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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 15, 2008 21:50:37 GMT -5
There was no cemetery in Manhattan, and if there was, Racetrack's grandmother hadn't known about it. She was buried in the Bronx, a while away from the Manhattan apartment she'd lived in with her grandson. It was a move that seemed almost intentional to Racetrack. He never dwelt on the past, about his parents, or his grandmother, and the fact that her grave was a long walk away from Manhattan only made things easier for the fifteen-year-old orphan.
Race didn't often consider himself an orphan. Most of the time he was a smart-mouthed Italian-American newsboy with a slight gambling problem, and proud of it. But as he stood on a cloudy day at the gates of the Woodlawn Cemetery, he considered that he was indeed an orphan. The thought didn't bother him so much...it was something you got used to, if you didn't have someone constantly reminding you of it.
With a small number of unsold newspapers under his arm, Race hesitated at the gates, and took off his cap, shoving it in his pocket before stepping inside. His eyes swept the ground in front of him with a look that seemed rather listless. Finally he found what he was looking for: a modest plot, a cross engraved with a name. Two stood beside each other, but the dates on the first one were before Racetrack was even born. He knelt in front of the second one, with 1893 as the date of death. The name was nothing more than a memory now, the name of someone once known...but, somehow loved?...and as he stared at it he had to wonder why he was here.
What in the world had possessed him to come here? He should be selling papers, trying to peddle off those last few he bought for a few more pennies to bet at the tracks today. Maybe he'd get lucky today and go home early, play cards with Kid Blink or Skittery and laugh with his friends...he shouldn't be here, visiting the grave of his grandmother for the first time in almost six years. He should be...
A drop of water fell into the dry dirt at his feet. Race looked up to see if it was raining, but it wasn't. With a start he realized he'd started crying. Dropping the papes, he brushed the back of his hand vigorously over his eyes. What the hell was he doing crying? He shouldn't be doing that, and he couldn't think of a good reason to be doing it. He bit his lip and clenched his jaw, intent on his eyes drying before someone saw him.
The sound of footsteps behind him made his spin around. He hoped he didn't look like he'd just been crying...
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 15, 2008 23:33:38 GMT -5
"Race....?"
Racetrack started when he saw it was Starsage. He scrambled to his feet. "Starsage!" he exclaimed, dusting off his trousers and keeping his head down until he could be sure he didn't look like he'd been crying. "For God's sake...ya wanna give me a heart attack...?" He straightened up and looked her in the eye, replacing his cap on his head. "Sorry, kiddo, but seriously...you sure can move quiet, and in a damn cemetery!"
Privately he hoped Starsage hadn't seen anything she wasn't supposed to see. But there was no guarentee there were no tell-tale signs that Racetrack had a rare, vulnerable moment. He put his guards back up immeidietly as he gathered his papers again. "How's the headline?" he asked, trying to be conversational.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 15, 2008 23:56:34 GMT -5
"Race, I saw everything. Ya wanna talk about it?"
He stiffened considerably, but stayed in denial. "Saw what? Whaddya talkin' about? My papes fell, is all, I was pickin' 'em up...takin' a walk...y'know, shortcut to the other street..." He shifted his papers under his arm again. "I dunno what you seen...you didn't see nothin'..." He shook his head vehemently, not quite meeting her eyes. Of all the people to see him, probably the one time in six years he'd let his guard down...why did girls always want to talk about it? Race thought bitterly.
"Don't change the subject Race."
He met her gaze again. "Touchy today. Why the bad mood?" He was technically changing the subject, but figured he could justify it as a question this time around. He doubted Starsage would forget about the ordeal, but maybe he could stall. He hated telling people anything personal...
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 16, 2008 10:09:20 GMT -5
"Race, come on. If ya don't wanna tell me, fine."
"Nothin' doin'! Ain't nothin' to tell...I..." he faltered, took a breath, and sighed. "Look. I'm not meanin' to be a pain. Ya know that, right? I don't wanna get mean about it. But...you didn't see anything..." He knew that Starsage had seen him crying, and it bothered him. Starsage was his friend, but no one could know that Race ever got upset about anything. All you had as a newsie was your papes, your dignity, and your image. If Starsage got word out, he would lose two out of the three.
"I just wanna tell ya somthin'. Ya got an ego the size of Brooklyn."
"I know damn well I do! My ego's all I got!" He said fiercely. "And I don't need no one tellin' me I got it cause I know I do, and I sure don't need nobody tryin' to get answers outta me when I don't feel like givin' em!" He stopped, his words having turned fiery. He only then realized how loud he'd been yelling...and that he'd been yelling in the first place. He sighed again, relaxed for a moment. He would have told Starsage to scram right there, but he felt as if he'd been mad enough at her already. It wasn't her fault. He knew he was just yelling at her to try and get her to either drop it, or not tell anyone about it. He was sorry for it a momnt later, but he stubbornly stood his ground.
"I had a terrible day."
He hesitated for a moment, feeling a guilt trip coming on. He didn't meet her eye or chance his cross expression as he said quietly, "I guess I ain't makin' it any better for ya..." It was almost an apology, but Race was often too up on a high horse to do much apologizing in his life. He only worried that Starsage would get mad at him...he didn't quite knew yet exactly how mad she could get, but he didn't want to find out.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 16, 2008 18:44:54 GMT -5
"Okay, okay. I didn't see anything."
He relaxed. "Alright..." he said, almost to himself. "Thanks. And if ya really, really wanna know..." He nodded towards the cross headstone. "That's my grandmother. Like I told ya, remember?" He was getting too soft. He seemed vulnerable in that moment, so he stiffened a little and added on stubbornly, "I don't come here often, ya know..."
More than anything right now he wanted to change the subject. He had the feeling that if he didn't get out of there soon, he would wind up telling Starsage all about his family, his parents and his brother...things that no one knew and things he didn't want people knowing. If people knew too much about you, they knew where to hit so it hurt the most. Telling people anything was just giving them tools to use against you whenever they felt like it.
"Ya never make my day better, Race."
The conversation seemed to be moving away from the present topic, and Racetrack was only too glad to follow it. He scoffed at her and remarked sarcastically, "Good ta know...thanks for tellin' me that..." But he gave her a smile and adjusted his cap on his head. "Let's get outta here. You know you're way around better'n I do..." Maybe if he left, they could talk about something else...and never mention what had happened again.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 17, 2008 12:24:00 GMT -5
"Where do ya wanna go?"
In a quick glance at the headstone, his eyes softened, then darkened quickly. "Anywhere," he said, his voice hard. He fiddled with the brim of his cap for a moment before leading the way out of the cemetery. He wished he had a mirror or something. He wanted to know if his eyes were red or looked wet. Asking Starsage how he looked wasn't an option, because doing that would be admitting he'd been crying. And that was out of the question.
He pulled a paper from under his arm and scanned it. "I got a few more to sell before I head back to Manhattan. Where's a good spot?" The Bronx was unfamiliar territory (Race didn't worry about the more territorial newsies, because usually if you were friends with a borough's leader they didn't bother you) and he needed to sell off a few of his papes to get some kind of good profit for what he spent for them. His day had started with Weasel suckering him out of two cents. Racetrack would return the favor tomorrow, but that left him two pennies poorer.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 18, 2008 21:17:36 GMT -5
"We can pretend that didn't happen."
Race nodded for a second, but then rolled his eyes at her. "Nothin' did happen. An' if you go around tellin' people somethin' did, I'll..." he trailed off. He couldn't soak her, as he had been planning to. That would raise hell all over, for one thing, and he liked her too much. "I'll...deny it to my dyin' day, ya got that?" He jabbed a finger at her. After a moment of silence he said, "Alright. I'm done bein' a pain. No kiddin'. I'll stop bein' so touchy." Again, the statement counted almost as an apology from Racetrack.
"You can just sell them on the way. Really anywhere on the streets works well here. A lot of people should be out and about."
Racetrack nodded, and fell into step ahead of her. He hawked the headlines loudly, and the people, who hadn't yet heard the headlines Race was yelling (can't imagine why), bought them without much question, but with some interest. Race was quick to leave the scene before the customer found out he'd been suckered. By the time they had walked a few blocks Race had one pape left, and he turned to Starsage. "Thanks for waitin' that out. I'll deal with this last one when I get back home."
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 22, 2008 12:40:31 GMT -5
"My stomach tellin' me it's time for lunch. Ya hungry?"
Race grinned at her. "You kiddin'?" He was almost always hungry. All day he hadn't had anything to eat, and just as he was coming up on the cemetery the pains in his stomach had been getting to him. His papes were mostly sold, so that left him with about fifty cents. He would put most of that aside for the Sheepshead Races later today, and he would just get the cheapest thing that would fill him up.
"So where's there to go in the Bronx?" he asked, his mood lifting considerably.
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