In Loving Memory: Part Two

"At your funeral I will sing the requiem…'

Peter was sweating like a madman. It wasn't just the heat, oh no. The heat only added fuel to the fire, so to speak. Peter was nervous, real nervous, and when he was nervous he became slippery as an eel. Though he couldn't have asked for nicer day for the ceremony, he began to wish that they hadn't held it at noon, when the sun was beating down so unmercifully on his burning shoulders. He fumbled with the speech in his hands, dismayed to see several fingerprints and ink runs where words should have been.

"Shit," he muttered, and put the paper on his lap, wringing his hands anxiously - as if that could make them steady and dry. Mary gave him a scolding look.

In the distance, church bells tolled once, the sound ringing across the expansive cemetery where a modest number of chairs were gathered in rows facing a simple wooden altar. Peter had been sitting quietly for almost an hour, but not a word of the minister's own speech had reached his ears.

At last the portly old man inclined his head, gather up his book, and took a seat in the front row. Mary said something encouraging to Peter, but his heart was pounding too loudly to him to hear her comfort. He was not a good speaker.

Grasping the rolled up speech in one hand and digging his nails into his palm in the other, Peter stood and walked slowly to the altar, his knees wobbling and steps unsure.

It was a hard faced crowd that met his eyes when he looked out - and "crowd" was certainly an overstatement. A little over a dozen sullen faced men, a few bored looking women, and of course his own Mary to cheer him on. She was smiling when he looked to her, and he felt a little more confident. The minister motioned for him to begin. Peter hastily unrolled the paper and cleared his throat.

'Good afternoon. My name is Peter Smith,' the paper told him. He glanced up again, hands trembling.

"Ah… good afternoon… it uh… it sure is hot, huh?"

The pounding in his ears increased, and he hurriedly wiped his arm across his brow. "I'm sure this is the last place you all want to be," he continued a little haltingly.

'No! NO!' His brain screamed. 'That's not what you wrote! You're going to mess it up like always!'

'I'd known Joseph most all of my life…' The paper continued calmly. Peter ignored both with difficulty. He cleared his throat again, loudly.

"Not only because J- … he's dead, but because it's such a nice… a nice day, and you're stuck here, uhm, listening to some guy drone the afternoon away like…" he trailed off, inwardly wincing. Mary smiled weakly but he felt like he was drowning.

'Stop, just stop now,' his brain begged.

"Well… well maybe I won't deliver a speech. You're all here because you know - knew - Joseph Li. He probably impacted your lives in some way, just like he…" Peter stopped again, feeling a lump rapidly forming in his throat. "Just like he impacted me," he finished with a voice barely above a whisper. The crowd leaned forward to hear in spite of themselves. Peter paused a moment to let his mind wander over the years he had known Joseph, his best friend. He felt a smile come unbidden to his face and his confidence grow with the seconds. He could almost picture Joseph, standing in the back row with his arms crossed and a knowing smirk. Peter let the speech blow off the altar with the next gust of wind.

"Today is May twenty-first," he began, daring to look up at those gathered once more. "It's a beautiful spring day. The first time I met Joseph, it was also a beautiful spring day.

"I don't remember any parents, siblings, or relatives. I remember an old lady in my life, but whether she was grandmother or nanny I have no idea. When the woman died I was thrown out to the streets, and from then on the only family I knew was that of a crowd of older boys who lodged together in Manhattan. Newsboys, that's what they were, and that's what I became.

"I used to go down to Lower East Side most days to sell, and, being a small boy of only six or so, I was able to do a fair job selling, if only because some of the more wealthy citizens pitied me. I, like most newsies, didn't care how I sold my papers, as long as they were sold. And on this spring day, way back in 1889, after selling, I found my lifelong friend.

"Joseph, or Swifty, as we ended up calling him, was sprawled out in the middle of the road when I came across him. He was asleep. When he came to he told me that he had run all the way from some obscure corner of Chinatown to where we were standing. I was pretty impressed. Because he said that he had no where to go - to run, as they say - I invited him back to the Lodging House. We raced back, of course." A few people cracked smiles.

"Newsboys were brutal. We acted like gangs, fought over 'our land,' had leaders, and seconds, and councils, allies and enemies. Our Lodging House was 'led' by an older boy we called 'Jazz,' a harsh kid whose moods swung as fast as his fist. Jazz required that all the new boarders meet him before they could stay for the night, and I don't think Joseph's first impression of our 'leader' was a very good one. Jazz had just nearly knocked a little kid out for stealing from him when I told him that we had to make introductions…"

-

"Let's get this over with," Peter said with a sigh. Jazz made him nervous and he wasn't exactly looking forward to confronting the boy, especially in the mood he was in just then. He could tell from Swifty's anxious face that he wasn't the only one with those feelings. Soldier watched them from across the room.

Jazz had grabbed one of the few extra chairs and made space at Gooser's poker game, but when he saw Swifty he put his hand down and pushed away, almost upsetting the rickety table in the process. Gooser managed to save it and threw a glare at this back.

Jazz ran a hand through his hair.

"Who's this?"

Peter took a step forward.

"This's Joseph," he said in a trembling sort of voice. "'e ran from Chinatown and I found 'em. We're callin 'em Swifty now." He let out a breath, job done, and lowered his eyes. Jazz looked to Swifty and beckoned him forward.

"Yeah, you. Why'd ya run from 'town?"

"Cause my father was lynched," Swifty said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. Peter's own eyes widened but Jazz didn't flinch.

"Yeah, well, you better watch out here then," he said, just as calmly. Swifty shrugged and stepped back. Peter gulped and chanced a look up, but Jazz was already engrossed in his game once again.

"When are we supposed to go to bed?" Swifty asked, startling Peter from his thoughts. The two made their way back to the middle of the room.

"Whenever Kloppman comes up," Peter said. He found it easier to speak now. "You should probably ask Soldier where you gonna sleep."

"I'll sleep on the roof if'n I have ta," Swifty said.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," a new voice said from behind them. "Swifty, right?"

Swifty hesitated, then nodded. It wasn't a bad name.

"I'm Maze," the older boy continued. Peter smiled at the tall boy, who winked back. "We don't got any extra beds, but Jones - he's a slight thing, you can fit in with him."

Swifty looked doubtful, but didn't argue. Peter grinned again.

"Hope ya didn't bring 'long any valuables," he whispered. Maze heard this and snickered, leaving a horror-struck boy behind.

"Nah, don' worry," Peter said behind a smirk. "He don't snitch from 'is friends." A pause. "Uh, I don't think so," he added worriedly. "He sleeps in that bottom bunk, the one next ta mine."

"Ok."

"He might not even be sleepin' there tonight. Might still be hiding. From Jazz."

Swifty laughed hollowly and crawled into the bunk as he saw others doing. Peter followed suit as steps on the creaky stairs began to be heard. But the time Kloppman reached the top, every boy was in bed and silent as a mouse. That was one of Jazz's well enforced rules. He couldn't sleep unless it was absolutely quiet, and so everyone in the bunkroom had to breathe their quietest and shift as little as possible so they wouldn't invoke their leader's temper.

Peter had forgotten to inform Swifty of this, and as soon as Kloppman had disappeared again, Swifty turned to face his friend. Peter heard this and inwardly groaned.

"Psst!"

Peter did his best to ignore the sound, but Swifty had to try again.

"Psst!"

Peter opened his eyes. "Shh." There was a pause this time.

"Peter!?"

He gave in. "What?"

"Tomorrow…"
"What?"

"What'm I gonna do?"

Peter heard someone - Jazz - turn heavily on his mattress, and hesitated.

"Jus' stay near me."

There was another long pause. "But… what abo-"

Swifty cut himself off at the sound of a thump, feet hitting the floor. Peter shrunk under his cover, pulling it up to his chin and squeezing his eyes shut. Swifty felt his stomach twist, but let his gaze follow the bulky shadow of a figure across the room.

Jazz found his way to their row and stopped next to Swifty. With one quick motion he jerked the younger kid up and onto the floor, his thump and forefinger pinching Swifty's ear in an obviously painful way. Swifty yelped and then bit his tongue. Once his feet hit the floor Jazz had him up against the wall, his other hand under Swifty's chin. Swifty gulped.

Jazz brought his face inches from Swifty's nose, his breathing heavy and eyes flashing. Creaking springs could be heard throughout the room as nearly all the inhabitants turned in their beds to witness the scene sure to unravel.

Swifty felt his cheeks burn at the humiliation and a surge of sudden hatred rise up into his mouth… but he stayed silent and contented himself with refusing to look away from Jazz's eyes. Jazz's hold on his throat prevented any words from being spoken anyway.

Peter had brought the cover slowly down until his eyes and nose were showing, and he watched Jazz with horror and pity for his new friend.

"I don't know how you did things before," Jazz said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't care too."

Swifty just glared in defiance, but his stomach churned all the same, he had never been more embarrassed that he could remember. And in front of all the boys…

"If you want to stay… you listen to me."

Now Swifty had to frown. What had he done wrong? Peter edged out a little more from under his blanket.

Jazz let Swifty down after another second and turned to walk away. Still smarting from the scene, Swifty spat at his retreating feet - and Jazz spun and backhanded him fiercely enough to send Swifty reeling and stumbling back onto his bed. He left his blanket and stubbornly refused to face Peter. Peter sighed softly and turned the other way in defeat. He fell asleep quickly.

But Swifty, no, not Swifty. He stayed awake for the better part of the night, staring at the wall, his mouth set and his eyes prickling with evidence of tears he would die before he let fall. Without thinking twice Jazz had made himself an enemy.

-

Peter fell silent, the somber expression that had been on his face deepening.

"It wasn't just some grudge of a little boy," he said with a sigh. "I doubt Swif-… uhm, Joseph was ever just a little boy. For as long as I knew him he was incredibly mature, too mature. But we pretty much lived on the streets. And I guess you just have to grow up fast."

-

**Author's Note: I didn't mean to take so long for that update. The updates will mostly come in pairs, I'd think. Please keep reading and reviewing, this is my new baby. -beams-

Frogger: Ah yes, love to the Zoolander. I had to put in the 'woo,' you know that!
Glimmer-rimmer-rimmer-ree: Thanks! -feels warm- Jazz is a bit… erm… yeah. We don't like him.
Sapphy: Thank you very much. Haha, yes, the 'why.' It annoys me to no end but it's funny too.
Tabloid: -comforts- I hate killing Pie as much as you do. (coughWILLcough) Little Snitchy! Haha. WOO!
Poley: No! No! No peanuts! Can't you see the sign? -points to sign which reads "Please do not feed the mini!newsies."
Falco Dahlin: Yes! Your title. I like it muchly, so THANKS! When I was writing the Weekend Update I noticed you updated Innocence and I flipped out. CRAZY WOMAN! Haha, but it's about time. I'm gonna read it after I type… this.
Mondie: Yes! Everybody Loves Soldier (you know, like a show or something…). I'm not sure if Little!Mush will come into play when he's still technically 'little.' -ponders this-
Gothic Author: Erm. -scratches head- Well… I HAD TO DO IT! I swear. And look! A real live Pie here! -presents Vanna White style-
rumor: Thanks… and… I'm definitely not going to ask. -whistles-
Cards: Whoops! Didn't mean to distract you. Haha. Don't torture Bumlets!Muse TOO much!

Thanks again kids!