Only to be Remembered
By Damsel O'Kelly
Jack Kelly, the famous Manhattan newsie, picked up his dusty cowboy hat off his bunk and placed it on his head. Glancing around the room, and signaling to the others, he made his way down into the lobby.
The heads of the newsboys and newsgirls were hung that day, as they were led from their home. When they had beaten the mighty Pulitzer earlier that year, the newsies had believed nothing could defeat them. They believed they would be together forever, and the possibility of them splitting up all but slapped them in the face.
Kloppman, the beloved owner of the lodging house, had died.
Jack himself had found Kloppman that fateful morning, curled up in his bed; a smile turning up the sides of his mouth. Now the newsies had to leave their home- they could never afford to run it on their own. Something like a sob escaped Jack's throat as he entered Kloppman's room one last time.
The others were waiting for him outside, and he knew he shouldn't take long. Allowing just one tear to slide down his cheek, Jack traced the tiny flowers on the faded wallpaper. He closed his eyes at the memories that rushed in to his mind. Jack relaxed his fist, not realizing he had been clinching it. Taking one last look around the room, he headed for the door. Just as he was about to shut it, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was Kloppman's hat. With a shaking hand, the cowboy reached out and touched it.
He picked it up as if it were a delicate flower that might crumble if handled the wrong way. He brought it to his chest lovingly, and was surprised to see a small book where the hat had been. Jack took the tiny book in his hands, and held it up to the window. 'Love forever and always, Nana' was scrawled in gold letters on its leather cover. Slipping the book in his pocket, Jack left the room, and his home, shutting the door to the lodging house forever.
Not knowing exactly where to head, the tear-streaked faces of the newsies looked to their leader. Jack cleared his throat, and walked to the front of the group. Clueless himself, he wandered the streets of Manhattan, thinking of where to stay.
After what seemed like days, the group found themselves at an old abandoned house. Being tired and weary, they trudged in and spread out to find somewhere to sleep.
Jack looked around sadly at his sleeping friends. In their sleep, there was no sign of the past few weeks' happenings and Jack was sure they were dreaming of yesterday. He wished he was dreaming too, but sleep wouldn't come. He held Kloppman's hat in his lap, and was reminded of his discovery. Jack pulled the small book from his pocket. Running a hand over the cover, he opened it up. The writing had a childlike bounce to it, and Jack wondered what it was.
'Well' he told himself, 'the only way to know...is to read'. With that, Jack settled back against the wall.
Mother told me I had to write in you. I don't really want to, seeing as how I'm a boy and boys don't keep diaries. I guess I will just have to call you a journal- that sounds much manlier. But still, the thought of keeping a journal is silly. If God had intended for us to remember everything, he would've given us better memories.
Jack smiled to himself as he realized he was holding the journal of the man who had once owned the hat in his lap. He found it strange, though. All those years of living with the old man, and no one even knew his first name. Curious to find out what else he had missed about Kloppman, Jack turned the page and kept reading.
Dinner tonight was despicable. All vegetables. But Dolby, my best friend, ate with us so I guess it was bearable.
A tiny arm pulled at Jack's sleeve, and he looked up from his reading. Crash, the youngest of the newsies, settled himself next to Jack and looked up into his eyes.
"Whatcha doin' Cowboy?" Jack smiled down at the little boy affectionately and put an arm around his shoulder.
"I'se jist readin' Crash. Why don't ya go back ta sleep?" Crash rubbed his eyes dramatically and yawned.
"I can't. Kloppy didn't read ta me tonight. When's he comin' back?" A sigh escaped Jack's lips as he pulled the 4-year-old closer. The little ones didn't understand.
"He ain't comin' back, kid. Nevah." The cowboy held back a sob as a tear made its way down Crash's cheek. Not knowing what else to do, he picked the child up, held him close, and cried along with him.