You know, not once since I knew him did he ever eat pie. Silly
comment I know, until you realize his name. Pie-Eater. I had no idea
why he came to us and put that name down on the lodging house book,
but it wasn't my place to ask questions. We called him by it whether
we knew why he got it or not.
He was always energetic. He ran around, jumping over shit like some
kind of rabid animal. To tell you the truth, I don't think he needed
any pie. Any more sugar and he would have gone into seizures. But,
that was Pie-Eater. A bit chaotic, but he kept us entertained those
rainy nights when the only thing to do was sit inside and stare. I
think he was finally having a childhood.
His father raised him to sit down, shut up, and do what he was damn
well told. Playing was a joke, and if he ever crossed the high-
strung adult, no matter what happened, he was to be man enough not
to cry. Hell, he could hit him over the head with a pipe and Pie was
supposed to keep a straight face. His father didn't know how to
raise children, and Pie's mother died when he was quite young. When
she died, Pie's youth died with her.
Ah, his mother. It's odd when a child loves someone so much and that
person passes away. The only memories a child can hold from that
person are perfect. Pie always held his mother on a pedestal. He
would laugh about the fact that she couldn't cook. He said the only
thing she was good at making was pie. So, proud of the fact that she
could do that decently, she made them all the time. I don't know how
many times he told me that story, but each time it made me laugh.
After she died, it was odd, but he couldn't eat pie anymore. They
reminded him of her. Its strange the way we deal with death
sometimes. He missed her terribly when she was gone. A child of
seven can't take loss well.
Tired of the stern atmosphere suffocating him at home, he ran away.
He never had the chance to be a child at home, which all children of
New York are used to. So, when he signed up at the age of eleven, he
finally had the chance to release the seven year old that had been
going mad inside him.
He wasn't always happy though. He used to sit in the bathroom beside
the bunkroom, and either vomit or lightly bang his head on the wall.
Confusion consumed him when there was no one to talk to in the
middle of the night and the memories would scream like sirens inside
his head. His father's anger, the unjust circumstances that left him
emotionally scarred and begging for food on the harsh Manhattan
streets ran through his head. In some odd way, it wasn't just being
away from his father that kept him happy, it was having the others
to talk to that kept him from dwelling on it.
He had less nights engulfed in confusion and anger as more people
came, and as he grew older. He had a knack with dealing with the
younger ones. He was an incredible older brother to them. Instead of
becoming callous from the streets, Pie-Eater remained
compassionate. The odd thing was, he was terrified to become a
father. He told me once that if he is anything like his father, he
would rather go through life alone than do to someone else what was
done to him. But he wasn't his old man, and I could only hope that
through time he would realize that.
As did his childhood, his time as a newsie had to end. He smiled at
me, thanked me for the company I had given him through the years,
and was gone. I knew that he still held emotional wounds, but
instead of open and stinging, they had healed over and bared only a
small sign of his past.
I couldn't believe my eyes and told myself it wasn't true over and
over again. He came back to New York, after a while in Vermont. For
such a wild newsie, I found it odd that he now favored the quiet
life. Not so quiet I soon learned, as our Pie-Eater, Joseph to his
wife, had become a father after all. I shook hands with his son, and
the darling daughter even let me kiss her on the cheek. Before he
left, he leaned in to whisper in my ear something that will stay
with me forever. He glanced over at his wife, looked at me and
said, "The greatest thing about her is, she can't cook to save her
life, except for one thing. She can make a great pie."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OMG! THE SOs are on the bottom this time!!! AHHH!!! OK, HERE GOES!
Southern Spell: Hmmm…you'll just have to wait and see.
Klover: YAY!!! Yeah, life was Hell back then…but the dancing newsboys helped. I know they didn't really do that, but we can dream, can't we?
GypsyRuth: THANK YOU SOO MUCH!! I'm all warm and fuzzy now!
Hotshot: YOU NEED TO UPDATE!! Hehehe!! Thanks for reviewing! CAN'T WAIT 'TIL I GET TO SPECS!!!
Sqky0o7: Falling out of chairs is fun!!! Toying with your sleep pattern? Me? No! Never!!! MWAHAHAHAHA…*cough*….excuse me.
There you go. A little lighter than the others, but still kind
of...bleh. Yeah, great vocab word, ain't it? Don't be surprised if
it ends up on the SATs one day!
Stretch