HEY! I AM HALFWAY FINISHED!!! :::does little jig:::
Spatz: The minor newsies need love too!
BlackFire: Don't envy me! I'm a dork! SKITTLES ROCKS!
Klover: Once again, you rock! Lodging House? There are several, but I don't belong to any as of yet.
Celtic Lass: Of course everyone gets a cookie, I'm just happy you specified which one you wanted!
Gypsy Ruth: You see them the same way I do? CREEPY! Hehehe. I am worried these pasts are getting repetitive, but you can only have so much diversity with that amount of newsies!
Britta: WOO!! MY FIRST REVIEW FROM YOU!! I get excited when I see new people review…hehehe…sorry about that.
Gretch: THERE IS GOING TO BE A DAVEY CHAPTER!!! Hehehe! What kind of person would I be if I didn't include him?
Sqky0o7: Greatness reeks? Hmm…how does it smell? YOU CAN KEEP RACE!!! I HAVE SEXY SPECSY!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hayseed. Had he been given a nickname, that would have been it. He
was the only person I knew that had been south of New York before he
became a newsie. He might as well have been from another country,
seeing as Manhattan was a world apart from Maryland. He was raised
with southern hospitality, but learned to be tough on the streets up
north. You had to adapt as a newsboy. It was not only a way of life,
it was the only way to survive.
He was about ten when I first met him, sporting overalls and a
bowler hat. He wasn't from around here, anyone could tell. You can
smell it on them before they even open their mouths to speak, giving
it away with their accents. People just have an air of newness when
they first set foot in New York, and any Yankee can tell you. It
didn't bother us, though. We were used to people coming and going.
Immigrants from some countries we had never heard of were all over
the place. Hell, Ellis Island was crawling with people day in and
day out. But when he opened his mouth and greeted us with that
southern accent, our jaws dropped and we stared at him as if he grew
a second head. He was the first person from below the Mason-Dixon
line any of us had ever seen in person.
It took a while, be he slowly lost the twang in his voice and
adopted the more harsh New York tongue. Like the rest, he was
compliant with the ways of New York life, hardening with every
superior giant that crossed his path. He maintained his manners,
though. His mother wouldn't appreciate him losing those, and he held
her ideas highly.
She was American through and through, raised on a farm in rural
Maryland. She decided to expand her horizons and travel to New York,
much to the dismay of her father. She didn't expect to meet Alain,
and, further more, she didn't expect to marry him. However, it was
him walking out on her, pregnant and penniless, that she didn't
expect the most. Men can be cruel, and I should know. I'm one of
them.
Her father was devoted, though. And when she felt broken and
abandoned, he took her back no questions asked. It might have been
because of his loyalty to his daughter that inspired her to name her
son Jake, after his grandfather, hoping he would become more like
her father than her husband. She never got to see her son's life
plan out, dying eight years into her son's life and leaving her
father to take care of him. That was, until, the aged farmer's weary
body could no longer keep up the responsibilities left to him,
passing away in his sleep two years later.
It must have been intimidating, a child his age making the trip to
New York alone. He had the small amount of money his mother saved
for him before she died, and decided to find his own way where his
mother had tried years before. Being from the South, he had only
imagined what Manhattan would be like, his mother telling him
stories of it when he was younger. There was nothing left for him in
Maryland, so he believed his only option to be Manhattan, with the
stories his mother told him in his head.
He hadn't been in New York for more than a day when he came knocking
on our door, looking for a job and a place to stay. He adjusted
well, quickly becoming friends with all those around him and leaving
the southern way of life behind. He did keep his polite personality
though, being the only newsboy to not get in trouble by ticking off
an officer. That didn't stop him from being a strong
fighter, "soaking" anyone that messed with him or his fellow
newsies.
He was still wearing those damn overalls and that bowler hat when he
left. It was just the way he was, I guess. He decided he had had his
fill of New York, and told me he had gotten notice that the farm he
had grown up in was being left to him, since he had turned eighteen
and was now old enough to carry a deed. He said he could do with a
change, but I knew he was upset about leaving the hectic Manhattan
streets. Jake looked at me sadly and asked why he had never gotten a
nickname of his own. He then chuckled slightly, and went on his way.
I wrote him once to see how he was, and instead of labeling
it "Jake" I called him Hayseed. I figured he would have liked it
better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's it! I'm going to go run for cover in fear now! Hope you like it, and have mercy if you didn't!!!
Stretch