One Last Goodbye
I stared around, taking in everything that was happening. Everyone, friends and foes, were standing in a circle, mourning our loss. I was surprised to find some of them (the friends of course) crying openly. They weren't trying to hide it, which was usually the newsie way. It stirred my emotions a bit, but I held strong.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and I turned to see a misty eyed Jack standing next to me. He wasn't looking at me, but staring at the casket. He was shaking. I didn't blame him. After all, this was one of his best, closet friends. That was a bit more of a blow to me, but my wall stayed up.
I hadn't looked at the casket yet. I didn't want too. I was (to no one else's knowledge but my own) still denying it. He couldn't be gone, not after all we'd been through. I wouldn't – couldn't – accept it. Even though it had been in my arms he said his dying words. Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts. I wasn't going to think about that. Not yet.
The motion of someone in the group grabbed my attention. It was Kid Blink. He had been one of the ones crying. He moved to the front, wiping his face as he went. I knew he was going to make a speech.
He reached the front of the group and opened his mouth. But before he could say a word, he choked up again. Usually this kind of behaviour made me grimace in disgust. But today was different. I shared Kid's pain. I knew that if I had to go up and make a speech about him, I'd break too. Which is exactly why I didn't.
Kid soon gave up, apologised, and walked back to Mush. I watched Mush hug him and tell him it was okay, not to worry about it. My throat closed up momentarily. They were together, had been for months. Everyone knew about it. And they all thought it was fine. It always made me think, would they have accepted us for it? Probably not. I wasn't allowed to be that way. I was a ladies man, I was tough, I was uncaring, a smart ass, I was a leader. People, young and old, looked up to me. It would have been too much for people. They would've turned their backs on me. And I couldn't have that.
I turned away from them, trying to ignore the painful memories rushing at me. It wasn't fair! Why did he have to go? He hadn't done anything wrong – hell it wasn't even his fault! It was mine. If I had only been able to stop what happened, I could've saved him. But my stupid pride got in the way. I was too stubborn to say I'm sorry and that I was wrong to say those things I said and to please come back. But Conlon's don't say sorry, Conlon's don't beg, and Conlon's don't care.
I cared – I cared a shit load.
The motion of the entire group once more tore me from my thoughts. The service was over. It suddenly struck me that this was the end, that everything was now final. The thought almost threw me over the edge but I caught myself just in time. I felt Jack's hand (which had never left my shoulder) give a quick squeeze. I knew he knew what had just washed over me.
"I'll make sure ever'one gets ta da lodgin' house," he said softly, "and let you say goodbye."
I suddenly looked over at him. Staring into his eyes, I saw he knew. I didn't know how he found out, but he did. We were so good at hiding it, but I found I didn't care. I was so grateful to Jack at that moment, I could've hugged him. But I didn't – hugging wasn't something Conlon's did.
Instead, I nodded once. He clapped me on the back before he started ushering people towards the Manhattan lodging house.
I watched them all disappear down the road before turning to look at the casket for the first time. I could barely handle the thought that inside that box was the young man I had grown to love.
I took a step closer, trying not to think about how dark and cramped it must have been. He had always hated the dark. He wasn't scared of it, but he didn't like it. He always kept the bathroom light on incase he woke up in the middle of the night. It used to aggravate me to no end, but what I wouldn't give now to hear him say, "Spot, don't turn da light off."
I felt my eyes began to burn. I didn't want to cry, but I knew I would. Most of the time I can handle my emotions – but not now, not for this. This was too painful to keep bottled up. I felt my hands shaking and immediately clenched my fists to stop it.
I opened my mouth. I had things I needed to say to him. Things I should've said to him earlier. My voice got caught in my throat suddenly. I cleared it, taking a deep breath. See, I knew if I spoke I'd break. Glad I didn't tell Jack I'd make a speech.
"Listen," I said softly, my voice sounding odd after my long silence, "I've got a few things ta say ta you. About dat fight da uddah day, I'm…sarry. I shouldn't have said what I did ta you. It wasn't ya fault, not in da slightest. I was just too stubborn ta listen...and I'm sarry fer-"
Here came the tears. Dammit.
"I'm sarry fer not goin' aftah ya, fer not savin' ya. If I had not been so damn stubborn, I wouldn't be he'ah, sayin' dis ta you. I'd be at my lodgin' house, tellin' ya."
I stopped, gaining control. This was a lot harder than I had planned. It wouldn't be so hard if I could stop thinking that what I was saying would be my final words to him.
As I fought for control of myself, my thoughts strayed to the last night we were together. The night that the horrific event took place.
"Spot, are ya okay?"
I heard his voice and immediately wanted to punch his lights out. How the hell could he do this to me? And after what I finally said to him last night? He had been asking me continuously why I never said it after he did. And I finally do and he goes off and pulls this stunt?
I was pacing back and forth, running my hand through my hair. He knew I did this when I was upset. And I was very upset right now. I heard him get off the bed and come towards me. I darted away from his outstretched hand, anger flaring in me like a fire.
His brown eyes grew wide. "Spot, what happened?" he asked frantically.
I stopped thinking for a moment. Why hadn't I seen it before? He looked so scared that night. He knew I had heard something, I could see it now in his eyes. That only brought more tears. If only I hadn't been so angry, I would've seen the honesty and fear in his eyes.
"You know damn well what happened!" I yelled, trying to keep my voice steady. Why it was shaking, I wasn't sure, but that didn't matter. He couldn't know.
He took a deep breath, trying, I guess, to gather his words together. "I don't, I swear. Tell me what happened ta you."
I looked up at him again, and my anger blazed stronger than ever. He actually looked like he didn't know what was going on!
"Because you didn't," I whispered to myself.
"Ya know, I finally tell ya da three words you've been pesterin' me about, and den ya go off and sleep wid 'an old friend'!" I yelled at him, trying hard not to choke.
This was harder than I thought. I'm Spot Conlon, I'm not allowed to care he slept with someone else! But I did…shit.
"What," he sputtered, eyes, if possible, widening more, "who da hell told ya dat?"
"Dat Fishah kid," I answered, my voice sounding a bit scratchy. I prayed he couldn't hear it.
His eyes narrowed into slits, and I almost stepped back. I had only seen him look like that once before, when someone accused him of cheating in a poker game. He never cheats, and takes it seriously when someone says he does.
"Dammit!" he suddenly yelled, startling me. "Dat damn kid's been spreadin' rumours 'bout me fer years!" He looked up at me again, and something behind his eyes crumbled. "I'm so sarry ya hoid dat! I can see why you's angry. I swear though, I ain't done nothin' wid anyone else!"
"I should've listen," I whispered, wiping my eyes again. "Had I just said, okay, I believe ya, you'd still be wid me now. I'm sarry. God I'm so sarry…"
I laughed sarcastically. "Sure ya didn't. Dat's why ya didn't get home 'til three last night!"
"I told ya, I got caught up in a game in Manhattan! Go ovah dere and ask! Send one of ya 'boids' and you'll find out!" he replied, a pleading note in voice.
I rolled my eyes. "Like I'd bothah my boys ta find out somethin' like dat. I don't need dem ta tell me you's lyin'."
His eyes narrowed once more. "I ain't lyin', I don't lie ta you." he growled.
"I wanted ta believe ya…I swear I did," I said, staring at the casket again.
I had long ago stopped bothering to control myself. The tears flowed freely down my cheeks and I let them. I was the only one there anyway, and if someone else was spying on me, so be it. Whoever it was wouldn't have the balls later to say something about it.
"But I couldn't," I continued, choking a bit, "I'm not allowed ta forgive and forget, ya know dat. Conlon's ain't allowed ta be dat way. I got a rep ta live up ta ya know. But if I knew what was comin', I wouldn't have said anythin'."
Staring into his eyes, I saw he was telling the truth. But I couldn't back down and say I was wrong now. I had already made a big deal about it. I could tell him later I was wrong, but not right that second.
"Oh, I know ya don't, ya just are now."
He didn't loose his glare, but his mouth tightened and he swallowed. I wondered suddenly if he was really hurting, and was trying not to cry.
I was.
"Fine Spot, if ya can't believe me, someone ya told ya loved just last night, den fine. I's goin' back ta Manhattan. If you wanna tawk, dat's where I'll be."
He walked over to the door, stopping right before he left. He turned around and I almost fell over in shock.
Tears were swimming in his eyes.
"You're an ass, Spot." he said clearly, and he left.
"You just figurin' dat out now? You's stupider dan I thought!"
I cringed suddenly, remembering I said that. He hated being called stupid. It hurt him more than one would think it would. His mother, before she killed herself, had called him 'dat stupid piece of shit' rather than say his name. And just hearing the word shot at him in a snappy tone made him break.
I swallowed hard, wishing to God I hadn't said it.
It was when that word left my mouth I knew I had gone to far. I heard his footsteps thundering down the stairs and I knew he was running. I was thankful then that all the guys were at Marty's, Brooklyn's Tibby's. I went over to the window and felt my eyes grow wide with terror. It happened so fast. The car came…he hadn't seen it…he ran out in front of it…
I sprinted out of the lodging house faster than I ever remembered being able to go. But I was too late. I got outside just as he went under.
I choked again, remember the horror I felt the moment he disappeared under some bastards black car.
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't see him anymore. He went clear under the car. And he was screaming. For me. My body began to shake. Anger as I had never felt erupted inside me. My vision actually blurred.
I turned towards the driver. "Get dis piece of shit off of him before I kill ya!" I screamed, taking out my cane and knife, meaning every single word.
I wasn't sure what I looked like, but I knew I had to look scarier than I ever had before. I swear for a moment, I thought that guy was going to cower to the ground, but instead he jumped into the car and slowly backed up, being careful not to move the steering wheel.
When I saw him, it took all my will not to vomit. Where his body lay, completely deformed, was a pool of dark red blood, and it was getting bigger by the second. He was obviously hurt badly – so badly. I knew he wasn't going to make it just by looking at him.
I slowly walked over to him. He wasn't moving. I could barely tell he was breathing. I dropped to my knees in front of him.
He looked up. "Spot…" he wheezed.
My throat closed up. "No, don't tawk," I whispered, "I'll get ya ta da hospital. Don't ya worry. You're gonna be fine, you're –"
His hand barely rising from the ground stopped me. "No…don't…bothah…"
He was giving up. Shit.
"No, don't give up. Please, don't give up." I said, taking his hand in mine.
He gave the smallest of squeezes. I almost broke down completely.
"You'll…be…okay…You're…Spot…Conlon," he whispered, his voice growing fainter by the second, "you…know…you…don't…need…me…"
I moved closer to him and gently lifted his head into my lap. I began stroking his curly brown hair, as I had done so many times before, trying not to cry. It was harder than anything I'd ever done in my life.
His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes. As I watched him die in my arms, I leaned over beside his ear. "I love you," and I kissed his cheek.
His hand, which was still in mine, squeezed once more and went slack.
Tears were pouring down my face fast and hard now. Part of me wanted to crumple to the ground in a broken heap, while the other side (the side with pride in it) wanted me to stand strong. Just because I was crying doesn't mean I had to degrade myself completely.
I moved beside the casket now, placing my hands on it. My body was shaking uncontrollably. I realised suddenly that this was the first time I had cried over him. The moment he left me, I had gently set him back down, gone inside, and called the hospital. I waited until they picked him up, purposely not watching them cover his head up. I was leaning against the lodging house, hands jammed in my pockets, fingernails digging into my hands (I now have four little scars in each of my palms). But I didn't cry. The woman said something to me, but I didn't hear her. All I did was nodded stiffly at her and go back inside, not shedding a tear.
None of my boys asked me about it when they got back. Every newsie in New York knew within hours what happened. And they all knew that it was me who had seen it all. But they had left me alone. I had climbed out my window to the roof, telling them that if they came up there, I'd push them off. They listened. But I still hadn't cried.
As I sobbed by the casket, I knew this was the last time I'd cry over him. When I finished, I'd move on with life. But I'd never forget him. I would never forget the way his brown eyes lit up when he won a poker game, or when he bet on the right horse and won. They way he looked so intense when we were together, or the feeling of his hand in mine. The way he always shivered when we kissed, and the way he got immediate chills when I ran my fingertips lightly over his arms.
I took a deep breath, wiped my already soaked sleeve over my face, and straightened. I had to go. The newsies would wonder soon why I wasn't there yet. I turned to leave, but stopped. I kissed my hand, placed it on the casket as my eyes filled with tears for the last time.
"I love you, Racetrack Higgins..."
I turned away, walking stiffly towards the lodging house, not looking back. I stared ahead, fully aware of the coldness that had just settled on my right side – the side he had always walked on. The cold air entwined with my hand for a moment, and disappeared.
I smiled a true smile then and sent in a prayer to him, my last goodbye.