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Post by rainier on Jun 6, 2008 16:16:40 GMT -5
Caspar had way of knowing what was in Queens. It seemed as if he stumbled upon the area first, and attached himself to it. But he wondered if it was a mere coincidence that it just so happened Queens had one of the most beautiful libraries he had ever seen. Granted, he hadn't seen many, but he was sure there couldn't be anything more wonderful than an entire building dedicated to books. When he first stumbled upon the building, he had to ask a fellow newsie what the word was: Public, he could understand, but Library was a mystery. His friend explained its function, and Caspar's eyes lit up. Bibliotheek.
He had returned almost as much as he could. The librarian said he couldn't take any books out without a card (and for a card you needed your parents to sign for it, which was out of the question) but Caspar was content with sitting at one of the long wooden tables with a pile of books, and pouring over them, trying to decipher words he didn't know and loving every moment of reading. He didn't know how he came to love books so much, but they were a passion, and being able to read them in a language that came secondary to him gave him an incredible sense of accomplishment. Moreover, gaining information from them was what really interested him.
He found himself reading books for his siblings: trains for Viona and Siemen. Ships and sailing for Jozef. Books about the forests and states for Helena, because he didn't know where she was or what she was doing. Caspar read for his parents, as well: carpentry for his father, and books of poetry. For his mother, books about the upper class and nothing more. He thirsted to know more, and reading about his family (however indirectly) made him feel as if they hadn't left him after all.
Fiction, he read for himself. He loved reading about characters and foreign places, the people made-up but seeming so real Caspar wouldn't be surprised to meet them on the street. He loved how the authors created worlds of their own, and he plowed through book after book of fiction, going slowly as to understand it and to remember it, but never letting up at all until the late hours of the night, when the librarian told him he had to leave now.
Today, Caspar made his way up the steps and pulled at the door handle to find it locked. He tried again, confused, but then his eyes caught sight of a sign hung next to the large double doors. CLOSED SUNDAY. That was today, he thought sullenly. Well, there went his day. He went back down the steps and sat at the bottom, his three or so unsold newspapers next to him. Verdomd.
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Post by Sunshine on Jun 7, 2008 20:32:47 GMT -5
All right, so, little did people know that Sunshine liked reading something other than the newspaper. It didn't matter what kind of story it was, but since she was so used to current events and non-fiction (ahem), she'd go to the Queens public library and dive into the fictional stories. The made up stuff. Mystery, fantasy, romance, funny stories. Sunshine went to the Queens library because she could dis-attach herself from Harlem and really sink into the atmosphere of the building full o' books -- tables, chairs, shelves and shelves and shelves, and quiet. Sunshine couldn't have really gotten ahold of books and taken them to the lodging house or her apartment. Nothing would get done, or she'd screw the books up.
Since she was a newsie and she did in fact have to sell, nearly every single day, she didn't get to go to the library a lot -- but when she did go, time stood still. She didn't notice that minutes were passing until the sun went down, and it was suddenly dark out, and she was past her mother and father's level of comfort and right into worrying and fidgeting and pacing back and forth in front of the window to watch for their daughter to come home. Sunshine went past the time of actual sunshine and sundown and right into nighttime. She couldn't help it.
She'd managed to learn English as she grew up in New York, and it helped that her siblings and mother and father learned a lot so they could live there with as little problematic situations as possible. The trip from Russia was hard enough, leaving Russia itself was hard enough. But Sunshine's parents wanted their children out of danger, and they wanted them happy, so they liked the fact that Sunshine made a lot of friends growing up (such a social butterfly) -- one of them being, quote unquote, "The Professor."
A few years younger than her, the Professor was smart for his age and cute as hell, and Sunshine wasted no time in getting to know him and taking him under her wing. It didn't matter that he was smarter than her, by golly -- she was older and he needed somebody to look after him. Sunshine's chance to be the big sister, especially to somebody with a cute face like the Professor. She'd embarrass the hell out of him as much as possible, messing with his curly, unruly hair or pinching his cheeks and smooching them loudly like some grandma-type, grinning all the while. It was out of love.
She traveled (finally) to the library this Sunday, her bright blonde hair in braided pigtails and a big smile on her face as she walked in confidence to the library steps. Her hands slid into the pockets of her tan newsie pants, the bottoms rolled up to her knees (this happened often) and a blue shirt on her torso. It took her a couple minutes but she caught sight of the Professor, like random, and she dropped her jaw open and laughed loudly, happily. "Professorrrr!" Sunshine ran over and pretended to tumble into him, actually leaning and hugging him in the process instead, giggling endlessly and not noticing what a long face he had. "Professor, Professor, Professor!"
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Post by rainier on Jun 7, 2008 23:33:42 GMT -5
Caspar had been sitting for a short while, wondering solemnly what he could do with himself next, before he heard quite clearly someone call out his nickname: "Professorrrr!" He knew who it was even before his head snapped in the direction of the voice: Sunshine, a good friend of his who seemed to have taken on the role of an older sister. Sunshine was about twenty or so, with a personality to match her nickname. She loved to mess with Caspar, always acting just like he'd imagine a sister would. It was welcome, really, considering how much he missed his real siblings. He wasn't prepared to be tackled, however, and cried out when Sunshine fell on him.
"Professor, Professor, Professor!"
She was all hugs and smiles, and Caspar gave her a modest smirk back. He hugged her back briefly before pulling away and saying in his imperfect English, "Not strange to see you here, Sunny..." He looked over his shoulder at the locked library doors and the sign. "It is closed," he commented. "I wanted to read today..." For most of his day he looked forward to coming to the library and reading, passing the day away with his books. He knew that Sunshine liked to read, too, and it was one of the things that had sort of drawn the two together when they had first met. They were both immigrants, for one, and Caspar always thought that Sunny's English was much better than his. He could never get the sentences quite right, and it didn't help that the other newsies kept making up words, as if to make it confusing intentionally.
Caspar turned his attention back to Sunshine. "Did you finish your selling?" he asked. "I have to still finish...erm, still have to finish." He corrected himself. He knew he was an intelligent boy, and if he could speak Dutch everywhere he went he would sound like an intelligent boy. Most people dismissed his intelligence level as low when they heard him speak English, a language that he still couldn't quite grasp as well as he would like to, or heard his thick accent. But he would have to keep trying, and soon people would be impressed by how well he could speak both English and Dutch flawlessly.
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Post by Sunshine on Jun 10, 2008 0:36:57 GMT -5
Sunshine was a little too energetic most of the time, so she was used to people being hesitant around her or backing away from her energies; it was no surprise that Caspar did just what was needed (a greeting in return, a small smile and a light hug) before backing away. He was a shy kid, careful and cautious, and Sunshine couldn't remember a time in her life when she was ever like that. (Of course, it had happened before, and it still does, but she just never notices it.) She was used to being proactive and loud and rambunctious, bouncy and light and open. It was too awful being sad or scared, so why be it? Caspar seemed to be almost the exact opposite, but where he and Sunshine met was their dual goal of wanting to be happy- wanting to be settled and comfortable. They had a lot of similar interests, believe it or not, and they got along.
"Not strange to see you here, Sunny..." With a joyful laugh, Sunshine leaned away after Caspar's hug and playfully ruffled up his blonde curls. She liked the fact that he called her Sunny, though a lot of people did. "It is closed, I wanted to read today..." She followed his gaze to the library's front doors, reading the sign and immediately dropping her jaw. "What?! Closed? Oh, what a joint," Sunshine exclaimed, sighing loudly and plopping down to sit beside Caspar. "Hey, maybe we could go bang on the doors until they let us in." She looked over at him and grinned widely, nudging her elbow against his arm and letting her knees bang together lazily. She had a hard time sitting still, to be honest, especially when she was in a good mood.
"Did you finish your selling? I have to still finish...erm, still have to finish." Sunshine looked over Caspar's face, then gave him a nod and looked to her knees. "I almost finished. I couldn't sell a few and I wanted to come out here. It looks like we're in the same boat." She smiled and looked back over at him, laughing quietly. "How are you?" Sunshine wouldn't think that her English was any better than Caspar's, but she was glad to help him whenever he needed it -- and a lot of times, she would ask how to say things in Dutch. She liked the way Dutch sounded and how it flowed, and how it rolled off her tongue, and how comfortable Caspar looked speaking in it.
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Post by rainier on Jun 10, 2008 18:37:25 GMT -5
Caspar chuckled a little when she ruffled his hair. He pulled away and tried to flatten it again, repairing any damage. He probably wouldn't tolerate anyone else doing that on an daily basis, but Sunshine was like a sister to him. He could imagine his own sisters doing the same thing to him, and Sunshine even looked like Viona a little. It was one of the reasons that he and Sunshine had become such fast friends: there were similarities between them, and they might as well have been brother and sister anyway.
"What?! Closed? Oh, what a joint. Hey, maybe we could go bang on the doors until they let us in."
Caspar didn't get the fact that she was kidding at first. His brow furrowed slightly. "But there isn't anybody in there..." After a second he realized she was kidding, and he sputtered a laugh. "You weren't serious...I should have known..." He could swear that sarcasm was just an American form of humor, and he had yet to get used to it, which often made him look like a fool. It had attributed to his nickname just as much as the fact he was so smart: he would hear the other newsies say (with sarcasm!) "Brilliant, Professor, just brilliant..."
"I almost finished. I couldn't sell a few and I wanted to come out here. It looks like we're in the same boat."
Caspar shrugged, and grinned slightly. He was a newsboy who could rarely sell all of his papers. But any less, he wouldn't make enough money. He only had about four or so left over on average, and so buying any less would just be a pain. After all, it wasn't as if he had a half-penny lying around. "Should I finish selling before going back home tonight?" he asked. He admittedly wasn't an excellent newsie, but at least he wasn't afraid to admit it. The Professor was smart, but he was still learning how to be a newsie.
"How are you?"
"Fine," Caspar answered brightly. "Only I wish I could go into the library. I was reading a book about birds. Something about the air speed v-v-velocity of an un-unladen shallow. Swallow, I mean. It's a bird," he smiled apologetically, embarrassed by his stuttering. He reiterated the phrase more slowly, recalling the English words he had sounded out in the library. "The air speed velocity of an unladen swallow is twenty-four miles per hour." He beamed, proud of his new information as well as his new grasp of several English words.
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