So, here we are…once again. CHAPTER 9!!!! TIME TO CELEBRATE!!! No? Okay, fine!
Spatz: I was worried about the whole Skittery thing, actually. Good to know people liked it! Powerful? WOO!! Thanks!
Hotshot: HEHEHE…Specs huddled in a corner. I didn't add anything about his siblings because I was worried I would be repeating too much of my other fic. Besides, this person doesn't know the siblings too well. SEXY SPECSY!!! YAY FOR SUGAR!
Sqky0o7: AWW!!! POOR THING!! HOPE YOU ARE FEELING BETTER!!! Ace? You mean Race? I LOVE RACE!!! HE'S GENIUS!!!
Celtic Lass: HAVE A CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE??? SURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Klover: Skittery seemed to fit as a writer…seems others agree! YAY!!! Lodging House? Hmm……
Gretch: Me stop writing fan fic??? NEVER!!! MWAHAHAHA!!! THANKS FOR THE ENDINGS COMPLIMENT!!! I try…
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He didn't have an ounce of Dutch blood in his body. In fact, he
was one-hundred percent Ukrainian, but that's not the point. Dmitri
was one of those people you just couldn't help but get along with.
He always had this foolish smile on his face, or his mouth was hanging
wide open giving him the look of utter confusion. He wasn't as bemused
as we all thought. In fact, he was quite intelligent and a quick
learner. When I first met him, he couldn't speak more than two phrases
of English and couldn't read a word in any language. He had overcome
obstacles before, and sure enough he overcame the language barrier.
His parents planned it for years, moving to America to start a new
ife in the "land of opportunity". Then, young Oksana Cynadijeve
gave birth, causing her body to weaken and the thought of travel
to become a mere dream. It was too dangerous for someone in her
destabilized condition to travel, yet she pushed for her husband
to go without her, and to take Dmitri in the hopes that he would
rise above previous generations and prosper in New York.
Prosperity for those in the lower class seemed impossible to achieve,
even in America, a country that was so often labeled as a place
of second chance for those who could do no better in their homeland.
These dreams and expectations were shattered once they were forced
in crowded tenements and obligated to work in ramshackle factories
from dawn 'til dusk. Yes, that was, of course, the opportunity many
came here for.
His father wasn't able to support the two of them on his own, leaving
his son to search desperately for a job. There was one problem,
he could only say "hello" and "how are you?" in English. It was
evening when we saw him, several of us sitting around the front
steps of the lodging house, enjoying the cool air. It was Racetrack
who first spoke to him, asking him politely what he was doing out
and if he would like to join. The young blond simply looked back,
and then sadly turned his head. I will never know why, but Specs
had the idea to scream "HELLO" in Russian at the poor young man.
Well, in all honesty, I am happy he did. Because Russian is so closely
related to Ukrainian, and that was all Dutchy knew to speak thus far,
he smiled for the first time, and made his was over.
They seemed to be perfect partners in crime. Both were the only
two newsboys I knew that wore glasses, and both made us paranoid
because we never knew what they were saying to each other. After
a while, Specs began to teach Dmitri to speak English, and to read
and write as well. The first book Specs ever borrowed from me to
teach him with had a little Dutch boy and girl on the front, with
tulips and a windmill in the background. Bumlets laughed upon looking
at the cover, made the remark that it looked just like Dmitri, and the
nickname "Dutchy" was born.
He caught on quickly, first to English and then to the New York
accent. Its hard to believe that It was the same person we met several
years back on that cool day in front of the lodging house. He was
also quick at catching on, like when it was his time to go. He packed
his bags, and as a going-away present, I gave him that book with
the Dutch children on the front. I never saw such an incredible
look of gratitude as the one he gave me when he left.
I received letters once a month from him. He went to Ukraine to
see his mother, and started teaching English to the children in the
area. After the unfortunate passing of Oksana, he came back home
to New York and decided to teach here. He invited me to his
classroom once, and upon entering I saw it was covered in photographs
Bumlets had given him, books from Skittery, stories from Jack, and
signs from the strike. I sat down and watched as he pulled out the
book I had given him years before and started reading it to the
children surrounding him, and I could swear I saw him wink at me
as he finished with one of those foolish smiles on his face.
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DUTCHY CHAPTER!!! WOO!!! ALMOST HALFWAY FINISHED!!!
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