I Can't Stop What You've Begun
Chapter 1
Everyone acted like they knew. They nodded their head; they patted me on the shoulder; they told me, "Jamie, I understand." But they didn't. One bit.
I had always lived with my mother. My father worked over at the Newsboys Lodging House on Duane Street. My parents loved each other very much, but Father was so occupied with the boys at the lodging house that in a nutshell, he didn't have time for my mother. Once Father got the job, we barely saw him. Sometimes he came to the apartment to sleep, but most of the time he spent the night at the lodging house.
My father loved his job at the lodging house. He loved the boys like they were all one of his own. He gave them all advice and he gave them rules. To them, he was the father they never had. He was more of a father to them than to me.
My mother was lonely. She didn't have any real friends besides me. I was her friend. I was her life. I was there when Father wasn't. So when she started having health problems, I was the only one who heard about it. She knew that if she told my father, he'd have to give up the job he loved.
Her heart just wasn't right. Not that anybody's perfect, but her heart had problems that couldn't be fixed. Most doctors had never even heard of the condition she had. Nothing could be cured.
I knew she was gonna die. I told her I loved her every night before I went to bed. And when I got safely in my bedroom and shut the door, I silently cried myself to sleep. I never knew if I was going to wake up and find her dead.
About five months after we found out she was going to die, it happened. I woke up, but I couldn't hear the sound of dishes clanking in the kitchen right outside my room. I knew from the second I woke up that something was wrong.
I opened the large wooden door that led to her room. I peaked inside, and my mother was lying motionless on her small bed. She looked peaceful, and I knew that she was with Jesus, watching me. I waited for the tears to come, but surprisingly they didn't. I think I was so ready for this to happen; I knew it was going to happen that once it finally did I wasn't shocked. I already cried my tears for her. I knew she wasn't in pain anymore, and that she was in a much happier place.
Once the death wore off, I suddenly became very nervous and scared of what was to come. Where was I going to stay? Of course, the most obvious answer was my father, but I didn't think that would be a very good idea. I barely knew him. He wasn't really my father, he was just Kloppman, like the rest of Manhattan knew him as.
I pondered not even telling him that she died. I know it sounds insensitive, but I doubt he'd even notice. He rarely ever came home to see her. But it was necessary, because I know she would want me to tell him.
I had to go live at the Lodging House. It was the only way.
