Go West, Young Woman (Open)

[aliceroosevelt]

The square was silent at this time of night. In the dim light cast off from the gaslights that dotted the street, the statue in the middle of the square looked sinister and dominating. There were no children sleeping across the base or on the lap of the statue tonight; odds were the police had chased them off already, and they were wandering around or else crammed in an alley somewhere. It was after two in the morning, and the silence that spread around the square was enough to make you believe that at this hour, all of New York City was indoors and asleep, that after a certain time even the biggest and grandest city in the world drew the drapes and lay its head down.

Alice Roosevelt knew this wasn't the case. If you walked around the corner, you'd see a guttersnipe, a poor little kid shifting uneasily, trying to catch a wink of sleep before daybreak. Two streets down, five more of them leaned against each other in an attempt for companionship and human warmth in the cool summer night. Alice knew that the city was crawling with life, but too many people would easily overlook it. It amazed her, sometimes, how easily people could turn a blind eye. It also amazed her how often he caught herself doing the same thing.

The seventeen-year-old Governor's daughter pulled her shawl tighter around her as she walked toward the square, her steps slow and meandering. There was no need to rush this time; no siblings to keep up with, no shows to get to before they were late, no newspapermen to wave away with a polite smile. Her thoughts were her own, and she didn't need to worry about anyone telling her to go here, get out of there, stop that, start this. She was on her own, and she loved it that way.

Alice was dressed in a simple frock that she almost thought ugly. She could be mistaken for any barber's daughter, the sister of a factory worker, or the child of an officer. Her hair wasn't up in its usual elegant style; it hung long and free around her shoulders, draping over her wool shawl, free of even a hat. She knew that if she was caught there would be hell to pay. Sneaking out of her house to go for a walk around Manhattan in the dead of night wasn't exactly an excuse. No one would even believe she was walking. The press would accuse her of being up to no good, unless someone (to be accurate, her father) stepped in and told them not to. Edith and Father would accuse her of meeting with a boy, which certainly wasn't true. But if she was pushed one more time, if one more thing said by her stepmother made her angry, they would see how many boys she could "meet with".

Alice sighed as she reached the statue. She glanced quickly at the engraving: "Go West, Young Man." Well, that was all well and good for the young men, but what about the young women who wanted to go west, into territory that was untamed and uninhabited, with no rules and no restrictions? Oh, how silly of her. Of course, women couldn't do that. They were expected to stay at home, be pretty little figurines for their husbands, and nothing else. If you were an aristocratic woman, that was your life, period. There was no other use for you; everything was preordained and planned out. You had no say in anything. There was always a higher authority to answer to.

Alice groaned and beat her fist on the stone base of the statue. The feeling of being tied down overwhelmed her. She could no longer pretend to be free by being defiant. Defiance was no substitute for freedom. There was no point in wishing for something she could never have while sitting passively. There was a need for action. She needed to do something. What was her father always saying? Keep your eyes on the stars, but your feet on the ground. Her eyes were on the stars and beyond. She could do anything in her eyes. But her feet were shackled down by the rules of her society. Well...no longer. Now she would go west. Now she would jump, forget about leaving your feet on the ground. Forget the rules, forget parents and step-parents and etiquette and aristocracy.

Now, her rebellion began.

[Adam Trumper]

Calloused fingers strummed the guitar, Adam was concentrating on his music. He was playing near the Square in Manhattan. Being new to the city, he didn't know the territory as well. He glanced down at his fingers that were playing the chords and notes to near perfection. He concentrated on the emotion and the feeling of the song, hoping that could earn him some extra dollars.

It was night, Adam usually didn't play this late, but he had to do something to get his mind off of his past. He glanced to a corner, a shady looking person stood with another person. He knew that situation too well, being in it himself. He forgot about his music, letting his body take over. One more time...just one more time. He thought, wanting to feel the relaxation of the drug again. No, I can't... He bit his lower lip as he concentrated back on his music.

The notes flowed with the steady rhythm he set for himself, this was his art, his gift to the world you could say. It was nice to have a gift that could pay the rent as well. He earned more than he usually did today, its been a long time since he had money in his pocket. He began to strum another song, after the one he was playing ended.

He allowed his sight to wander onto his surroundings, a few people were around the streets, trying to get to their destination. But, someone was in the square near the statue. He continued to pick at the strings as his bright green eyes watched the person carefully. Maybe he could earn a few more cents before he ended for the night. He began to strum louder, hoping he could catch the attention of the person.

[aliceroosevelt]

Alice had been lost in her own thoughts when she suddenly heard something...music? She peered around the dark streets in an attempt to find its source. It was a lovely sound, she admitted...practiced, certainly, and flowed almost perfectly. She could see a figure sitting with a guitar across his lap, the small motions his silhouette made as he played. The music became louder, and Alice knew almost for certain this man was playing for money. No one else would be strumming a guitar after midnight in an empty square. Unfortunately, she had none on her, which was certainly an anomaly. Still, she felt lonely, almost drained, from her musing and lamenting. She decided to walk over and talk to the musician.

Her steps were small and measured, she smiled slightly as the music changed to a second song and became louder. She only wished there was a way she could express she had no money before she approached, as to not get the man's hopes up. But she reached him at last, and in the dim lamplight she could see rugged features, ragged clothes and a guitar...new or old, having never seen one up close, she couldn't tell. She stood in front of him, the music having a calming effect on her (strange, because any performance at Irving Hall seemed to do the opposite), and smiled warmly at him.

"You play wonderfully," she complimented. "I'm afraid I don't have any money. I wish I did..." She felt almost guilty that she couldn't hand this man some kind of alms for his playing. It would be the nice thing to do, wouldn't it? And Alice rarely thought about the nice thing to do. She pushed aside that train of thought and said, "I'm sorry, if you mind my talking to you like this..." She would have gone on to express that she was feeling very alone, but chose to stop. Sometimes, less was more.

[Adam Trumper]

Playing the guitar was a second nature to Adam, he loved it. He could probably do it in his sleep. In fact, he did play it in his sleep, his life revolved around his music. Better his music than drugs. He closed his eyes, allowing the music to take him to what seemed another world. Where everything was all right, he still had his glory and he never felt the bitter taste of heartbreak. Something he never wanted to go through again, he promised himself after Rose died he would never let himself love again. That's how it will be from now on. He's too scared to love, and he's scared that he may hurt someone else like he's been hurt.

"You play wonderfully, I'm afraid I don't have any money. I wish I did..."

He opened his eyes and blinked, the silhouette of a girl stood in front of him. Its been a long time since someone complimented his music, normally the people who payed would utter a "good job" and be on their way. He bowed his head and smiled slightly, as he looked back up at her. "Thank you." His raspy voice said.

"I'm sorry, if you mind my talking to you like this..."

He looked her over, most likely she was too young for him. Which was a good thing, he didn't have to be scared of her. He didn't have to be worried that he would fall in love again, and get his heart broken...again. "No, no..its fine." He said, "I don't mind." He wanted to be polite, a simple conversation wouldn't hurt...would it?

[aliceroosevelt]

"Thank you."

His smile was comforting, modest. Alice thought right away that she could find a good friend in him, or at least that he was a kind person. She smiled back and and asked, "How did you learn to play so well?" She'd never heard someone who could play an instrument with such ease. Even the performers she had seen in the performance halls and at formal affairs seemed hard at concentration, as if each note was a strain to produce. But when this young man played, his face was not contorted with strain. "You should audition at Irving Hall; they might be looking for a quality musician..."

"No, no..its fine. I don't mind."

Alice nodded, and cautiously sunk down to the ground in front of him. In the light, she could see that his features were older than hers, and rather rugged-looking. She looked at his guitar curiously, and said, "I don't think I've ever seen a guitar before. But then again I haven't seen a lot of things. I'll admit it too...but I must be talking too much. I'm sorry. My name is Alice." She gave a small smile and shifted a bit, slightly embarrassed. She had to learn to talk to people better. She was outspoken, but she had a problem with being outspoken and nice at the same time. But talking to people outside her social circle usually had a good effect on her personality. She was usually nicer to them than she would be to anyone who thought too highly of themselves.

[Adam Trumper]

"How did you learn to play so well?"

Adam smiled slightly, it felt good to be complimented. But he didn't want to lose his humble roots, and grow into a big ego. "I taught myself, but my parents paid for lessons sometimes. I quit them for," He paused slightly, trying to figure out how he could properly word the phrase. "Circumstances." He said.

"You should audition at Irving Hall; they might be looking for a quality musician..."

He felt his entire body freeze up. From what he understood, Irving Hall was a Vaudeville theatre. No, no, no..he couldn't perform there. Bad things usually happened at theatres, things that could mess up his whole transformation. No, he couldn't perform at Irving Hall. He took a deep breath, and sighed slightly. "No thanks, I'm fine as a street musician."

"I don't think I've ever seen a guitar before. But then again I haven't seen a lot of things. I'll admit it too...but I must be talking too much. I'm sorry. My name is Alice."

He smiled, something about her could just make him smile. Not like a lovey-dovey way, but..just how she talked and rambled on. He didn't mind it at all, he just hasn't been much of a talker since everything. "No, no. Its fine, I don't mind. I'm Adam."

[aliceroosevelt]

"I taught myself, but my parents paid for lessons sometimes. I quit them for...circumstances."

Normally Alice would have brazenly asked what kind of circumstances would cause such a talented musician to quit his lessons, but being an intelligent girl she could gather the reasons on her own. Not many things would take a young boy with such a talent from having parents who had money to pay for lessons, to New York City, playing for alms in the street. She only nodded in response to his vague answer, but was more interested in hearing that he had taught himself. "How do you do that, teach yourself music? You mean there was no one to help you along?" She was baffled at the idea that someone could just pick up an instrument and start playing, with no inkling as to whether they were doing it right or well.

"No thanks, I'm fine as a street musician."

Although she wondered why he would prefer playing on the street to playing in front of an audience for real wages, Alice didn't ask, for the look that had come over his face when she mentioned Irving Hall. She couldn't comprehend what he was thinking, of course, so she decided to make light of it...a politician's trick, really. She smiled and said, "I don't blame you. I hate Irving Hall as well. Vaudeville bores me to no end." She had no problem being honest with anyone. She wanted people to be honest with her, and so the least she could do was return the favor. If they couldn't handle her honest opinion, she didn't want theirs.

"No, no. Its fine, I don't mind. I'm Adam."

"It's good to meet you, Adam," Alice said cordially. A thought came to her suddenly, and she turned to him. "Have you lived in New York all your life?" He struck her, for some reason, as a newcomer or some sort of wandered. He seemed to nice, really, to have been in the city for too long.

[Adam Trumper]

"How do you do that, teach yourself music? You mean there was no one to help you along?"

Adam was almost relived that she didn't probe him for more questions. He didn't want anybody to know what happened to him before he came to New York, not yet. That was something he would keep to himself, like always. He hated having other people know his emotions unless he was playing guitar. That was the only time it was acceptable for him to let out his emotions. He smiled in response to her question, "It wasn't that hard. I found my grandfather's old guitar when we went to visit them. I picked it up and it was almost natural for me to play it. Its hard to explain, but it just felt right when I held it in my hands. My grandfather taught me two easy chords and then I continued to teach myself until my parents got me lessons."

"I don't blame you. I hate Irving Hall as well. Vaudeville bores me to no end."

Again, he was very glad she didn't ask him why he didn't want to perform. He was glad she didn't blame him, even though she didn't know the circumstances on why he didn't want to perform there. "Vaudeville doesn't bore me, I just don't like it. It would be best if I remained on the streets." He said with a simple shrug.

"It's good to meet you, Adam, Have you lived in New York all your life?"

He smiled a bit, "You too." This was the first conversation he had with a girl in a long time. A real conversation, not just to ask a question or say hello. She asked him if he lived in New York all of his life. He thought about his answer before he said it. He didn't want to give away too much about him. "No, I lived in Chicago until about six months ago." He replied.