CHAPTER EIGHT

Racetrack Higgins let out a long sigh, stalked over to the washroom, and banged on the door. "Buttahfly James, if ya 'aven't fell down da toilet, den will ya please hurry da 'ell up!"

He heard the shuffle of feet. The knob twisted and the door was swun open, causing Race to fall forward on his face from leaning his elbow on the door.

Butterfly James jumped as he crashed to the door. "Oh my Lord, Racetrack, I am so sahrry!" she cried, squatting down and taking his elbow.

Race shook her off, raising his face from the ground, and causing Butterfly to break into hysterical laughter. For the cigar he had been smoking was now crushed to a pulp, the ashes strewn all over his face.

"Ha ha ha," Racetrack said crossly, hoisting himself into a sitting position and brushing the soot off his face. That made Butterfly howls louder.

His chocolate brown eyes bore into her. "What da hell is so funny now, Canada."

"Oh my God," she said through laughter. "Ya looked like a damn cat cleanin' it's face."

Race stood up, murmuring to himself, while Butterfly collapsed on the floor. He returned a moment later. "Canada?"

"Yeah, Race?" she said through snorts, looking up in time to see him towering over her with a bucket of water in hand.

Her laughter disappeared all together and her eyes opened wide in shock. "What da hell is dat foah?"

A wicked look crossed Racetrack's face as he said, "Oh, nuttin' really, Canada. Jist some watah to wash me face off wit."

Butterfly looked relieved. "Oh, good, because..."

But her words were cut short when Race 'accidently' stumbled forward, sending the bucket of water in the air. The icy cold water hit Butterfly like a thousand icicles.

Now it was Racetrack's turn to collapse into stiches. He could hardly control himself as he watched Butterfly sit on the floor, looking like a water rat, her half finished braid hanging matted to her back, and an expression of horror still on her face as she gazed at the bucket.

"Oh...I...I'se so sahrry, C...Canada! I'se always b...been clumsy," he hooted. "N...need a towel."

Butterfly took her eyes off the empty bucket and locked eyes with Racetrack, making him laugh only harder. The same look of shock was still on her face.

"D...d'ya know dat if ya make dat face foah so long, dat it's gonna stay dat way?" he howled, dropping his head back on the floor.

Butterfly responded with a small, sly smile. "I'se gonna git ya, Racetrack Higgins," she said softly.

Race stopped his laughter and looked up at her. "What?"

"Jist what I said. I'se gonna git ya."

He started to rise to his feet. "Ya bettah not git me wet, Canada!"

She took his lead and slowly rose to hers. "If gittin' ya means gittin' ya wet, den, me friend, ya gonna be wet as da ocean."

Racetrack didn't even look back as he took off out of the bunkroom, hollering, "No way in hell you'se gonna git me!"

"Ooh, you!" Butterfly squealed as she shot after him.

Both pair of feet stampeded down the stairs with such a loudness that it caused a very cross Kloppman to stick his head outside his office and shout, "Hey, knock it down ya crazy kids!"

Butterfly halted in her tracks to lock eyes with the man, letting just enough time elapse for Race to exit the lodging house. "Uh, yes sir!" she cried, before running out the door, not giving Kloppman time to reply.

She stood on the top stair leading to the lodging house, searching for where he could have went. Her gaze scanned the other side of the street in front of her, and sure enough she saw him--slouching on a green bench and his chest heaving.

Butterfly's grin widened as she darted across the street after him. Race stuck his tongue out at her before he jumped off the bench, and running around the side of it, made his was into the small grassy park that was located across the street from the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House.

When she reached the bench, Butterfly jumped over it, giving her enough flight to land down hard on Racetrack.

Race felt the wind being sucked out of him as he hit the ground, and Butterfly landing on top of him didn't make it better.

Butterfly hoisted herself into a sitting position. She rolled Racetrack onto his back and leaned over him, putting her arms on either side of his shoulders for support. "I'se got ya," she said simply.

Race rolled his eyes and in one quick motion, he had Butterfly slung over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Looks like New Yawk has conquahed Canada. I'se got ya now."

"Race-track!" Butterfly squealed, as he dropped her onto the bench, taking a seat beside her.

"You'se a very audacious little goil, " he said, fishing in his pocket for a cigar.

Butterfly rolled her eyes at him. "And ya wit astounds me, Col. Usin' big woids ta try an' impress a lady."

Race was ever so thankful that he had his hands hiding his lower face from view as he lit his cigar, for he didn't think he could handle Butterfly seeing his face ignite again.

Butterfly leaned back against the bench and tucked her legs underneath her. She began the task of finishing braiding her soaking wet hair.

Race slouched in the bench, slinging his arms so they rested on the back of the bench. He cocked his head back and blew a perfect ring of smoke.

Butterfly aimlessly platted her hair as she watched the ring of smoke as the slight breeze in the muggy air blew it higher and higher until it altogether disappeared. She turned to Racetrack, her eyes bright, "Col, can ya teach me how ta do dat?"

He slowly turned his head towards her. "I will when ya stop callin' me Col."

"Awh, Col," Butterfly said. "I'se will when ya stop callin' me Canada."

"And da deal was I'se stop callin' ya Canada when I see dis damn Quebec restaurant."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, den, I guess ya screwed...Col."

Race bowed his head and had to smile. He turned back to her. "Alright, I'se show ya how."

"Oh, good!" Butterfly cried, flipping her blonde braid over her shoulder.

"Alright, look. Foist ya inhale on da cigah...I t'ink ya know how da do dat?"

Butterfly nodded.

"Den, ya gotta keep da smoke in ya mouth. Right? Den, ya jist blow..."

"Blow?"

"Yeah, blow..like ya blowin' in someone's ear." He then proceded a demonstration.

"Oh, right. Jist blow," Butterfly said, taken aback

"Got it?"

Butterfly nodded her head.

"Right, watch me." She watched as Racetrack inhaled on his cigar, and blew, releasing a perfect circle of smoke.

Butterfly watched it disappear before she rolled her eyes. "Ha!" she spat. "I can do bettah dan dat tiny liddle t'ing ya made dere."

Race took the cigar out of his mouth and handed it over to her. "Well, Canada, be me guest."

She looked uncertianly at the cigar before she snatched it out of his hold. She looked at it for sometime.

"Well?" Racetrack asked, a smile etched across his face.

Butterfly rolled her eyes yet again as she thrust the cigar between her lips and inhaled deeply. She let the cigar fall from her mouth as she erupted into a harsh coughing spell.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Canada. You'se don't know da fine art of smokin' a cigah!" Race grinned, as he moved closer to Butterfly and pounded her on the back. "Ya alright?"

Butterfly's coughing ceased and she looked up at Race with somewhat bloodshot eyes. "Yeah, I'se fine," she squeaked. "I jist need some watah."

"Well," he said flipping her braid, "ya could drink da watah dat's still in ya hair!"

"Ooh!" she snapped, swatting his hand away.

Race backed away and held up his hands. "Calm down, goil! I didn't mean nuttin'!" He then stood up. "C'mon, we bettah be goin'. Ya don't want ta be missin' all da great sights of Manhattan, do ya?"

He pulled Butterfly to her feet and started off across the dry grass, and Butterfly, soaking wet and with irritated eyes, hurrying to catch up with his long strides.

************

"What da hell rivah is dis?"

"Dis, Canada, is Da Rivah."

"Da Rivah?"

"Yeah, it's what me friends and me call it. Whenevah we want ta swim we come ta dis rivah. Dat's all we know it as. Da Rivah."

"Hum," Butterfly said thoughtfully as she scanned the charchol grey waters before them. They stood on the very edge of docks made of musty brown wood. Docks silimar to ones that brought back rather horrid memories, but Butterfly somehow pushed them out of her mind for the time being.

"Yeah," Race said, reminicing, "Dis is where we all come durin' da summah. Jack and Mush and Blink and Snipeshootah..."

Butterfly interrupted him. "Are dose ya friends?"

He looked down at her, but her eyes sparkled so and took his breath away that he had to look away to the waters again. "Yeah, dey are, Buttahfly."

"And dey all live at da lodgin' house?"

"Course dey do, Buttahfly. Where da hell d'ya t'ink dey live, Mahs?"

Butterfly was strangly softspoken. "I didn't know, Racetrack, 'cause I didn't know any of dem..."

He looked at her, finally realizing what was bothering her. "Ya mean dat I didn't introduce ya to any of 'em?"

Butterfly looked up at him, her one blue eye and one green eye glimmering.

Racetrack put a friendly arm around her shoulder, shook her, and let out a laugh, "Silly Canada, 'course I wasn't gonna let ya live in da goddamn lodgin' house wit out introducin' ya to 'im. Tahnight at Tibby's ya can...meet 'em..."

Race stopped his words short when he felt a hand go to his cheek. He snapped his head to Butterfly, who was examining his face with soft eyes.

"What da hell are ya doin, Canada?" Race asked, his voice cracking.

Butterfly only smiled and leaned closer to him. "Why, ya face is gettin' all red, Col."

Racetrack tightly closed his eyes and cursed himself. He knew his whole body had to be as red as an apple. He opened his eyes again and his gaze fell on Butterfly. "Why da hell is ya hand on my face?"

She let out a soft giggle. "Why, Colin dear, you still have some cigah ash on ya face from dis mornin'."

Race moved closer to her, in spite of himself. "Git it off, will ya, Canada?"

Now, their noses were only inches away. Butterfly still scanned his face. "I t'ink ya need some watah ta git it off."

The last thing Race saw was her eyes locking with his and the wicked smile cross her face before he felt her hand fall from his cheek to his chest, as she pushed him into the river.

Butterfly's high pitched, hysterical laughter meshed with the splash Racetrack made as he landed in the river.

Race surfaced, treading water, a look of sheer horror on his face as he watched Butterfly in stitches, collapsed on the dock and pointing at him. He immediatly felt stupid. He had acted like such an ass. He actually had thought...

Racetrack swam over to the dock as Butterfly crawled to the edge of it, still in hysterics.

"Ya bitch!" he playfull snapped.

"Oh...my...God. Ya...face...p..priceless!" she howled.

Race rolled his eyes. "Ha ha ha, ya killin' me here, Canada. Now gimme ya goddamn hand so I can git da hell outtah here."

"A...alright," Butterfly agreed, lowering her arm over the side of the dock.

Race saw his chance. He took her hand, but instead of her pulling him up, he pulled her down. The look WAS priceless as Butterfly realized what was happening. She landed in the river with a clean splash.

She surfaced, a look of utter suprise on her face. Now it was Race's turn to laugh. "I'se so sahrry, Canada! Where ya supposed to pull me up? I t'ought I was supposed ta pull ya down!"

Butterfly's sly smile and diving under the water wasn't the reaction that Racetrack had wanted.

"Where da hell did ya go?" he hollered, treading water in circles.

His question was answered when he felt a tug on his left foot, pulling him under. He rose, sputtering, to see Butterfly a few yards away, wearing a gleaming smile and waving his left shoe. "Does dis belong ta ya, Col? I'se not sure?"

Racetrack had to break out into a grin as he dove after her. "Give dat back, Canada!"

Butterfly let out a squeal and disappeared into the warm water.

Racetrack, having the unusual knack for seeing underwater quite well, was able to tackle Butterfly, grab his shoe, and bring her to the surface. He took the upperhand, and dunked her yet again. She flailed her arms under the water, and Race finally released his hand from her head.

Butterfly bobbed to the surface coughing, sputtering, and out of breath. "Enough, enough!"

"Are ya shoah, Buttahfly!" Race asked deviously, preparing to dunk her again.

She furiously nodded. "Yeah, Race, I'se shoah, I'se shoah."

"Alright," he simply said, grasping her hand on one hand and his shoe in the other and pulled her to shore.

They both climbed onto the docks once more, both collasping, Butterfly first and Racetrack second.

Race was lying on his back, listening when Butterfly's coughing turned to laughter. He turned towards her. "What now, ya crazy bitch?"

Her wet hair and eyes gleamed in the sun, in the way only hers could. "I got ya. In da end, Col, I got ya."

Racetrack turned away, her eyes still burning in his mind and her laughter in his ears. Butterfly James was right: she sure the hell did have him.