You know what? I am soooo sorry! I forgot I was even posting this story, I
thought I had finished. I am sorry again, so here it is. Now this is the
last part. I am sort of working on another story, combined with my biggest
longest story, a HP story called My name is Sirius Black, which I want to
finish soon. When I get that done, I'll take a look at the one I was
working on, something about Jack and Race and the Titanic, I dunno.
Well, I'll cya. Sorry again!
Race opened his eyes to a bright light. He groaned and reached up to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Race?" he frowned. That sounded like Jack's voice. But it couldn't be. He blinked, eyes adjusting and swallowed hard at what he saw. He was back in his old bunk, several blankets wrapped around him. He sighed and glanced around. He frowned when he saw Jack's worried face, peering down at him. What was he doing here? The last thing he remembered was that numbing icy cold. How did he get back in his old home. "Jack?" he asked, and was surprised to find his voice scratchy and hoarse. Jack shook his head and held up a mug for him to drink out of. "Sh, don'tcha tawk. Ya need yer rest. Kloppman's ordahs." Race nodded. "Where am I?" he asked, glancing around, still not sure. "Youse home, Race. Home." Jack said, smiling. Race relaxed into the blankets, Home. He was home.
Three days passed before Race was allowed out of bed, and even then, the short trip to the washroom, or downstairs tired him out quickly. He longed for his old resilience back, but Jack refused to let him go outside in the cold winter air. "Ya'll jist get sick again, and I ain't dealin' wid dat again." Were his orders and Race followed them. Three more weeks and a break of warmer weather allowed Race to journey outside for the first time, to take a short walk, Jack, Blink, and Mush at his side. They walked around the block, ready to stop when Race felt weak or to go on when he felt strong. Once, they stood on the street corner for almost an hour before Race wanted to go in. And now, six weeks later, he was finally allowed the sell again. Jack was with him, of course, but he was a block away and Race had found himself on his old corner for the first time in months. He took a deep breath and began to shout. "Extry! Extry! Firah in tenant housing! Hundreds presumed dead!" True, the fire had been in an old tenement and several roaches had been killed, no humans though. It didn't' matter, he was back where he belonged. Race grinned as the old man bought the story and the paper, handing him a nickel and telling him to "keep the change." "Tanks mista." Race replied, tipping his hat. He began yelling again, letting his voice rebound off the stone walls, fighting with Jack's down the street.
As the sun made it's journey across the sky, Race's papers vanished and his money accumulated. He grinned, lighting a cigarette and praying Jack wouldn't see. He had refused to let Race have his cigars as the doctor told him they bothered his lungs. But right now, he didn't care. He had made his peace with Jack a few weeks before, and with Spot only last week. Jack had called him a fool and an idiot for not recognizing his real family when he'd had them almost all his life. Then he'd given Race a hug and handed him his mother's pocket watch. Race had slipped it into his pocket, relaxing at its comforting weight, as if it knew it belonged there. And Race know knew where he belonged. In the days he'd been confined to bed, every day, Blink, Mush, Jack, David, and all the others had crowded around him, telling him stories, playing cards with him, or just sitting with him, talking to him about anything and everything. Though he'd hardly had enough energy to speak half the time, he'd never felt better. And now he was back in his element, crying out the headlines as loud as he could, making a penny a pape. Someone bumped into him and Race turned to glare at them. To his surprise and possibly, horror, it was his cousin Margherita. She stared at him in shock. "Buy a pape, Miss?" Race asked, grinning at her. She only shook her head and turned away, running back towards her home. Race decided it was time to quit and he quickly sold his last ten papers by conjuring up the strangest headline he could think of, man-eating trout attack president on upstate trip, and dashing away.
But by the afternoon, he was back. No Sheepshead today, he needed to save up, make up for those months and weeks of not selling. This time there had been an actual accident, so he was saved from the trouble of making up a headline. "Extry, extry!" he shouted, letting his voice carry over the crowd. Suddenly, a hand was placed on his shoulder and he spun around. It was his grandmother, who smiled down at him. When a small blur of a girl wrapped her arms around his legs, Race laughed because he knew it was Rosie. "Hello, Anthony." Race smiled. "Aftanoon." He said, tipping his hat to her. Out of the corner of his eye, Race saw Jack head towards them. "Wouldcha like a pape, Miss?" Race asked. His grandmother smiled. "Yes, how much are they, young man?" he shrugged. "Usually a penny, but if ya could spare some change, Miss? I gots a little sista at home and she needs me." He placed his sad puppy dog eyes on her and she laughed. So did Rosie, she had seen him pull that one far too many times. "Well, here is a dime." She said, placing said coin in his hands. Race grinned. "Tell me, young man, are you happy?" she asked. Race nodded. "Morah den I'se evah been." Rosie smiled at him. "I want to be as happy as you. Ya tink I could be, if I went back to what we were before?" Race frowned. Forgetting the charade of not knowing each other, he bent down in front of his little sister. "Ya aint' happy?" she shook her head. "Nah, too many rules. Dey don't love me like youse did. Uncle Alfonso would nevah go widout food foah a night jist so'se I could." Race blushed slightly. And he nodded. "Ya wanna go back ta da girls home?" she shook her head. "I wanna live wid you." Race sighed and thought. Kloppman usually said no girls, but he loved this little one, he did. And he might make an exception for her. He nodded and she threw her arms around him. When Race let her go, he was surprised to see that they were alone. The old woman had walked away, leaving them to each other.
But she hadn't really walked away. She was watching. Watching as Race hugged the little girl, watching as the tall blond boy with the cowboy hat came up to them and pulled Rosie into a tight hug. She watched as the boy put his arm around Race and the three headed off. And she knew that he was truly happy. "Oh Maria," she sighed. "You would be so proud of him, he is strong, he is loving, his friends are the best in the world. He takes such good care of little Rosie. You would be proud of him, Maria, for he is happy." And the wind blew, snatching the cap off Race's head and sending him, Jack and Rosie chasing it, laughing. And that night, as he lay in his bunk, his tiny sister beside him, Race heard the whisper of the wind, singing a lullaby of so long ago. "Buona notte, Mama." He whispered before closing his eyes, and sleeping at last.
Race opened his eyes to a bright light. He groaned and reached up to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Race?" he frowned. That sounded like Jack's voice. But it couldn't be. He blinked, eyes adjusting and swallowed hard at what he saw. He was back in his old bunk, several blankets wrapped around him. He sighed and glanced around. He frowned when he saw Jack's worried face, peering down at him. What was he doing here? The last thing he remembered was that numbing icy cold. How did he get back in his old home. "Jack?" he asked, and was surprised to find his voice scratchy and hoarse. Jack shook his head and held up a mug for him to drink out of. "Sh, don'tcha tawk. Ya need yer rest. Kloppman's ordahs." Race nodded. "Where am I?" he asked, glancing around, still not sure. "Youse home, Race. Home." Jack said, smiling. Race relaxed into the blankets, Home. He was home.
Three days passed before Race was allowed out of bed, and even then, the short trip to the washroom, or downstairs tired him out quickly. He longed for his old resilience back, but Jack refused to let him go outside in the cold winter air. "Ya'll jist get sick again, and I ain't dealin' wid dat again." Were his orders and Race followed them. Three more weeks and a break of warmer weather allowed Race to journey outside for the first time, to take a short walk, Jack, Blink, and Mush at his side. They walked around the block, ready to stop when Race felt weak or to go on when he felt strong. Once, they stood on the street corner for almost an hour before Race wanted to go in. And now, six weeks later, he was finally allowed the sell again. Jack was with him, of course, but he was a block away and Race had found himself on his old corner for the first time in months. He took a deep breath and began to shout. "Extry! Extry! Firah in tenant housing! Hundreds presumed dead!" True, the fire had been in an old tenement and several roaches had been killed, no humans though. It didn't' matter, he was back where he belonged. Race grinned as the old man bought the story and the paper, handing him a nickel and telling him to "keep the change." "Tanks mista." Race replied, tipping his hat. He began yelling again, letting his voice rebound off the stone walls, fighting with Jack's down the street.
As the sun made it's journey across the sky, Race's papers vanished and his money accumulated. He grinned, lighting a cigarette and praying Jack wouldn't see. He had refused to let Race have his cigars as the doctor told him they bothered his lungs. But right now, he didn't care. He had made his peace with Jack a few weeks before, and with Spot only last week. Jack had called him a fool and an idiot for not recognizing his real family when he'd had them almost all his life. Then he'd given Race a hug and handed him his mother's pocket watch. Race had slipped it into his pocket, relaxing at its comforting weight, as if it knew it belonged there. And Race know knew where he belonged. In the days he'd been confined to bed, every day, Blink, Mush, Jack, David, and all the others had crowded around him, telling him stories, playing cards with him, or just sitting with him, talking to him about anything and everything. Though he'd hardly had enough energy to speak half the time, he'd never felt better. And now he was back in his element, crying out the headlines as loud as he could, making a penny a pape. Someone bumped into him and Race turned to glare at them. To his surprise and possibly, horror, it was his cousin Margherita. She stared at him in shock. "Buy a pape, Miss?" Race asked, grinning at her. She only shook her head and turned away, running back towards her home. Race decided it was time to quit and he quickly sold his last ten papers by conjuring up the strangest headline he could think of, man-eating trout attack president on upstate trip, and dashing away.
But by the afternoon, he was back. No Sheepshead today, he needed to save up, make up for those months and weeks of not selling. This time there had been an actual accident, so he was saved from the trouble of making up a headline. "Extry, extry!" he shouted, letting his voice carry over the crowd. Suddenly, a hand was placed on his shoulder and he spun around. It was his grandmother, who smiled down at him. When a small blur of a girl wrapped her arms around his legs, Race laughed because he knew it was Rosie. "Hello, Anthony." Race smiled. "Aftanoon." He said, tipping his hat to her. Out of the corner of his eye, Race saw Jack head towards them. "Wouldcha like a pape, Miss?" Race asked. His grandmother smiled. "Yes, how much are they, young man?" he shrugged. "Usually a penny, but if ya could spare some change, Miss? I gots a little sista at home and she needs me." He placed his sad puppy dog eyes on her and she laughed. So did Rosie, she had seen him pull that one far too many times. "Well, here is a dime." She said, placing said coin in his hands. Race grinned. "Tell me, young man, are you happy?" she asked. Race nodded. "Morah den I'se evah been." Rosie smiled at him. "I want to be as happy as you. Ya tink I could be, if I went back to what we were before?" Race frowned. Forgetting the charade of not knowing each other, he bent down in front of his little sister. "Ya aint' happy?" she shook her head. "Nah, too many rules. Dey don't love me like youse did. Uncle Alfonso would nevah go widout food foah a night jist so'se I could." Race blushed slightly. And he nodded. "Ya wanna go back ta da girls home?" she shook her head. "I wanna live wid you." Race sighed and thought. Kloppman usually said no girls, but he loved this little one, he did. And he might make an exception for her. He nodded and she threw her arms around him. When Race let her go, he was surprised to see that they were alone. The old woman had walked away, leaving them to each other.
But she hadn't really walked away. She was watching. Watching as Race hugged the little girl, watching as the tall blond boy with the cowboy hat came up to them and pulled Rosie into a tight hug. She watched as the boy put his arm around Race and the three headed off. And she knew that he was truly happy. "Oh Maria," she sighed. "You would be so proud of him, he is strong, he is loving, his friends are the best in the world. He takes such good care of little Rosie. You would be proud of him, Maria, for he is happy." And the wind blew, snatching the cap off Race's head and sending him, Jack and Rosie chasing it, laughing. And that night, as he lay in his bunk, his tiny sister beside him, Race heard the whisper of the wind, singing a lullaby of so long ago. "Buona notte, Mama." He whispered before closing his eyes, and sleeping at last.