Straying - S.C

Part 7- Stranger

SHIFTY'S POV

Just now for some reason, the meaning of the strike started to hit me.

Sitting propped up on the railing I ran my fingers over the smooth gray rock in my palm. Not remembering where I had heard it but the quote lingered in my mind, how a rock captures the quality of hardness in the face of resilience. Never could I process what it truly meant then.

Yet I still didn't quite get it but it reminded me somewhat of Jack. How he could lead a strike against all odds, against Pulitzer and the bulls, even a stranger on the street. But he did it for us because life always seemed to come back to being a newsie. Mostly just for the rights of the newsboys and how we deserved more than some shitty treatment.

Taking another glance at the oval, it didn't shine or anything, clasping my hand around it I brought my arm back and let it soar toward the water. When it hit, the rock skipped once, twice, then a third and sunk. Only small ripples shone from its connection with the calm water. It had looked like glass before without a thing to disturb it.

The calm breeze that swept past couldn't touch it or cause white caps to form. It kept flowing as the rock sank and the ripples disappeared. Bringing my arm up my elbow rested against my thigh, while my head rested in my palm. Scanning around the area my eyes caught no sign of a similar stone. They might've shared dull shades of grays or browns but none matched the familiar shape.

A small sigh passed my lips, not an annoyed but almost peaceful. And that's exactly what it was in Brooklyn, peaceful. Sure the streets might be bustling with horse drawn carriages and headline calling newsies, but after rush time they remained silent. Like how the water rippled then went calm.

That's what I enjoyed about Brooklyn, how tranquil it was after selling. Where otherwise in the Bronx the occasional brawl broke out between tightly built buildings. Not that it couldn't anywhere else but the docks were different at times.

This was one of those times, and as the sun disappeared an array of multiple oranges appeared. With a soft color of pink streaked here and there. I let a small smile pass as it reflected onto the gloss below me. The once bright orb set lower supplying more hues to the sky and its mirroring to the water.

Ever since the strike, time to sit and let your mind be still wasn't common. It all seemed to be blurred, between Crutchy being taken and our picture in the papers. Never was that on the agenda of being a newsie. But neither was the up rise of a strike, our food getting cut because a lazy penny pinch, and Spot Conlon.

I am still sitting on practically his dock and waiting for him to appear. Something he seems quite good at. Maybe taking up a detective or something after being a newsie would be his next thing. Probably wouldn't have the whole King of Brooklyn title though.

My gaze still locked on the sky darted back to a rock breaking the once again stillness. This time it didn't escape my grasp or skip. Twisting around from my seated position now there stood no other than who interrupted my thoughts.

"And whata happen if that woulda hit me?"

He shrugged while motioning to the open place next to me. Looking forward again he made himself comfortable beside myself. Although it was still calm his presence didn't change it or make it anymore awkward.

"So what'd ya wanna know, my life isn't dat interesting Conlon," I questioned.

"But I'se don't know that cause you don't tell," He responded leaning back on his forearms, revealing a trail of veins on exposed skin.