Coma ~ A Sprace Story

King of New York

This is my favorite part, the one I keep talking about haha. Enjoy! :)

"I need you to wake up, Race," Spot pleads. "Please."

Race is still silent.

Today is the seventh day. There's little hope. The doctors say that he should have woken up by now. There still is hope, just not much of it.

All of Race's friends came by, thinking that this could be the last time they will ever see him.

Jack just left the room. Only Spot is left.

"I need you, Race. Please."

He has no reply.

(Homophobia coming from the Delancey brothers in this next paragraph just saying)

"You know how you got here, Race?" Spot asks. "It was a combination of rotten scabbers and your good heart. Here's what happened, from what I heard. The one moment of the day I'm not with you, ya get hurt. So Jack an' Davey and his brother Les were walkin' together and the two scab brothers, the Delancey's, I think, were threatening Jack an' Davey, sayin' they didn't belong in this world if they were together as a couple. There was gonna be a fight. Davey, ever the anti-war person, managed to get Jack to see that fighting wasn't the best option. All Jackie Boy did was punch one of 'em in the face, temporarily knockin' 'im out, and he an' Davey took off. You witnessed some of it. You saw Les wanting to stay for a fight, defendin' his older brother and Jack. Kinda cute, but very childish and foolish. The other Delancey who was still goin' was about to throw a rock at Les, but you shoved Les out of the way and got the rock to your head."

Spot goes silent and clenches his fists.

"That's why you're here, Race. That's why you've been in a coma for around a week, and, and..." Spot's voice cracks, "and because of that, if you don't wake up within the next three days, the doctors will declare that...that...that you're dead."

Spot can't hold it back anymore. Tears start coming out of his eyes. "You're too young, Race! I wanted them to give you more time, but they said there's not much that they can do for you." Spot starts crying even more. "You gotta wake up, Race! We were gonna get our own place when we stop bein' newsies, remember? We can move out into the countryside, away from the city, but if we don't have enough money or we really don't want to leave, we'll build a little house, where we can see both Brooklyn and Manhattan." Spot tries to find more words. "I'll miss you too much, Race! I can't live without you. Not yet. Not now. Not ever."

Spot stops there. There isn't too much left to say, except one thing, one thing that only is for Race's ears. "I love you."

Silence. To be expected, of course.

"I love you, Race. I was too scared to say it when you were awake, but now I may never have the chance to say it to you."

He sighs. "If only there's something I could do. I tried talkin' to ya, sayin' memories, hoping you'd take to something. I can't accept that your spirit has left you yet, Race."

He lets the silence settle. He hoped that by now they'd be talking happily, laughing at how worried Spot was.

"Where will we be without the King of New York himself, Race?" Spot asks randomly. Then he stops.

Wait.

King of New York.

Where was that from?

Spot looks back at Race, his heart beating faster. He's nearly out of options, and he can't get his hopes too high, but there's something about this that seems like a chance, even if it's a small one, but when did Race ever bet on good odds?

"Remember the diner during the strike and we saw the pape with our picture in it?" Spot asks slowly. "You said if you got your picture in the papes, you're famous, and when you're famous, you get anything you want, that's what's so great about New York."

Spot is pretty sure he sees an eye twitch, but he can't be sure, but regardless he gets more confidence.

"Yeah, that's what you said," Spot says. "And then we all started saying the things we wanted if we were famous. Mush said he would get a pair of new shoes with matching laces, you wanted a permanent box at Sheepshead Races, I said I would get a porcelain tub with boilin' water, and Kid Blink talked about a Saturday night with the mayor's daughter. And with that you got up on the table with the pape in your hand, and shouted so that all could hear ya, and you said..." Spot trails off. He looks down.

"Look at me, I'm the King of New York..."

Spot looks up.

Race.

His eyes are open, he reaches weakly for Spot's hand, his mouth open from the last thing he said.

Spot starts breathing fast, and smiles, and his heart beats faster and faster. He can't believe it. It's actually happening!

It goes quiet, so Spot nudges him figuratively with a "Suddenly..."

"I'm respectable," Race picks up, "starin' right at ya, lousy with stature."

Jack said something next! Spot realized frantically. Quick, I can't lose him! He has it. "Nobbin' with all the muckety muck, I'm flowin' my dough and goin' deluxe."

"There I be, ain't I pretty?" Race asks.

Spot breaks down and nods. Yes. You are pretty. He can't dwell on that thought, for he has a somewhat duet to finish.

"It's my city," they sing together, "I'm the King of New York."

THE END

Yay! I did it! It's 23:40 February 20, 2021. There shall be editing (probably) ... later. Anyway, the next page is just an epilogue and long author's note, if you guys want more.

Please. No slurs, profanities, or hate in the comment section.

Best,

~Your Author (who has listened to King of New York from 1992 Newsies on repeat since starting writing this chapter)