Thank you to my reviewers… sorry that you're not getting proper shoutouts… but I love each and every one of you anyway and your comments made me so happy!! :D Merry Christmas to all of y'all. Heh. Thanks to… Hotshot, Ali, Crunch, Keeeeeeeeeezah, Fyre Eye, Derby, Falco Conlon, Broadway, Hottie5Star, misprint, Rumor, SparksdaNewsie, Aki, Ireland O'Reily, and Shaders. **Mondie hands a snow-covered newsie who needs to be cuddled and warmed to each of the reviewers, along with a convenient hot tub to do the warming in**
[Beautiful (The Christmas Gift)]
[by Mondie]
[Chapter Two: God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen]
Mush's bench was still unoccupied when at last he returned to it. He shivered, pulling his torn tweed jacket tighter around him, but an unusual smile was perched precariously upon his blue lips. It was a cold, strange winter, but he hadn't felt this warm in weeks.
Knowing that the next day would undoubtedly bring much more of the same incidents of the past few weeks (dodging newsboys and their gossiping tongues alike), Mush forced himself into an unconscious sleep. Still, it was long before dawn that he awoke.
He sat up, staring out at the ice-covered pond, in a bit of a half-asleep stupor. He let out a large yawn, stretching his arms high above his head. Wondering if he could possibly fall back asleep and then wake up again before the bulls caught him for sleeping in the park, he was definitely ready to curl back up when his arm hit something quite solid on his side.
"Oomph!" a voice said disdainfully. "Watch it, huh?"
Mush nodded. "Sorry," he said sleepily, not paying all that much attention. He then realized that no one had been there a moment earlier, and looked over. Racetrack was hunched over, biting angrily into his cigar. The cigar was lit, which was strange for Racetrack (who tended to carry around unlit cigars for show), and the perfume wafting over Mush made him feel even sleepier yet. "Heya, Race," he said. "How's it rollin'?"
Racetrack bit even more ferociously into the end of the cigar for a full minute before finally answering. "Why's ya out heah in da park, Mush?"
Mush shrugged. "I don' got da money for da lodgin' house no mores." He gazed out at the pond moodily.
Racetrack let out a biting laugh. "Yeah, me eiddah. I bet it all yestahday. They played me like a fool, Mush!" He angrily beat upon his legs with his hands, then crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back huffily. "Peteh gave me dis tip, an' I's been heahin' t'ings fer a while about da hoss he was talkin' 'bout, anyhow. So I decided ta bet it all, so den when I won an' got me money back doubled, I'd be able ta get presents fer all da liddle newsies who still believe in Santy Claus." He gave a snort of disgust, and put the cigar back in his mouth and inhaled deeply. "An' now look at me. Out heah. Say, ya wanna come sneak wit' me inta da lodgin' house? I'se bettin' Kloppy won' even realize we haven' paid."
Mush shook his head. "I'se can' go back in dere, Race."
"Why not—" Racetrack started to ask, then caught himself. "Oh. Blink. Sorry, Mush."
Mush shook his head. "It ain't yer fault," he said.
"But come on back anyhow," Race insisted, climbing to his feet. "It's too cold, Mush. An' all da fellas'd be really happy ta see ya. We was all wonderin' wheah ya been. I shoulda guessed Central Park… dis is da on'y place ya like in da winteh."
"I don' wanna go back in dere, Racetrack Higgins," Mush said stubbornly, not falling for the bait of nostalgia Racetrack was offering. "An' don' you dare t'ink yer gonna make me."
Ten minutes later, as the two boys were sneaking up the rickety wooden staircase of the lodging house, Mush was wondering just how Race had gotten him to come. He never ceased to be amazed at the boy's undeniable way of manipulating people to his favor. Every time one of the stairs of the unstable flight would creak, the boys would freeze, their faces contorting into grotesque masks as they imagined Mr. Kloppman barging out of his bedroom and catching them. Luckily, though, either Mr. Kloppman was too deaf or he was just a very heavy sleeper, and the duo made it upstairs without getting attacked by a senile old man jabbing his walking stick.
Mush's usual bunk had been taken by Snitch, and he stared at the sandy-haired boy with a bitter taste in his mouth for a moment. All of the bunks had a sleeping boy in them already. Racetrack had woken up Bumlets and was now climbing onto the other half of his bunk, letting out a gratified groan once Bumlets had shared his coarse sheet. "Ah, heaven," Race moaned, burying his face in his arms and trying to avoid Bumlets' cold feet, which were next to his face.
Mush wasn't sure who to wake up, because his only close friend left (besides Race and Bumlets) was Crutchy, and Crutchy never shared his bunk with anyone. He always explained that it was because his leg got jarred too easily and if someone were to hit him wrong, it could do even more damage than was already done. Nobody believed him, though, and thought that instead he just wanted his bunk to himself. Mush was friends with other newsies, but not enough to wake them up from their precious hours of sleep and insist they share their bunk with him. He again looked yearningly from his old bunk to where Racetrack's head was propped up upon the footboard of Bumlets' bed. Race's eyes were shut firmly, and a slight snore was already issuing from his lips.
Sighing, Mush settled down in a corner, glad at least that it was a bit warmer in the lodging house than out in the cold. He made a halfhearted note to himself that it didn't feel any warmer than it had in years past, even though that had been Kloppman's excuse for increasing the weekly price. Then his eyes drooped drowsily, and, pulling his legs tight to his chest, he fell to sleep.
"Hey… Mush. Wake up." Mush opened his eyes a little while later and blinked. He wondered instantly what time it was, because pale yellow sunshine was dripping in through the ice's lace on the window and shining upon him.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes harshly. He caught sight of the person who had awoken him, and gave a start. "Ah!" he shouted, scooting backwards. "Who are you?"
"It's me… Blink," Kid Blink answered. "Don'tcha know yer own best friend an' bruddah, Mush?"
Mush shook his head frantically. "But yer dead," he said. He stretched out his hand towards the image of his blond friend, thinking him a ghost. Mush had never met a ghost before, but Boots had met at least twenty, at least the way Boots told it. "Are you a ghost?"
His hand struck Kid Blink's leg, and didn't go through it. He could feel the bone through the trousers that decorated his leg. Kid Blink laughed. "No, I ain't no ghost… an' I'se really not dead."
Mush looked a bit confused. "Yes, you are. Da fight wit' da Bowery. Remembeh? You died."
Kid Blink snorted and rolled his one visible eye, looking very much the way Mush remembered him. "Oh, git past dat, won'tcha?" he said, mock-crossly. "I mean in a not-lidderal way. Ya know, like a puzzle."
An indignant look crossed Mush's face. "I ain' Davey, you know dat! I can't figger out no puzzle."
Kid Blink sat down across from Mush, crossing his legs Indian-style. "Well, le's jus' put it dis way. We're in a dream right now. You'se'll wake up any time, so dere's somet'in' I's gotta give you foist." He held out his hand, and immediately upon it laid a minuscule piece of grayish-white paper. Mush took the folded paper doubtfully, though he completely believed Kid Blink's statement that he was dreaming.
"I gotta go now," Kid Blink told him, standing again. Before leaving, he turned with a smile and said, "Good luck wit' dat Madeline goil. She shore is purddy."
"Ya don' mind?" Mush asked. "Dat I'se not always mournin' yer passin' an' all?" He felt foolish for asking this, but knew he had to hear it from dream-Kid Blink, if he couldn't hear it straight from Kid Blink himself.
Kid Blink shook his head. "Don'tcha know me betteh dan dat at all?" he asked, sounding a bit sad and a little amused at the same time. "I jus' want ya ta be happy, Mush. An' Madeline… she's gorgeous."
"But you on'y died two weeks ago," Mush answered.
"But maybe I's havin' da time a' me life… eh, afteh-life… in heaven. Wha' do you know?" Kid Blink challenged, raising his eyebrows.
"I jus' feel so guilty," Mush confessed, turning the paper over and over between his hands. "I mean, wit' yer passin' so soon an' all."
"Look, do ya wanna lose da goil?" Kid Blink asked, looking a bit angry. "Stop arguin' wit' me, okay? Or else I might not get ta come visitcha in uddah dreams. So don' woirry abou' me. I'se doin' fine, an' I don' t'ink any less a' ya fer goin' aftah Madeline. Jesus, ya bum. Yer so sensitive. Why d'ya care so much abou' ev'ryone else, huh? Ya need ta cut that out." He laughed loudly, then began jabbing Mush's arms.
"Hey!" Mush protested, punching his best friend back.
"MUSH! What da hell is ya doin' in dis lodgin' house? You didn' pay ta sleep heah! RACETRACK! Same goes fer you! Get up, get up, get up! Get yer lazy heads downstairs befoah I call da bulls!" Mush opened his eyes, though they ached in protest, and shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. The turtle-like elderly man was glaring at him as he sat, alone, in his corner. Kid Blink was gone.
Skittery sighed loudly. "Kloppy, go eat yer tongue. It's Christmas, fer God's sake."
"Don' bring God inta dis!" Mr. Kloppman answered angrily, poking his walking stick into Mush's side for good measure.
"God's already inta dis, Kloppy," answered Jack, sounding serious. "Ya t'ink dat God likes da fact dat yer tryin' ta kick out two poor defenseless boys inta da cold?"
Mr. Kloppman let out an irritated whistle. "Ya t'ink God's happy dat dese two snuck in undeh me very nose an' is gonna get away wit' it?"
Jack jumped down from his bunk, putting his arm around the withered old man's shoulders. "Be da biggah man, Kloppy. Be da biggah man." He led Mr. Kloppman to the stairs, and shoved him politely through the doorway, then closing the door behind him.
"Good job, Jack," praised Boots, leaping from his bunk and racing for the washroom. "I call da foist sink!"
The next ten minutes were complete mayhem, as boys were roused and prepared for their day. The first ten minutes after being awoken were always Mush's favorite moments of the day, because nobody had been awake long enough to be in a bad mood, and jokes and merriment were well dispersed. Today's joke seemed to be the horrible flip Skittery's hair had chosen to embody after being slept on wrong. He was trying desperately to flatten it with help from water and a comb missing half of its teeth.
"Ah, go soak yerself!" he finally yelled to the room of boys, discouraged by the lack of cooperation on behalf of his hair. "I'se jus' gonna wear me cap anyhow."
Mush hadn't moved from his corner, and with good reason. He had been startled to realize that his fist was clenching something when he awoke, and even more baffled to find that it was a folded piece of grayish-white paper. Upon unfolding it, he had discovered Kid Blink's messy printing, spelling the following message out in bold block letters:
HEY MUSH. DON'T FORGIT THAT EVEN BROTHARS HAVE TA LET GO OF EACH OTHUR SUMTIMES. BUT WE WILL ALWAYZ BE TAGETHER IN YER MEMERYS. YOU WERE ALWAYZ THA BEST FRIEND I EVRE HAD. DON'T FORGIT, BUT DON'T SPEND YER WHOLE LIFE SAD, EITHAR. LOVE, KID BLINK.
Mush leaned heavily upon the wall he was sitting against, and felt that if he were an alcoholic, he would need a swig of beer right then. He didn't know how to explain this turn of events, even to himself.
The loud sounds erupting from the washroom emitted themselves back into his ears, and he pocketed the paper quickly before slipping into the washroom with his friends, who were now attempting to convince Skittery to wear his pink undershirt as a veil under his cap to hide his misbehaving hair.
God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our Savior
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.