Spot leaned his head against the wall beside the window, the cool November
air tingling on his face. His eyes absently scanned the empty docks below.
Striker pulled up a chair beside him, startling the back. Without saying a
word, he offered Spot a cigarette.
Spot jumped slightly when he noticed his friend's presence, but nodded absently in acceptance.
Striker lit a match and lit both of their cigarettes. "Bit jumpy, ain't ya?"
Spot shrugged and inhaled a smooth stream of smoke. When he exhaled, he watched it mix with the cold air, dancing against the dark sky.
"Alright, what's been with you the last few months, buddy boy?"
Shrugging off the question, Spot snuffed the barely smoked cigarette on the windowsill. "I'm goin to bed."
Striker stared at the wasted cigarette and shook his head. He quickly grabbed Spot's arm as he passed by. "Spot—"
Spot pulled his arm free, regarding Striker with a cold glare. When he saw the genuine concern in his friend's chocolaty brown eyes, Spot's expression softened. "Don worry bout it, boyo."
As he settled into his bunk, Spot couldn't get Striker's question out of his head. What was with him? When he closed his eyes, an image flashed in his mind and he suddenly knew the answer. Ingrid. He forced his eyes open again, hoping to rid himself of the mental picture. Staring up at the springs of Striker's bunk above him, he sighed. There was no stopping his mind once the gears began turning.
Spot had known a fair number of girls in his life, many more attractive and approachable than Ingrid, so why was it that she constantly occupied his thoughts?
"She's just a girl," he mumbled in frustration, rolling over so that he could see out the window. Small snowflakes had begun to fall, bringing an early winter to Brooklyn. He made a mental note to add another layer under his jacket before he started selling the next morning, then fell into an uneasy sleep.
Ingrid shivered, pulling her arms tighter around herself, she leaned her back against the side of the alley. Her thin cloak had been wrapped around Gunnar's sleeping form to keep him warm, and her thin cotton shirt was doing little to bar out the cold wind. At that moment, she would have given just about anything for the warm smoke of a cigarette.
A delicate snowflake softly landed on her cheek. She closed her eyes tightly and leaned her head back against the building. She had always known that once winter fell on the city, their days on the street were numbered. She just hadn't expected the time to come so quickly.
By the time that the sun rose the next morning, Ingrid's hands were shaking uncontrollably and her toes were numb inside her boots. She woke Gunnar quickly and the two of them headed down the street. A few blocks away, they found a burning barrel with a few factory workers standing around it. Ingrid sidled up to the barrel, warming her hands above the welcoming flames.
"Jeg er sulten," Gunnar whined beside her.
Ingrid shot him a glance. "English, Gunnar."
"I am hungry," he repeated in choppy English.
"Much better." She smiled down at him with pride. After months of work, Gunnar's English had greatly improved. He was now capable of understanding and holding conversation. Ingrid was relieved to be spared from translating everything that was happening around them.
With Gunnar close in toe, she started toward the main street in search of something to eat. Unfortunately, the cold air had forced all of the street vendors indoors, and finding food was sure to be more difficult. Trying not to get discouraged, she led Gunnar through the busying streets in search of an easy steal.
Her entire body froze when she spotted Caleb leaning against the lamp post on the corner, absently smoking a cigarette. Determined to slip away without being seen, she pulled her cloak higher around her neck. She reached for Gunnar's hand, and groaned when she realized that he had also seen Caleb and had started in his direction.
Spot nearly dropped his cigarette when she saw a small boy running toward him. He blinked quickly for fear that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He smiled when his eyes opened and Gunnar was still advancing.
He knelt in the snow so that he was at eye level with the little boy. "Well, hello there."
"Hello."
Spot's eyes grew wide when Gunnar responded in English. "Where's Ingrid?"
Gunnar pointed behind him, up the block. "Right there."
Spot followed with his eyes until he caught sight of Ingrid standing sheepishly on the crowded sidewalk. A broad smile pulled at his lips as he watched the cool breeze blow through her loose blond curls. He stood numbly, his eyes locking with hers. The sparkle of laughter that had lit up her eyes months earlier was gone, replaced with worry and wear beyond her years. His heart went out to her and his smile faded.
She slowly began to draw closer to him, trying to hide the desperation in her eyes with a thin smile. Spot took a deep breath and stood his full height, tossing his cigarette into the snow beside him.
"Hey," he said in a raspy voice, his throat suddenly dry.
She nodded at him politely. "Hello."
Spot jumped slightly when he noticed his friend's presence, but nodded absently in acceptance.
Striker lit a match and lit both of their cigarettes. "Bit jumpy, ain't ya?"
Spot shrugged and inhaled a smooth stream of smoke. When he exhaled, he watched it mix with the cold air, dancing against the dark sky.
"Alright, what's been with you the last few months, buddy boy?"
Shrugging off the question, Spot snuffed the barely smoked cigarette on the windowsill. "I'm goin to bed."
Striker stared at the wasted cigarette and shook his head. He quickly grabbed Spot's arm as he passed by. "Spot—"
Spot pulled his arm free, regarding Striker with a cold glare. When he saw the genuine concern in his friend's chocolaty brown eyes, Spot's expression softened. "Don worry bout it, boyo."
As he settled into his bunk, Spot couldn't get Striker's question out of his head. What was with him? When he closed his eyes, an image flashed in his mind and he suddenly knew the answer. Ingrid. He forced his eyes open again, hoping to rid himself of the mental picture. Staring up at the springs of Striker's bunk above him, he sighed. There was no stopping his mind once the gears began turning.
Spot had known a fair number of girls in his life, many more attractive and approachable than Ingrid, so why was it that she constantly occupied his thoughts?
"She's just a girl," he mumbled in frustration, rolling over so that he could see out the window. Small snowflakes had begun to fall, bringing an early winter to Brooklyn. He made a mental note to add another layer under his jacket before he started selling the next morning, then fell into an uneasy sleep.
Ingrid shivered, pulling her arms tighter around herself, she leaned her back against the side of the alley. Her thin cloak had been wrapped around Gunnar's sleeping form to keep him warm, and her thin cotton shirt was doing little to bar out the cold wind. At that moment, she would have given just about anything for the warm smoke of a cigarette.
A delicate snowflake softly landed on her cheek. She closed her eyes tightly and leaned her head back against the building. She had always known that once winter fell on the city, their days on the street were numbered. She just hadn't expected the time to come so quickly.
By the time that the sun rose the next morning, Ingrid's hands were shaking uncontrollably and her toes were numb inside her boots. She woke Gunnar quickly and the two of them headed down the street. A few blocks away, they found a burning barrel with a few factory workers standing around it. Ingrid sidled up to the barrel, warming her hands above the welcoming flames.
"Jeg er sulten," Gunnar whined beside her.
Ingrid shot him a glance. "English, Gunnar."
"I am hungry," he repeated in choppy English.
"Much better." She smiled down at him with pride. After months of work, Gunnar's English had greatly improved. He was now capable of understanding and holding conversation. Ingrid was relieved to be spared from translating everything that was happening around them.
With Gunnar close in toe, she started toward the main street in search of something to eat. Unfortunately, the cold air had forced all of the street vendors indoors, and finding food was sure to be more difficult. Trying not to get discouraged, she led Gunnar through the busying streets in search of an easy steal.
Her entire body froze when she spotted Caleb leaning against the lamp post on the corner, absently smoking a cigarette. Determined to slip away without being seen, she pulled her cloak higher around her neck. She reached for Gunnar's hand, and groaned when she realized that he had also seen Caleb and had started in his direction.
Spot nearly dropped his cigarette when she saw a small boy running toward him. He blinked quickly for fear that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He smiled when his eyes opened and Gunnar was still advancing.
He knelt in the snow so that he was at eye level with the little boy. "Well, hello there."
"Hello."
Spot's eyes grew wide when Gunnar responded in English. "Where's Ingrid?"
Gunnar pointed behind him, up the block. "Right there."
Spot followed with his eyes until he caught sight of Ingrid standing sheepishly on the crowded sidewalk. A broad smile pulled at his lips as he watched the cool breeze blow through her loose blond curls. He stood numbly, his eyes locking with hers. The sparkle of laughter that had lit up her eyes months earlier was gone, replaced with worry and wear beyond her years. His heart went out to her and his smile faded.
She slowly began to draw closer to him, trying to hide the desperation in her eyes with a thin smile. Spot took a deep breath and stood his full height, tossing his cigarette into the snow beside him.
"Hey," he said in a raspy voice, his throat suddenly dry.
She nodded at him politely. "Hello."