lips moving quickly in prayer for her brother, and one boy, one boy who was really a man, who stood at the window and stared into the blinding storm, not knowing that the brother he sought was so much closer than he thought.