Do you swear you won't forget me? By Crunch
Here 'tis, the pivitol fourth chapter! All is revealed.
(*voice whspers in crunch's ear*:Hey! thank the reviewers!) Oh yes, thanksabunch to everyone who's reveiwed! You guys rock! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
*.*.*
I paced back and forth, staring down at the still black waters a mile beneath us, shining like polished sea glass.
"Irish, dis aint a good idea. Dis is definitely not a good idea." She clasped my hand in hers, though the unease embedded in her throaty voice was anything but soothing.
"Relax, Racetrack. We aint even goin' in ta Brooklyn. Spot an' his boys is meet us on da bridge in 10 minutes, den we'se outta hear." I nodded, throwing an anxious glance at the trusty pocket watch clutched in my palm every few seconds. Only a little while to go, and we would be free of her father forever -
"Irish! Where ya been? I was lookin' all ovah for youse, tramp!" A drunken slur rang through the gloom, stopping my heart cold in my throat. Irish turned to me then, her sad, frightened eyes cutting into my soul. We'd been so close. So close.
"Do you love me, Race? Tell me you love me." It wasn't a game, and it wasn't a question. It was a plea.
"Irish. . . Yes. I love you." At that moment I saw every second Irish and I had spent wrapped in eachother's arms, replayed a thousand time in my mind. All of those moonlit nights on the firescape, all of those dinner's at Tibby's, all of those magical, sweltering summer days spent running through the misty sprays of open fire hydrants in the streets of Little Italy. I heard every excited whisper, felt every eager touch, and tasted every lingering kiss. And you know what I realized? I loved Irish.
I loved Irish, for all of her faults.
I loved her because she made me love life.
I loved her because she made me want to be a better person. She made me more than I was, more than I ever thought I could be.
I loved the girl who made me a father. Who made me a man.
I loved the girl who loved me.
And I never got to tell her any of that. Because at that moment, her father rose up infront of us, like some mythical giant, and swept her aside like a rag doll. "Irish.. ungh!" I grunted as his mammoth foot connected solidly with my stomach. My eyes burned with dust and tears; I must have looked like a fish out of water, flopping around and struggling for breath on the cold grating. Slowly and deliberately, Mr. McGanhee stumbled over to his fallen daughter, lifted her up in his huge claws, and slammed her roughly against the rail of the bridge. All I could picture at that moment was the baby inside of Irish, crumpling like a wet newspaper.
"You dirty hoar!"
"Poppa, no -"
"I raised youse!" He spit out, red with anger. "I took care a youse, you ungrateful bastard! I slaved away in dat factory for yeahs, puttin' food on da table and clothes on yer scrawny back, an' you repay me by getin knocked up by da foist street rat who'll look your way?" The man was drunker than any I'd ever seen, the smell of booze on his breath detectable from my sprawled heap on the ground.
"You'se don't deserve a fadder like me! You don't even deserve to live!" What I did next, I knew I'd regret for the rest of my days and relive in all of my dreams. I did nothing. Instead I stayed, as the man let fly one iron fist in her horror-stricken face, sending her tumbling over the bridge, her screams fading into the inky blackness along with the fiery flash of her hair in the moonlight. Just like that, Irish was gone. Just like that.
Blood pounded in my ears and rose behind my eyes, threatening to drown me as my heart ripped in two. I couldn't think, or cry, but atleast I could move again. And I did. With the wounded howl of an animal, more inhuman than anything that could possibly have escaped my own two lips, I lunged at the man watching his daughter dissapear into the night.
I'm not sure how long I tore at him, or when I stopped hitting and started getting hit. But eventually I found my cheek pressed against the railing, hard irons screws tearing into my skin.
"My daughter was two good fah youse." He slurred drunkenly in my ear. "And now she's gone. An' it's your fault, street rat!" I closed my eyes as he pulled back that log of a fist, too limp and exausted to fight back. Maybe it was for the best anyways.
"BROOKLYN!"
A single cry shattered the silence of the night, and suddenly the air hummed with well aimed sling stones. Irish's father was sweeped away in a sea of howling boys out for blood. "Race track! Race!" I felt Spot clutching at my shoulder. "What happened? Where's me girl Irish?"
"Dead. My familly is dead. You're too late." I managed to whisper before surrendering to the darkness.
*.*.*
I swiped at the salty tears streaming freely down my cheeks, choking on the bitter reality of it all. Irish, the first and last girl I'd ever had a chance to love, was gone. There was no familly waiting for me on the other side of the prison walls with open arms and hearts, ready to give my life meaning and set me free from the cold, murky sadness that had taken hold of me. There was noone left.
"Why did you make me remembah, Doc? Why?" The old man sighed and heaved his trembling old bulk from the chair. Gazing down at me, he smiled.
"Anthony, it was nessesary. You're not lost anymore, don't you see? You know what happened. The hard parts' over, and all that's left is acceptance. And unfortunately , that I cannot help you with."
"I don't get it, Doc."
Sadly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forhead. "You see, Tony, You don't need me anymore. And that means It's time for me to leave." Painfully he straightened himself out, and with one last puff on his stogie, vanished into thin air.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oooh! Ahhh! It all makes sence now! Or does it? Stay tuned for the series finally, coming soon ! And REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I need to know I'm liked, ya know?
Here 'tis, the pivitol fourth chapter! All is revealed.
(*voice whspers in crunch's ear*:Hey! thank the reviewers!) Oh yes, thanksabunch to everyone who's reveiwed! You guys rock! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
*.*.*
I paced back and forth, staring down at the still black waters a mile beneath us, shining like polished sea glass.
"Irish, dis aint a good idea. Dis is definitely not a good idea." She clasped my hand in hers, though the unease embedded in her throaty voice was anything but soothing.
"Relax, Racetrack. We aint even goin' in ta Brooklyn. Spot an' his boys is meet us on da bridge in 10 minutes, den we'se outta hear." I nodded, throwing an anxious glance at the trusty pocket watch clutched in my palm every few seconds. Only a little while to go, and we would be free of her father forever -
"Irish! Where ya been? I was lookin' all ovah for youse, tramp!" A drunken slur rang through the gloom, stopping my heart cold in my throat. Irish turned to me then, her sad, frightened eyes cutting into my soul. We'd been so close. So close.
"Do you love me, Race? Tell me you love me." It wasn't a game, and it wasn't a question. It was a plea.
"Irish. . . Yes. I love you." At that moment I saw every second Irish and I had spent wrapped in eachother's arms, replayed a thousand time in my mind. All of those moonlit nights on the firescape, all of those dinner's at Tibby's, all of those magical, sweltering summer days spent running through the misty sprays of open fire hydrants in the streets of Little Italy. I heard every excited whisper, felt every eager touch, and tasted every lingering kiss. And you know what I realized? I loved Irish.
I loved Irish, for all of her faults.
I loved her because she made me love life.
I loved her because she made me want to be a better person. She made me more than I was, more than I ever thought I could be.
I loved the girl who made me a father. Who made me a man.
I loved the girl who loved me.
And I never got to tell her any of that. Because at that moment, her father rose up infront of us, like some mythical giant, and swept her aside like a rag doll. "Irish.. ungh!" I grunted as his mammoth foot connected solidly with my stomach. My eyes burned with dust and tears; I must have looked like a fish out of water, flopping around and struggling for breath on the cold grating. Slowly and deliberately, Mr. McGanhee stumbled over to his fallen daughter, lifted her up in his huge claws, and slammed her roughly against the rail of the bridge. All I could picture at that moment was the baby inside of Irish, crumpling like a wet newspaper.
"You dirty hoar!"
"Poppa, no -"
"I raised youse!" He spit out, red with anger. "I took care a youse, you ungrateful bastard! I slaved away in dat factory for yeahs, puttin' food on da table and clothes on yer scrawny back, an' you repay me by getin knocked up by da foist street rat who'll look your way?" The man was drunker than any I'd ever seen, the smell of booze on his breath detectable from my sprawled heap on the ground.
"You'se don't deserve a fadder like me! You don't even deserve to live!" What I did next, I knew I'd regret for the rest of my days and relive in all of my dreams. I did nothing. Instead I stayed, as the man let fly one iron fist in her horror-stricken face, sending her tumbling over the bridge, her screams fading into the inky blackness along with the fiery flash of her hair in the moonlight. Just like that, Irish was gone. Just like that.
Blood pounded in my ears and rose behind my eyes, threatening to drown me as my heart ripped in two. I couldn't think, or cry, but atleast I could move again. And I did. With the wounded howl of an animal, more inhuman than anything that could possibly have escaped my own two lips, I lunged at the man watching his daughter dissapear into the night.
I'm not sure how long I tore at him, or when I stopped hitting and started getting hit. But eventually I found my cheek pressed against the railing, hard irons screws tearing into my skin.
"My daughter was two good fah youse." He slurred drunkenly in my ear. "And now she's gone. An' it's your fault, street rat!" I closed my eyes as he pulled back that log of a fist, too limp and exausted to fight back. Maybe it was for the best anyways.
"BROOKLYN!"
A single cry shattered the silence of the night, and suddenly the air hummed with well aimed sling stones. Irish's father was sweeped away in a sea of howling boys out for blood. "Race track! Race!" I felt Spot clutching at my shoulder. "What happened? Where's me girl Irish?"
"Dead. My familly is dead. You're too late." I managed to whisper before surrendering to the darkness.
*.*.*
I swiped at the salty tears streaming freely down my cheeks, choking on the bitter reality of it all. Irish, the first and last girl I'd ever had a chance to love, was gone. There was no familly waiting for me on the other side of the prison walls with open arms and hearts, ready to give my life meaning and set me free from the cold, murky sadness that had taken hold of me. There was noone left.
"Why did you make me remembah, Doc? Why?" The old man sighed and heaved his trembling old bulk from the chair. Gazing down at me, he smiled.
"Anthony, it was nessesary. You're not lost anymore, don't you see? You know what happened. The hard parts' over, and all that's left is acceptance. And unfortunately , that I cannot help you with."
"I don't get it, Doc."
Sadly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forhead. "You see, Tony, You don't need me anymore. And that means It's time for me to leave." Painfully he straightened himself out, and with one last puff on his stogie, vanished into thin air.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oooh! Ahhh! It all makes sence now! Or does it? Stay tuned for the series finally, coming soon ! And REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I need to know I'm liked, ya know?
