Close Your Eyes, Come With Me

I

It had reached the late point in the year when the air started to bite just a bit. Jack wandered the streets just to stretch his legs, hoping to scope out some thing or some place he might use keep warm for a while longer until he absolutely had to stay inside.

As he passed an alleyway, there was a sudden movement on the ground. He whirled to face the source, startled. There was a badly beaten blond boy about his age on the ground in the dirt. He was clearly trying to hide himself, but they'd already made eye contact. Their gazes stayed locked for a few moments. Jack took a few steps forward, opening his mouth to introduce himself and offer help. But the boy on the ground spoke before Jack could.

"I ain't got nothin' left ta steal, so if you's just here ta beat me up, do ya worst!" He said defiantly.

Well, that explained the kid's injuries. "If ya got nothin' ta steal, what's the fun in beatin' ya up?" Jack replied light-heartedly. He offered a hand. "How's about I help ya up instead?"

The boy stared at Jack's hand, seeming embarrassed. "C'mon. It ain't gonna bite'cha."

"I... Can't walk too good is all," the boy mumbled, turning over clumsily and propping himself up.

"They mess you that bad?"

The boy fidgeted. "Uh, no. I been like this."

"Can't walk, huh?" If Jack were in that position, he wouldn't want no pity or to be carried like some baby. His mind raced as he tried to figure an idea to help him without hurting his pride. "Stay right there."

"Oh, I ain't goin' nowhere," the boy said sarcastically. Jack cringed at his own thoughtless statement.

Time was against him as he searched and searched every trash bin and pile. There had to be something for a crip to prop himself up on till he could get something more proper. Jack cursed to himself. Another night 'till it was gonna be too damn cold to close his eyes without fear they'd freeze that way. But this kid had it worse. Only thing that could be worse than being cold would be being cold and crippled. So he powered through his frustration for the sake of sympathy. What a good little heart he had in his chest. He rolled his eyes at himself. Look how far that had gotten him.

Irritated, Jack shoved over a whole barrel of garbage. Paper and scraps of food spilled out onto the street. A rat poked its head out of the barrel then ran away quickly. His eyes followed the rat as it scampered down the street and into a new barrel. Sticking out of that barrel was a very bent cane. Ha!

"Thanks, little guy," Jack said to the now out-of-sight rat, tugging the cane out of the garbage. Not much, but it would do for now.

It had gotten darker. Jack jogged back the couple blocks to the alley he'd found the kid in. Anyone passing by who wasn't looking for him wouldn't notice. His back was visible, but with a shirt that torn and dirty he blended in with the trash.

"Hey, gotcha somethin'," Jack said as he came to a stop in the alleyway.

The boy startled and sat up, wincing. "Oh. I was noddin' off there."

Jack stood the cane up and held it steady, offering it to the boy. He seemed to have a strong spirit, and Jack doubted he'd take kindly to being dragged up or coddled. He wanted to give him a chance to use his strength. While Jack held the cane firmly planted in place, the boy pulled himself up on it slowly. He tucked it close to his side and leaned on it heavy. What the kid really needed was a crutch.

"Best I got for now. We'll find ya somethin' better soon," Jack said.

""We,' huh? You plan on stickin' around?" It sounded like it was supposed to be a joke, but the boy was clearly guarded.

"Name's Jack, Jack Kelly. You?"

The boy fidgeted and hesitated again. "Eh, family name's Morris. But I ain't got a proper name that I remember."

"No folks to remind ya?"

The boy shook his head wordlessly.

"So whatcha tryin' ta tell me here is that you's sleepin' on the street with a bum leg takin' beatings without flinchin' and ya got no family?"

The boy shrugged. "So?"

"So? So you're a regular miracle. Is'a wonder you're alive. 'Course I plan on stickin' around. No way I want someone as strong as you ta be any less than my friend. That's a risk I ain't willin' ta take. I gotta have you on my side."

The boy smiled a little. "Alright, Jack. I'll consider it. Might have ta give it some thought. Ain't just anyone can get on my good side so quick. Gotta prove you's worthy of my time, with me bein' all strong and kingly."

Jack grinned. "Gotta place ta stay, tough guy?"

"Oh, a'course. I just like ta curl up in the trash for fun," the boy's weak smile spread to match Jack's grin.

"Strong and wise. I bow to ya," Jack replied. He nodded at the boy's leg. "Think you can drag that thing up a ladder or two?"

"I can give it a try," he said with glimmer of hope in his eye.

Jack gestured for him to follow. They made a slow progression to Jack's usual resting place. The poor kid was clearly in a hell of a lot of pain once they got there, the ladder definitely out of the question. Jack decided to spare him the embarrassment.

"Well, I'm pretty beat," he said nonchalantly. "Dunno if I'm feelin' the climb tonight. Rather sleep on the ground. Feel free to head on up without me shouldja feel so inclined."

The boy plopped down, playing
along. "I couldn't bare leavin' you down here all alone."

Jack sat beside him. "I 'preciate it. Say, since you's my charity case and all now, maybe I'll name ya."

"I'll use this cane ta make ya someone else's charity case if ya don't quit with that there. And I ain'tcha pet," he warned, though his tone was light-hearted and joking.

"Guess I'll hafta resist the urge ta scratch behind ya ears."

The boy chuckled. "Yeah.... But truthfully. Ain't been called nothin' but different versions a 'crip' since my memory goes. Called me the Alley Cripple back where I was, the shopkeepers and boys around there," he shrugged. "Or just Alley. Morris. Plain ol' crip. Some of 'em was creative."

Jack scoffed. "Yeah, real creative. Betcha I can come up with a million other ways ta call ya a crip that ain't no one thought of before."

The boy raised a brow. "Go ahead and try. I heard 'em all."

Jack looked him over for inspiration, but got distracted by that bent up cane. Maybe he could get a crutch prop from the theater. It was at least a step up.

"How's about... Crutchie," Jack looked up to the boy's face again. "Heard that one?"

The boy thought for a minute. "Well no, but I ain't had a crutch since I was real small."

"Guess we'll hafta getcha one, then," Jack said.

"Alright," he nodded in reply. "'Crutchie.' Yeah. But what'll I tell folks if they asks for my real name?"

Jack shrugged. "You could always try tellin' 'em to mind their own."

He beamed at Jack. "You's always this clever?"

Jack tried not to smile. "Always. Don'tcha dare forget it."

"'Crutchie,'" He said mostly to himself, still smiling. "'Crutchie Morris.' He's a lucky guy."

Jack tilted his head. "How do ya figure?"

"His very first friend is the cleverest guy in all a New York."