Author's Note: I may not have mentioned the first time, but this is my first fanfiction story/chapters I have ever written, and so I am really excited and slightly nervous about how this will turn out. TeamJacob1998: Thanks for the review, but I have a fair warning, things might start to get a little bit uglier in the next few chapters, but thank you for the support! That warning applies to everyone, by the way. So here's chapter two, which I am sorry about it being slightly shorter, but the next one is longer. Without further delay, here is chapter two!
Chapter Two
We all got up and Crutchy walked with me to the lodging house. Crutchy was tall and like a string bean, and I often felt short compared to him. He also had a decent amount of sense. But this didn't stop him from trying to get me to tell him about my life as we walked into his room and the owner got me a cot.
"Tell me more 'bout youself. I don't know dat many crips 'round heah." he said, looking at me.
"Well...okay, I'll start from da beginning." I agreed.
"When Is was 7 or 8, my mudder died, an' my fadder soon aftah of the same sickness or somethin'. I was all alone an' den da newsies found me an' I became part of dem. But at da age of 10, a relative took me away an' I was taken to work in a store. My leg was crippled when da store fell down 'cause it was old an' pieces of metal, wood, an' some oder stuff fell on my leg. Is fell down a staircase when I tried ta get away an' hurt it even more. It was bad. Worser and worser it got, till Is finl'ly knew dat Is was a cripple.
'But den I crawled all da way to da newsies' place in da Bronx, an' dey was shocked ta fin' me wid a crippled leg an' didn't nose what ta do. Checkers made dem take care of me. I be only alive 'cause of dere help. I be a German." I explained. Crutchy was silent for a moment after I finished.
"What 'bout youse?" I asked him, wondering if his story of his life was worse or better than mine.
"Well... I was born like dis." he said quietly. "Is was deformed an' my parents weren't all happy 'bout dat. My father hated it, me mudder loved me even though I was like dis.
'But den my mudder died when Is was 5, an' Is was lef' wid my father. Me mudder got sick like yours did. But me father remained. He... he beated me an' he hated me. I got sick a lot, an' he deprived me. He woulda wanted any oder kid, but not me. I was a cripple, and crips weren't allowed in me father's world. So he hurted me an' tried to kill me almost. But den he was stuck in da jail. Is don't tink he's still alive. Before he left, he told me dat he nevah wanted ta see me again an' den he got soft an' said dat he did love me. But I don't tink he evah did. I did, but I looked up ta him, an' I forgave him for wha' he had done because he was in charge of me an' I thought he was amazin'.
'Den I was left to meself. I somehows didn't die. I had already had a crutch for meself all of me life, an' sos, I left da house. Blink foun' me righ' outside da lodging house door. I was a sorry sight ta behold. I was 10. I am an Irishman, dat's my origins, I tink." he finished. His dark curly hair had led me to not really believe that he was Irish at all.
But I realized with that story, Crutchy had ended up with a much rougher life than I had. He was subdued after telling the story, and I didn't ask more but instead laid down in my bed and fell asleep. I guess he did the same thing eventually.
The morning brought Kloppman's voice shouting at us in all directions. I could hear boys everywhere getting up. I sat up and saw that Crutchy was already up and at it. He handed my crutch, and I got ready as well. Soon we were walking out the door into the larger room where it looked like the Manhattan newsies had the same loudness and messes in the morning as we did in the Bronx. Guys were everywhere. Crutchy got slapped on the back as we hobbled through by about 5 guys. Finally we came to the door and out into the open world.
The line at the dispatcher's office was long already, but as I stood watching, Crutchy made his way up and guys let him pass. Once he had gotten his papes, he split them with me again and then faced me.
"Alright, well, today we'll split up. I'll go ta Central Park, an' youse go to da corner we were on yesterday. Youse know how ta get dere. I'll come by later ta getcha." he said, and we split up. I went to the street corner and stood there, shouting "Exdra!" at the top of my lungs.
But even though it may seem that everybody took pity on me, there were plenty of people in New York that didn't like cripples. They, or some of them, think that we should be dead, not alive, and others just think that because we have leg problems, we have brain problems as well. I have no clue why, though. So when a family of obvious wealth walked by, I got covered in remarks. There were two girls and three boys to that family, and their mother was leading them. At the time, I was calling out the headline.
"Exdra! Exdra! Read all 'bout it! Times Square building isn't saved by da firemen an' da police!" I was yelling. The family stopped as if to observe. The mother spoke.
"Well, children, this is why we don't get the paper without your father around and why none of you can become newsboys, and the newsboys themselves can't speak right." she said, smirking at me. I glared back at her.
"And not to mention, they have gimps in their mix. I've heard those are the stupidest ones. They have to hobble around on a crutch and they get sympathy, the rats get sympathy." said the oldest of the two girls. I bit back a remark.
"Do you want to bet that he can't speak right? The gimp down at Cental Park couldn't, the stupid tall string bean." said one of the boys. I almost hit him with my crutch.
"Da youse wanna pape, ma'am, or da youse wanna jus' look at da freak who is 'bout ta hit one of ya children?" I asked coldly. The woman looked shocked for a moment, then snickered.
"Did we insult a friend of yours? And no, I do not need a paper."
"If youse know what's best for ya, I suggest dat ya don't insult Crutchy or meself or I can call on some of me friends dat know what ta do ta youse in seconds." I growled. The Bronx had the same kind of people.
"That gimp down there's named Crutchy? And what's your name? Limpy?" said the little boy.
"Jus' be glad dat youse got a family, alrigh'? Some of us ain't got one, an' wes don't like ta beat up da people who do. An' Crutchy ain't no gimp, neider am I. Youse jus' be glad at what's youse gots dat many don'ts, 'kay? Someday youse'll tank me for dis little lecture." I said. The children looked shocked and turned toward their mother.
"It is not a right of yours to tell other people what they do and don't take for granted." she said.
"Youse don't got da rights ta torture innocent boys who don't got nothin' but da clothes on his back an' whatever little money in his pocket." I said in reply.
"Mother, my leg hurts, can we go home? I think I have a big bruise from that kick." complained the little boy. I had a bad feeling about this.
"What did youse do ta Crutchy? Tell me!" I demanded.
"My girl kicked him, rightfully so. But he hit my son with his, his crutch!" said the woman, almost hysterically.
I gave up on the family right then and there and screamed the headlines once more. The mother looked away and with her head held high, the family marched away. That wasn't the first problem I had. A man and his son came up to me at one point.
"See, here son, this is a newsboy. Do you know that this is why I never allowed you to become one?" he said. The boy nodded.
"Da youse wanna pape, sir, or am I gonna hafta hurt ya slightly ta make youse move?" I said, sighing. "Some people wan' dere papes."
"Well, let's go then, Rob, come along." the man said. Before Rob left though, he turned back to me.
"Ha! You gimp! My father says that you're the reason why society's going down!" he laughed, sticking his tongue out at me. I didn't reply.
I knew that I was being sensitive, and Crutchy would have understood, but that boy's remark hurt me deeply. I almost wanted to sit down and cry. But I had a job to do.
At about 1:00 P.M., I found myself bored, hurt mentally, and tired. People had stopped much more to criticize me than to actually buy papers. Trouble, though, was only just about to strike. I knew that I had to watch myself. The only thing I could do was tell myself that Crutchy would come and get me soon. But eventually, I decided that I would go to Crutchy instead of him coming to me. He had told me where it was and what street it was on, so I went there.
I was close when I heard shouting. A rough voice followed by screams. The voice was yelling very loudly.
"You gimp! What are you doing around heah? I told you to stay away from me last time! We'll take care of ya!" it was yelling from behind a group of trees in Central Park.
It sounded like a boy's voice, no older than my self. I hobbled as fast as possible to the corner. Crutchy was nowhere to be found. He had been attacked.