I don't know what to say here. Oh yeah, except one thing. I know I said that none of the characters are mine, but I'm about to introduce a character that is Pure and is 100% MINE. They have a long but pretty name. You'll know when you see it on the screen. I don't think there's much else to say here, except that this picks up pretty much where the other chapter left off, and Spot has an inner monologue. Enjoy! :)
Spot walks back to the docks, lost in thought. He can't stop thinking about Race. Had that kind of stuff really happened? And is still happening around them? How had he never thought of it before? Talking to Race really got him thinking.
Why Race? Why is Race the one who got Spot to open up about his past?
It's just Race, a voice in his brain answers. It's always Race.
At the docks, Spot sees a couple of his newsies soaking up a small boy. Normally he wouldn't give it a second thought about it; he soaks scabs himself all the time. But after thinking about what the Walking Mouth said back at Irving Hall about stop soaking scabs, and what Race was just talking to him about, he decides to check out and see what's actually happening.
"Hey!" Spot calls out.
Everyone freezes and turns to look at Spot.
"H-hi Spot!"
"What he'd do to ya?" Spot asks him, all traces of softness toward Race harden once again.
"I caught him sellin' papes here. He spoke Italian." the newsie sneers at the kid.
Spot flinches.
"Ya think he's part of the Mafia, Spot?" his buddy adds. "May be a little young, but ya neva know."
"Either way," the first one continues, "I'se told him I was gonna teach him a lesson."
"Is that the only reason ya have for soakin' him?" Spot asks. "'Cause he's a pint size kid speakin' Italian?"
The soaker seems taken aback at Spot's words. "Well, yeah. He don't know this ain't his turf, so I'se gonna teach him what happens when he messes with us."
"Let me see him," Spot orders.
The newsies smirk and shove the small boy, who cannot possibly be older than ten, towards Spot, thinking that he was going to finish the job.
Spot looks at the small boy, cowering beneath him, with curly dark messy hair and brown eyes wide with fear. He's trembling. Spot can't take it. This is just like what he just saw. An older American towering over a young Italian boy, innocent of whatever crimes he supposedly committed. This little boy looks just like Race did. Spot doesn't want to see anyone else like that. He couldn't do anything about Race then, but he can do something about this kid now.
"What's your name, kid?" Spot asks, gentler than anyone was expecting.
The small boy looks up at him and swallows. "Bar-Bartolomeo, sir," he says in a small voice, shaking slightly.
Seeing him shake only reminds Spot even more of Race. It makes his heart break once again.
Spot smiles down at the boy. "You don't have to call me sir. Just call me Spot."
"O-okay," Bartolomeo stutters.
"How old are you, Bartolomeo?"
"Nine."
"Is it true that you was sellin' papes here?"
Bartolomeo looks down. "S--no, I mean, yes."
"Why haven't ya soaked him yet, Spot?" one of the newsies asks suddenly.
Spot just glares at him.
"P-please," Bartolomeo pleads up at Spot. Spot looks back at him. "I didn't know."
"Why were you sellin' papes here, kid?"
"My-my family needs money, sir-er, Spot. We just moved here recently. We came all the way from Sicily. Me and my brothers and sisters are helping out our family by selling papers. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to come here!"
To everyone's greatest surprise, Spot bends down a little and says something that should be considered way out of character. "It's okay, kid. You go on home after ya sell your papes, and if you want..." Before he finishes that thought, he stands back up and glares at the newsies--his newsies. What a shame. "Get lost!" he snaps at them. "And never soak Italian kid just for being Italian, or any other kind for that matter." They know what's good for them, so they scram. Satisfied, Spot bends back down to Bartolomeo and tells him, "as I was sayin', if you want, come back here tomorrow, and I can show ya the ropes."
The smile that creeps on to Bartolomeo's face is a true, happy smile. It makes Spot feel happy, like he truly did something good.
"Gee! Grazie-er, thank you, Spot!" Bartolomeo exclaims, and with that he runs off with his last couple of papers, really excited.
Spot smiles with satisfaction.
Now that he's alone, he looks across Brooklyn Bridge towards Manhattan. Race really got him thinking today. Why did it take Race to make him see it though? Why was Race the first one who heard his real name? Of all the Manhattan newsies, of all the newsies in all of New York, it was Race. It was always Race. It always will be Race, too.
Maybe Race is okay with queer...? Spot thinks to himself hopefully, then shakes that thought away. That secret is staying inside him forever. Whatever it takes.
It's not that I don't trust him, Spot reasons with himself. It's just that I can barely say it out loud to myself. Spot was going to tell Race that his family found out about his queer situation. Oh, the irony of what queer can mean in that context. Still, both meaning around the same thing. Okay, well, I know queer means weird, but not necessarily gay. But queer is also used as a different way to call people who don't love the opposite gender and opposite gender only weird, different, strange. Actually wait, is that irony? I really don't know. His family didn't actually ask him outright at first if he was queer. They just assumed by the way that he acted that he wasn't normal. He wasn't manly enough for them. Not that Spot would try to be. And when he came to terms with himself, and they found out...he fell out again. I can never tell Race about any of that. He could think I'm disgusting. He might never talk to me again.
Like you haven't been avoiding him for the past few days, another voice in his mind points out.
Spot winces at that internal reminder.
It's just that...
Then he reprimands himself. How hopeless can a guy get if he can't even admit something inside his head? Literally no one (except the rare mind reader) would hear.
It's just that I don't know how I feel about Race. When I'm around him, I get this feeling. Remember when he called himself the King of New York? Sure, most might not find him much to look at, but...I honestly don't know anyone who would think that. Especially after they get to know him.
So you've been avoiding him, because...?
I can't handle how I feel about him. In the carriage ride, we talked about many things. I thought we were pretty close--figuratively; we were definitely close literally. I wonder if that carriage was made small on purpose. But...I knew I felt something. Definitely. But after that...I needed to sort out my feelings by myself. At least, I thought I needed to sort them out by myself. I missed seeing Race. So, by trial and error rules, that failed, and now I still don't know what to do.
So what's the bottom line?
Well, I think it's probably...Race may be okay with me being queer. But, even if he is...that doesn't mean he's queer himself.
There it is.
And I can't take that.
So maybe talking to himself inside his head has some good things to it. He feels more confident now that he's settled that.
But now he goes back to thinking about Race, and what happened with Race today.
He still can't shake the image in his mind of the man yelling at Race, who did nothing wrong, and Race cowering under the man's cold glare. It wasn't right. Then when Race was on the ground...he looked more broken and vulnerable than anyone else in the world. And when Spot bent down, offering his hand for him...
Spot feels guilty, in a sense. If he'd stepped in sooner, maybe none of it would have happened. But he can't change any of that now.
"I don't know every wrong there is out there," Spot tells himself, "but I'll learn. And I'll learn about how other kids of people are. And," he decides, thinking of Race teaching him a few things, "once I've learned, I'll teach others."
And maybe I take the leap of faith to tell Racetrack about the one thing that I hoped would never be revealed to the world.
For these past couple chapters, I waited until the very end to begin the Author's Note Of The End. So...yay! That's something.
Inner monologue wasn't coined until the 1930's, so Spot couldn't use that term.
Queer was around for awhile, but according to some research thingy somewhere, it was used in a more gay place starting 1894. Spot had a few years to get acquainted with it. I'm going off of how Gabriel Damon was 15 during 1992, so if Spot is 15 in 1899, in between 1894 and 1899 he probably found the word and identified as it.
Do I try to research too many things to make it historically accurate? Maybe. But, even if it's just the most trivial thing, I learn something new. So now I have a lot of dates floating around in my head for when things became a thing or something happened, so I think now all I need to do is go on Jeopardy or some other show.
Is it just me, but I was rewatching 92sies, and I'm pretty sure Gabriel Damon had at least a tiny crush on Max Casella, because all the subtle things are so obvious to a Sprace shipper. It started pretty much with Gabriel Damon nodding when Racetrack asked if he was pretty. Then in the court scene especially, Spot barely takes his eyes off Race. And when Jack becomes a scab Race is the first one Spot turns to. And when Teddy Roosevelt comes in, Spot and Race just keep talking, and Spot keeps trying to talk to Race. Maybe Gabriel Damon had some sort of awe for 24 year old Max Casella, but no matter what I'm really happy with the gay we got out of that movie.
If you guys think that following Spot's inner monologue is challenging, that's a very very very very very very very dialed down version of what mine normally is. So Spot had a somewhat back and forth inner monologue. If I'm trying to reason something out in my head, I have like two or three or more voices arguing. I might be more than a tad bit strange. And more than a tad bit insane. Why do my parents think I'm neurotypical????
Bartolomeo is mine. MINE I tell you. *wraps arms around Bartolomeo* *makes hissy cat noises* He's mine. Still I hope you enjoyed reading about the kid! Guess what he comes back later! And you know how great with Les Race is? Well. Wait until he meets Bartolomeo.
Well, this is getting kinda long, isn't it? I really needed something from Spot's perspective, just taking in a view that wasn't his, and contemplating it. In this case, Race's world.
Also yes. I am very aware that they have feelings for each other but think the other is straight. Is this supposed to be news?? Would it be accurate in any way if they weren't 100% oblivious to the other one's pining?
Please, no homophobia, profanities, hate etc in the comment section.
Best,
~Your Beloved Author (who is learning all they can about the real Racetrack Higgins who was a REALLY COOL person who had a huge part in the 1899 strike)