Author's Note: And here's chapter three. I know you guys wanted to know what it was that Spot said, but this story is Spot's. We only see what he sees. Only read the letters that he reads. I'm toying around with the idea of doing a companion piece, in Jack's point of view. Complete with Spot's letter to him. What do you think? Anywho, here's the next chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly or any other character from the 1992 Disney musical, Newsies
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Not Here
Maybe in another time, another place, this might just have worked.
But not here.
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Liam 'Spot' Conlon
c/o Children's Aid Society Lodging House
61 Poplar Street
Brooklyn, New York 11201
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February 3, 1900
Spot,
Thank you. I really wasn't expecting you to respond to the letter. To be honest, I guess, in away, I didn't want you to. It was so hard for me to post that first one. At the time, I thought I wrote down everything I wanted to tell you.
I didn't.
When your letter made it's way to my hands… I knew it was from you at once. I knew your hand, as shaky and child-like as it is, but that's not how I knew it was you. Don't laugh, but the envelope just reminded me of you. I can't explain it.
I mean, when I got Dave's letter back, I knew it was from him only from the return address. But your's? I just knew. And now I sound like an idiot. Shit.
Have you been by Manhattan yet? I hear they bumped good old Race to the leader over there. According to Dave, the other fellas listen real good to him. And Dave helps him out, too. He says they miss me but I think he's lying.
He mentioned you, too. He said that you ain't been around since I left and I don't blame you. But, you should. Forget about me, alright? Just help Race out. He needs to know that Brooklyn's still got his back.
You do, right?
I didn't expect all the stuff to happen just because I took off. It really makes me feel bad. I almost hopped the first train back but I couldn't. Not yet.
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to respond. It's not that I didn't want to. If I can still be honest – a first for me, I know – I didn't open your letter until after the new century.
I was afraid. I hadn't thought you would even want to write back to me after I sent you my letter. But you did – and I was afraid to see what you had written back. You always had a way with words. The simplest ones could make the biggest impact.
You write the same way you speak.
I was glad, all the same, when I saw your name, 'Conlon', in the return address. But I couldn't open it. I did, hold onto the sealed envelope. I kept it within my vest pocket, close to my heart, though.
I have a lot of time here. It's nowhere near as busy here in Santa Fe. I miss the people, I miss the crowd…
I miss you, Spot.
I spent long hours staring at that letter, I admit, trying to work up the nerve to read what you writ. When I finally did it, finally opened the envelope and read your brief note, I almost cried.
Damn you, for making me a pansy. And I don't mean that the way it sounds. I'm a man – you're a man. We don't cry. And your words almost did that to me. I'm only telling you so because it's you. And I trust you to burn this so that none find out.
I don't know what to say. Again, you surprise me with your bravery. You say what's on your mind and don't even think of the consequences. You just want to tell the world how you feel.
I wish I could do the same.
Actually, I wish I knew how I felt. Every time I think I know, think that I want nothing more than to settle down and have a family, you pop up. Whether your beautiful face or your gruff voice – Hell, even those red suspenders you seem to favor – you are always on my mind.
And I'm sorry.
Happy New Year, Spot. Maybe the twentieth century will do you better.
- Jack
