8 Days, 8 Letters; Spot Conlon

When You Go Somewhere and it's the Wrong Place

Present Day: July 1899

Jaime's POV

"I've heard a lot about you, Jack. I've heard about how your a talented artist, nice job on the drawing in the paper. Really captured what was happening. But I've especially heard about how you escaped in the back of my carriage," Roosevelt smiled.

"Couldn't have done it without you's sir," Jack laughed.

"I've also heard plenty about you," Roosevelt said, turning to me.

"What have you heard?"

"That you united the 'Hatten newsies and that you wrote the article in the Refuge with only things you've heard. That does make a good reporter being able to put multiple stories and make them one."

"It was nothing. It was like reading a book. There's plenty of ideas, but they all make one story."

"It takes real brains to do that, I'll tell you. I cant wait to see what great things you'll do."

"Thank you sir."

The carriage came to a stop.

"I believe this is your first stop," he smiled.

"Thank you," we said, heading into the theater.

We stood in the back of the theater like we also did.

"Who is it? Out. Out."

"You wouldn't want us leavin' without a kiss goodbye, would ya Medda?" Jack smirked.

"Shouldn't you two be out leading the strike?" she asked.

"Actually. We just won," I responded.

"Det är underbart!" she smiled, hugging us. (That's wonderful!)

"Roosevelt's actually outside in his carriage," Jack said, pointing at the door. "We just came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? Are you both heading to Santa Fe already?"

"We knew this would happen one day Medda," I replied.

"I know, but you just won the strike. Why leave when everything's going so well?"

"Because they can handle themselves now. They don't need us anymore."

"Are you both so dense that they'll always need you."

We both didn't say anything.

"They'll be fine," Jack said.

"Are you's sure you're not just runnin' before things go south?"

"Yeah," we answered.

"Just remember what I told you, Jaime. Maybe share it with your brother, he should hear it too."

I nodded.

She gave us one last hug.

"Hejdå ni två," she whispered. (Goodbye you two)

"Adjö," we said.

We pulled away and walked out of the theater for the last time.

We climbed in the carriage and watched the theater fade as we headed to the train yards.

It's funny. A week ago I would've been so excited to go to Santa Fe with my brother. It meant a fresh start and no more stress. But now all I felt was sadness, knowing that I wouldn't deal with any more newsie shenanigans. I wouldn't talk to Kloppman after a long day. I wouldn't go to Medda's theater to escape or seek advice. And most of all, I wouldn't see Spot. A week ago I wouldn't have missed that, but now I felt myself longing for it, for all of it.

Is this the right choice?