Close Your Eyes, Come With Me

XI

It was a new experience being on the other end of this. Being ignored, that was. Jack didn't really know what to make of it. He decided to just be grateful that he had the space to clear his head of all this queer business. He laughed to himself every time he thought of it. To think he truly let that get to him for an entire week. He was still playing catch up from the head injury; he didn't have time to slow himself down. But just to be safe, he didn't question Crutchie's distance nor did he dare speak to Miss Medda.

Unfortunately, not spending all of his waking (and sleeping) hours with Crutchie and not having the Bowery to go to left Jack with a substantial amount of free time he wasn't used to.  He was driving himself crazy just sitting in his bed sketching each evening, so he decided to go for a walk.

As he walked the streets somewhat aimlessly, he heard hushed laughter, coughing, and chatter coming from a thin alleyway. Jack narrowed his eyes.

"Hey what trouble are you fellas up to back in these shadows?" Jack demanded as he rounded the corner without warning. He knew his kids' voices from a mile away.

Specs sputtered and choked while Race scrambled to hide something behind his back. Two younger looking boys had already ran off, not wasting time to see who had busted them. Jack called after them, but they didn't slow down. He sighed and shook his head.

"Fork it up, Racer," Jack held out a hand.

Race grinned wickedly and ducked his head, making no move to hand over whatever this forbidden object was.

Specs was still choking. Jack gave him a good few pats on the back before the smell hit him.

"Are you givin' these kids liquor?!" Jack yelled.

"Hey, pipe down, will ya? Do ya think I paid for this?" Race slurred out, clearly already a few steps ahead of the others.

Jack ran a hand down his face. These kids would kill themselves without him. He bent down to Specs' level, calmly and sternly trying to coax him back to breathing. The kid's eyes were watering. He could only imagine the burn, gasping in shock with a mouthful of what he assumed was straight liquor.

"You go on back home, I gotta talk ta Race. Get some water in ya. If I catch you with this moron again, I'll box your ears, hear me? Get goin'," Jack told Specs. He pushed on the back of his head for good measure as he ran away.

When Jack turned around to speak, Race was drinking straight from the bottle.

"Gimme that!" Jack demanded.

Race dodged his reach. "Why? Want some?"

"No, you shouldn't-!" Jack stopped and sighed. Race kept faking him out. It was futile. "Ya know what? Yeah. I do."

Race giggled stupidly as he finally handed over the bottle. Jack took a swig and cringed. It was strong. Poor Specs had gotten a lungful of this?

"You're a monster, Racer," Jack said. He sat down with his back to the wall.

"Thanks," Race said, joining Jack on the ground. He reached for the bottle.

Jack gave it to him. "Ya can't give this stuff to them. They's small."

"Better they get sick with me around then go about tryin' ta act tough in front of people who know as much about nothin' as they do," Race said with a shrug as he took another drink.

Jack stared at him for a moment as he tried to piece that babble into something coherent, simultaneously being impressed by how much he was putting away.

"Hey, take it easy there. You ain't that big yaself," Jack took the bottle back from him.

"Giv't baaaaaaack," Race whined.

"Nah," Jack said. He took another swig, cringing again, before setting it to the side out of Race's reach.

Race sighed. "Too drink t'fightcha."

"If you's too drunk ta talk, you's too drunk ta drink," Jack told him.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

"Hey," Race sat up a little. "Ya drew me."

Jack stiffened. "...Eh?"

"Yeeeeaaaah! I 'most f'got to say somethin'. Crutch showed me," Race plopped back against the wall. "Kinda."

"Kinda?" Jack prompted, facing him.

"He w's tryin' ta get up da ladd'r, an' y'weren't around, so I wents ta halp 'im, an' dis paper fell out'is pocket. Took da other half 'cause I swore 't'was me and lo 'n b'hold," Race unceremoniously flopped around to  face Jack. "Am truly flattered."

"Tsh. Shaddup. You needs sleep. I draw lotsa folks," Jack said. He started to get up.

Race gripped his sleeve. "I know. Went up da ladder wi'Crush da help 'im. He t'ld me not to 'cause you'd be all mad if I saw yer ssstuff."

Jack roughly shoved Race's arm away. "Ya went in my penthouse and went through my things?!"

Race lost his balance but not his grin as he lay flat on the ground. "Nah, Crush did. I washed."

"Right. Then ya saw I do in fact draw lotsa folks so you ain't special--"

"No, no, no. Mine's was the best. Y'was takin' y'time," Race sing-songed and fanned himself. "Do ya think I'm preeeettyyy?"

"No. I just wanted ta challenge myself and see if I could capture a mug as ugly as yours," Jack said. He bent down to hoist Race up.

Race clung to him like a child. "Don't furgt m' drimk."

Jack sighed, picking up the bottle and handing it to Race. They slowly made their way back to the lodge. The whole walk there, Race was giggling and leaning on Jack and making comments that Jack had to cover his mouth for. He eventually took the bottle from Race after watching him make several unsuccessful attempts to drink more. Jack decided he would finish it off himself as payment for putting up with this.

"You can tell me if ya thinks I'm pretty."

"Shutcha mouth."

"I won't tell nobody. Our secret."

"Racer. Stop."

"Just admit it. I'm beautiful."

"Don't give folks another reason to call me a queer. Come on."

Race had gasped at that one. "Aaaare you?"

"Are you?" Jack shot back.

Race giggled again. "Depends on who's askin'."

It took all of Jack's willpower to not drop and leave Race right there. He stopped responding to the commentary.

Finally, they made it back. It would have been Race's walk of shame had he been sober enough to here the laughter, whistles, and comments. Jack physically put him to bed.

"I tink you's pretty too, Jackie," Race mumbled half-alseep already.

Jack again did not answer. He turned around and made instant eye contact with Crutchie. Crutchie looked shocked. He glanced between the bottle in Jack's hand and Race on the bed a few times. Crutchie's eyes moved back up to meet Jack's, and Jack saw jealously. Some spiteful, malicious flame of anger lit within him at this realization. He took a long drink from the bottle, and while maintaining the eye contact with Crutchie reached around to ruffle Race's hair. With that, he left the lodge.

It was freezing, but the alcohol and mess of anger and confusion kept Jack distracted from the fact. He chugged and chugged from the bottle until his stomach was churning. He stomped down familiar streets through the biting wind, eyes and throat stinging. He kept plowing through feeling anything until he made it to the Bowery. It was long closed and locked, but Jack didn't know where else to go. He sat up against the back door and decided he'd wait here till the morning. Once he'd finished off the bottle, he laid down on the ground and slipped his eyes shut, drunken mind spinning.