Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any other media references I may make throughout the duration of this fic.
Chapter 6: When We Misinterpret Fortune
Spot
"Goodnight," I whispered, releasing his hand from mine and curling into a ball.
"Goodnight," he whispered back, kissing my forehead softly and turning over.
If I lie on my back and look up as far as I can, I can see the maple, upside down, behind me. When I see it like this it seems smaller, more insecure and vulnerable than before. Above it, the stars and stretch out as far as I can tell, minimizing the tree to amazingly tiny proportions. Most of the leaves have fallen off it now, leaving the maple naked and small. It seems to shiver as the wind blows against it, whistling at the windows and chilling the streets. I move closer to Racetrack and sigh as I stare at the tree. It is so strong, yet so small and so trivial, like nothing about it matters in the world.
It's weird, now I can actually look at Racetrack, but I don't because I'm too busy staring at the tree. Before the tree was my excuse to watch him, before I knew how I felt. Before I knew I even could feel this way.
Something guilty is growing inside of me. It is creeping through my insides and clawing at my heart. Cherish. Who, what, why when, Cherish. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about her. I don't think Race does either, but he's given up caring.
His heart is echoing in my ear. It beats over and over, sending spasms of sound into my head. It's like the intro to a song. If this were a musical I'd break into a song about my love for him. If this were a musical I'd lay and watch him sleep, singing a harmony about the joy of love. If this were a musical it wouldn't be real. But it isn't a musical and it is real. It's more real than anything I've ever felt before.
The covers are twisting around my leg and I reach down and pull them back up, covering our bodies in the sheets. My foot hits his and I realized that they are icy. He feels warm all over and I feel so cold. A cold I've never before experienced.
Racetrack's sheets smell like his shirt did, of cigars and baby powder. I lean over slowly and smell his hair. It smells the same. Why does he smell like this? Where does it come from? I only ever smell like soap and there's a good reason for that.
My older brother says there is a reason for everything happening in life. We don't have the same father, but he acts nice towards me and treats me like his little brother. He's very spiritual and goes on Buddhist retreats all the time. My mother loves him, but doesn't agree with what he does with his life.
"You could have been a banker! Or an accountant! You could have been successful and gotten us all out of this hell hole!" she says sometimes, when we're all together as a family.
His name is Darren, but we all call him Dutchy. His daddy was a Dutch bar owner, who knocked up my mom and took off. When we used to live in Brooklyn we'd have to pass that bar everyday on the way to school. Dutchy knew it was his father's place but never once gave it a second look. Dutchy is the strongest person I know.
My other brother is named Christopher. Mamma used to call him Ten Pin. When I was seven and he was two his dad split on my mom. I love her but she can't choose them very well.
Ten Pin's daddy stayed with us the longest out of everyone who ever tried to be in our family. After him it was just Dutchy, Ten Pin, Mamma and I.
I hated Brooklyn. After a while it became like a disease that you just wanted out of you. I felt so stifled and so trapped in the streets of factories and apartment buildings. When I was thirteen I started going to Brooklyn Bridge and watching the current below me, wishing it would wash away my problems. I'd go in the middle of winter wearing only my thin, all- seasons jacket and my corduroy pants. Mamma would wait for me on those nights and hang my pants to dry on the line so that I could wear them the next morning. They were the only pair I had that were warm enough for the snow. Brooklyn Bridge is history. It was the largest thing I'd ever seen for a while until I went to Manhattan and visited the Empire State Building.
Racetrack grew up in Manhattan, staring up at the Empire State Building. Sometimes I don't think he knew how lucky he was.
Racetrack
We pushed our beds together and have curled up under the sheets. Spot is warm and I can feel his breath against my back.
I am so happy. I don't think I ever thought I'd make it this far in life. Especially after knowing I was gay. I didn't think I'd even make it out of high school.
By the time I was sixteen I didn't think I'd live to see two more years. I thought that either beatings or suicide would take my life before I'd have the chance to experience adulthood.
I used to get beat up a lot. My sister would watch quietly at the side. My dad would scowl every time I came home with a black eye but never really said anything about it. My mom was always to wasted to notice.
Dad used to tell me: "It serves you right. Those boys will beat some sense into you eventually. You just be happy that it's not me you have to deal with."
There were times I thought about killing myself. Once I got as far as climbing to the top of the Empire State Building but discovering such an escape was impossible because of the smartly place barriers on the observation level. After my failed plot I just sat and watched the ant- sized cars below, feeling powerful over them, being so much larger and all.
This was around Christmas time, I remember because I fled to the Empire State Building after the Winter Dace, running from the football team who threatened to kick my ass if I stayed around any longer. At the top of the building the wind was very strong, whipping my scarf around my head and pushing the snowflakes to and fro in the strong breeze.
In the Manhattan streets I could see the Christmas decorations from where I sat as well as the taxicabs and overflowing buses. The brisk wind blew away all my worries for a few seconds and I felt normal sitting up on that colossal building.
I didn't think one thing in the world could have more power than the Empire State Building. It was solid, and would never fall to the ground. Then I saw the Brooklyn Bridge. It connected people from Manhattan's fantasy world to the reality and harsh reality of the slums.
Spot grew up knowing this power. He knew its strength. I don't think he knows how lucky he is.
((That was the 'confusion' chapter. They each see the other's life in a totally different spectrum than the other. I like it! It's so...deep? Wrong word? I dun no, review please!!!))
Shoutouts:
Strawberri Shake- it was a quest for love. Who cares how it smelt? It was hot! Whoo! Go SpRace!
Trinity-Matrix-13- oops, sorry, you're right, 20x faster. Sucker!!!
Coin- mm, me too! Unless, of course, I didn't know it was Race and Spot. Then maybe I'd be a bit freaked out...
Padsofootismyhero- this, coming from the girl who doesn't like slash? Heh heh heh
Bobcat:Slahsgoil- I agree, yum.
Erin Go Bragh- whee! Lovely love!
Italy- I guess you're right. I would be too. I'm super-impatient.
Chapter 6: When We Misinterpret Fortune
Spot
"Goodnight," I whispered, releasing his hand from mine and curling into a ball.
"Goodnight," he whispered back, kissing my forehead softly and turning over.
If I lie on my back and look up as far as I can, I can see the maple, upside down, behind me. When I see it like this it seems smaller, more insecure and vulnerable than before. Above it, the stars and stretch out as far as I can tell, minimizing the tree to amazingly tiny proportions. Most of the leaves have fallen off it now, leaving the maple naked and small. It seems to shiver as the wind blows against it, whistling at the windows and chilling the streets. I move closer to Racetrack and sigh as I stare at the tree. It is so strong, yet so small and so trivial, like nothing about it matters in the world.
It's weird, now I can actually look at Racetrack, but I don't because I'm too busy staring at the tree. Before the tree was my excuse to watch him, before I knew how I felt. Before I knew I even could feel this way.
Something guilty is growing inside of me. It is creeping through my insides and clawing at my heart. Cherish. Who, what, why when, Cherish. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about her. I don't think Race does either, but he's given up caring.
His heart is echoing in my ear. It beats over and over, sending spasms of sound into my head. It's like the intro to a song. If this were a musical I'd break into a song about my love for him. If this were a musical I'd lay and watch him sleep, singing a harmony about the joy of love. If this were a musical it wouldn't be real. But it isn't a musical and it is real. It's more real than anything I've ever felt before.
The covers are twisting around my leg and I reach down and pull them back up, covering our bodies in the sheets. My foot hits his and I realized that they are icy. He feels warm all over and I feel so cold. A cold I've never before experienced.
Racetrack's sheets smell like his shirt did, of cigars and baby powder. I lean over slowly and smell his hair. It smells the same. Why does he smell like this? Where does it come from? I only ever smell like soap and there's a good reason for that.
My older brother says there is a reason for everything happening in life. We don't have the same father, but he acts nice towards me and treats me like his little brother. He's very spiritual and goes on Buddhist retreats all the time. My mother loves him, but doesn't agree with what he does with his life.
"You could have been a banker! Or an accountant! You could have been successful and gotten us all out of this hell hole!" she says sometimes, when we're all together as a family.
His name is Darren, but we all call him Dutchy. His daddy was a Dutch bar owner, who knocked up my mom and took off. When we used to live in Brooklyn we'd have to pass that bar everyday on the way to school. Dutchy knew it was his father's place but never once gave it a second look. Dutchy is the strongest person I know.
My other brother is named Christopher. Mamma used to call him Ten Pin. When I was seven and he was two his dad split on my mom. I love her but she can't choose them very well.
Ten Pin's daddy stayed with us the longest out of everyone who ever tried to be in our family. After him it was just Dutchy, Ten Pin, Mamma and I.
I hated Brooklyn. After a while it became like a disease that you just wanted out of you. I felt so stifled and so trapped in the streets of factories and apartment buildings. When I was thirteen I started going to Brooklyn Bridge and watching the current below me, wishing it would wash away my problems. I'd go in the middle of winter wearing only my thin, all- seasons jacket and my corduroy pants. Mamma would wait for me on those nights and hang my pants to dry on the line so that I could wear them the next morning. They were the only pair I had that were warm enough for the snow. Brooklyn Bridge is history. It was the largest thing I'd ever seen for a while until I went to Manhattan and visited the Empire State Building.
Racetrack grew up in Manhattan, staring up at the Empire State Building. Sometimes I don't think he knew how lucky he was.
Racetrack
We pushed our beds together and have curled up under the sheets. Spot is warm and I can feel his breath against my back.
I am so happy. I don't think I ever thought I'd make it this far in life. Especially after knowing I was gay. I didn't think I'd even make it out of high school.
By the time I was sixteen I didn't think I'd live to see two more years. I thought that either beatings or suicide would take my life before I'd have the chance to experience adulthood.
I used to get beat up a lot. My sister would watch quietly at the side. My dad would scowl every time I came home with a black eye but never really said anything about it. My mom was always to wasted to notice.
Dad used to tell me: "It serves you right. Those boys will beat some sense into you eventually. You just be happy that it's not me you have to deal with."
There were times I thought about killing myself. Once I got as far as climbing to the top of the Empire State Building but discovering such an escape was impossible because of the smartly place barriers on the observation level. After my failed plot I just sat and watched the ant- sized cars below, feeling powerful over them, being so much larger and all.
This was around Christmas time, I remember because I fled to the Empire State Building after the Winter Dace, running from the football team who threatened to kick my ass if I stayed around any longer. At the top of the building the wind was very strong, whipping my scarf around my head and pushing the snowflakes to and fro in the strong breeze.
In the Manhattan streets I could see the Christmas decorations from where I sat as well as the taxicabs and overflowing buses. The brisk wind blew away all my worries for a few seconds and I felt normal sitting up on that colossal building.
I didn't think one thing in the world could have more power than the Empire State Building. It was solid, and would never fall to the ground. Then I saw the Brooklyn Bridge. It connected people from Manhattan's fantasy world to the reality and harsh reality of the slums.
Spot grew up knowing this power. He knew its strength. I don't think he knows how lucky he is.
((That was the 'confusion' chapter. They each see the other's life in a totally different spectrum than the other. I like it! It's so...deep? Wrong word? I dun no, review please!!!))
Shoutouts:
Strawberri Shake- it was a quest for love. Who cares how it smelt? It was hot! Whoo! Go SpRace!
Trinity-Matrix-13- oops, sorry, you're right, 20x faster. Sucker!!!
Coin- mm, me too! Unless, of course, I didn't know it was Race and Spot. Then maybe I'd be a bit freaked out...
Padsofootismyhero- this, coming from the girl who doesn't like slash? Heh heh heh
Bobcat:Slahsgoil- I agree, yum.
Erin Go Bragh- whee! Lovely love!
Italy- I guess you're right. I would be too. I'm super-impatient.