"I can't believe I'm stuck here," Malcolm thought to himself. "I could be in a nice, warm house, sitting in front of a roaring fire. Instead, here I am, sitting in a stinking alley in the worst part of Manhattan. Nice going Malcolm, really nice!"
Not long ago, Malcolm had been in a nice, warm home, along with his family. The problem was that he had always felt he was the oddball in the house, and after what had happened the week before, he left less wanted as ever.
Malcolm had never really felt at home with his family. His mother, Samantha Meyers, had her friends over for tea every week and they would sit and gossip for hours about their neighbors. They would go out shopping and come back with bags full of things they would never use. His father, Thomas Meyers, was friends with the mayor and had many friends in the community. The mayor, who had decided to resign soon, had told Thomas that he should run for office. Thomas had told him that he would never dream of running, but had decided to run anyways. Last, but not least was his brother, Michael. Malcolm and Michael were as different as night and day, on the inside. Michael had a ton of friends and even though he was only 14, he had already gone through many girlfriends. Malcolm was happy just sitting in his room, reading a book. He had barely ever spoken to a girl in his life. Whenever he saw a pretty girl, his knees felt weak and his voice disappeared. He only had one friend in the world, Jonathan Robins. They had been friends for years until Jonathan's parents died of scarlet fever and left him alone. Although Malcolm was sure his parents would allow Jonathan to live with them, Jonathan felt that he would just be another mouth to feed and that the family would grow to wish he had never come there. He didn't want that to happen, so 4 months ago, Jonathan ran off to Manhattan to find work. Malcolm hadn't heard from him since.
Another difference between Malcolm and Michael was their sense of humor. Michael could take a joke and usually pulled a few practical jokes on their teachers. Once, he had nailed Mrs. Cooper's desk drawers shut and they had gotten to go home early.
Malcolm had never been able to laugh stuff off. He took everything seriously and his feeling were hurt easily. His mother had said it was because we was the baby of the family, but Malcolm didn't understand how being 7 minutes younger than his identical twin could have made such a difference. How could two people who look so alike on the outside be so different on the inside?
Yes, being an identical twin had been fun, when they were younger. They were so alike, with their curly brown hair and dimples, that even their parents had trouble telling who was who.
Until the age of 10, Michael and Malcolm were inseparable, they had been best friends. But at that age, their personalities really began to kick in and they quit hanging around with each other as much as the used to. Michael didn't seem to mind that they had grown apart, but Malcolm, although he had kept it hidden, was hurt and saddened by the fact that his brother was now a stranger.
But one thing, no matter how much they grew apart, had remained between them. The bond that only twins share. The two brothers had always been able to tell if the other one was hurt, sick or in trouble. This bond had almost saved a life, almost.
Malcolm thought back one week, one week to the day. He and Michael had been on their way to school. Michael was rambling on about a birthday party he had been invited to for his friend Daniel on Saturday and another party he would be attending on Sunday. Malcolm paid no attention, trying to read a book as they walked. Eventually, Malcolm was able to block the voice out completely. They both seemed to have that ability too. Whenever one brother would ramble away, the other could tune himself out, yet still be aware of everything else around him. It had come in handy for Malcolm lately. His brother had been talking more than ever lately.
Suddenly, behind him, Malcolm heard the cries, "Look out!! It's a runaway cart!"
Malcolm turned and ran to his right, out of harm's way. He had assumed that Michael had done the same thing. He stumbled on the cobblestone walkway and tripped, scrapping his knee. As he was getting up, he felt a pain in his left leg and pelvis area. This pain was much worse than the pain his knee was. He doubled over, wondering what the matter was. He called out for Michael, but Michael didn't answer. Malcolm turned around and saw the cause of his pain.
The cart was still in the middle of the road, and unfortunatly, Malcolm could see clearly what had stopped it. Underneath it's front wheel lied his brother, groaning in pain. The wheel had run over his left leg and was now resting on his lower abdomen. A crowd had gathered and time passed quickly. Suddenly, out of no where, came a doctor with some assistants. Some big men in the crowd got the cart off of Michael and after a quick check, the doctor decided there was nothing they could do for him there, they needed to get him to the hospital.
As they carried Michael away in the strecher, Malcolm was told to go home and get his parents. It was a long way, but Malcolm ran the whole way and got there in just under 25 minutes. He rushed inside and cried out, "Mother! Father! Come quickly!! Michael's been hurt! We need to get to the hospital"
His mother and father had rushed to him and together, the three of them rushed out the door. They got into their carriage and rode to the hospital. As they went, his parents asked him a million questions, but Malcolm was unable to answer them. The pain was getting worse, which meant Michael was in even more pain than before. His parents didn't seen to notice, they were too upset. Just as they pulled up to the entrance, the pain suddenly stopped. Malcolm decided that it could only mean one of two things. Either Michael had passed out from the amount of pain and/or drugs he'd been given, or he..he, well, Malcolm wasn't going to think that. He rushed inside with his parents and they demanded to see a doctor.
A minute later, the same doctor who had rushed to the scene came out to talk to them. It had been 45 minutes since the accident, 2 minutes since the pain had stopped. They family sat in silence as the doctor told them the news.
"I'm sorry, but there was no chance for him. The cart was too big, too heavy. There was nothing we could have done. If it is any comfort, he felt no pain at all. He died just after we got him here, 30 minutes ago. Mr. Meyers, would you mind coming in to my office and we can talk about arrangements?"
Silently, Thomas got up and followed the doctor in to small office, leaving Malcolm alone with his weeping mother.
"What did that doctor mean 'he felt no pain at all'?" Malcolm thought to himself, filled with rage. "He felt a lot of pain, and he didn't die 30 minutes ago, he died 5 minutes ago!"
Then, it hit him. The doctor didn't want to make his parents feel worse. He wanted to ease their suffering as much as he could. Malcolm understood that, but what about his suffering? He had felt his brother's pain, shared his final misery and he had felt it when Michael's body had decided it couldn't fight anymore. Although he hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, Malcolm had known and felt the exact moment his brother died. Suddenly, the floor was rushing towards him and he blacked out.
The next few days were a blur. The doctor had told Mr. and Mrs. Meyers that losing a brother, especially a twin brother, had been very hard on Malcolm, who was to stay in bed for 3-4 days. He was given pills every few hours and slept for 18 hours a day. He slept through his mother's breakdown. He slept through the friends and family coming by to offer their help. And he slept through his brother's funeral. He awoke a short while after midnight and heard voices coming from his parents room. He got out of bed and headed for their door, wanting to ask if he was to take another pill now, or if he had to wait.
"I still can't believe we lost him!" his mother was saying, trying to choke back tears. "Why did it have to be him? He was so full of life, such a joy to have around! If we had to lose a son, why couldn't it have been Malcolm?"
"Dear, really." His father's voice cut in, trying to calm his wife. "It's a shame we had to lose one son. It is true the Michael probably would have amounted to more than Malcolm ever will, but we have to be strong, for Malcolm's sake. You can never let him know how you feel. I'm sure he is feeling just as bad as we do. There's nothing to be done."
"Why couldn't it have been Malcolm? Why?" His mother cried before breaking down in to more sobs.
That was all Malcolm could take. He knew he couldn't stay anymore. His parents hated him and wished he were dead. If he stayed, he would only be a constant reminder of the son they lost, the son that should have lived. Malcolm went back to his room, grabbed a bag and threw a few belongings in it. There was a tree outside his bedroom window and he was able to climb to the ground safely, without making a sound. He had found an old map his father had of New York and located Manhattan. He took one last look at his home, said a final good-bye to his brother, then headed towards Manhattan, and hopefully Jonathan.
Now, stuck sleeping in the stinking alley, Malcolm thought about Jonathan, his one true friend. He hoped it wouldn't be to hard to find him. He had looked for the past 2 days without any luck. He had also had no luck finding a job, but he knew that would come in time. He rolled up his jacket and used it as a pillow and, after tossing and turning a bit, fell asleep.
The next morning, there was a slight chill in the air and Malcolm woke up shaking. He put on his jacket and headed out in to the already busy market. Malcolm had no idea where to start looking. Jonathan had never told him what kind of job we was going to get. Malcolm had been to the blacksmith, Western Union and every other factory in the city, but still, no sign of Jonathan. After wandering aimlessly for hours, Malcolm sat down on the front steps of a resturant called Tibby's and rested, trying to think of other places to try. He suddenly fell forward onto his hands and knees as someone walked into him from behind.
"Hey, kid. Yose betta watch were you sittin'. You gonna git hurt sittin' wheres nobody sees ya," a voice behind him said. Malcom knew that voice and turned quickly, hopping that his ears had not decieved him.
"Jon!" Malcolm cried out, throwing his arms around his long lost friend. "I finally found you!"
"Malcolm, is dat you?" Jonathan asked, rubbing his eyes. "I don't believe it. I just had some lunch, but it looks like you could use some. Come on in." He pulled Malcolm up and lead him inside Tibby's. It was a little early for lunch, so the place was basicly deserted. They sat at a small table by the window. "Get me friend 'ere a hot dog and a soda, my treat." He said to the waiter.
Normally, Malcolm wouldn't have accepted charity from anyone, especially his friend, but he was too hungry and tired to care. As he ate, he filled Jonathan in on everything that had happened since he had left. Jonathan did the same.
"After I got to Manhattan, I had trouble gettin' a job in a factory. Dey got enough run aways and orphans dere, dey don't need me. So, one day, I ran in to this guy, Jack. Actually, he ran in to me as he was runnin' away from these two goons, the Delancey brothers. Anyways, he hid behind a buliding and I pointed the brothers in the wrong direction. Da two of us started talkin' and he got me a job. I'm a newsie now. It's a great job and you can work as much or as little as you want to, as long as ya gots money to pay Kloppman, he runs the lodging house were we lives. It's pretty cheap and clean. You wanna stop in and meet some of the boys later?"
Malcolm agreed. He was glab that he could tell Jonathan about Michael and his family. Jonathan would never ask him questions he didn't feel like answering and he wouldn't give Malcolm the "talk" he had gotten from his parents, his doctor and his neighbours. The 'you should let your feelings out and talk it over' "talk". Malcolm didn't think he was ready to talk about it yet, maybe some other time. That's what he liked about Jonathan. When ever that time did come, he would be there to listen.
Jonathan paid the bill and the two of them went outside and walked to Central Park, where they sat and talked a bit more. Then Jonathan took him over to the Newboys Lodging House and introduced him to Kloppman. They went up to the bunkroom and they were met with many "hello"'s and "heya"'s.
"Who's the new kid?" a tall boy, probably one of the oldest newsies in the room, asked. He had a red bandana around his neck and a cowboy hat in his hands.
"Cowboy, dis is me friend, Malcolm. Malcolm, dis 'ere is Jacky-boy, da one I told ya about." Jonathan said to Malcolm. "And dis 'ere is Crutchy, Boots, Racetrack, Bumlets, Snipeshooter, Specs, Swifty and Itey."
"Pleased to meet you all." Malcolm said, obviously uncomfortable.
"So,Malcolm, where you stayin'? You got a job or somethin'?" Jack asked him, trying to get him to talk.
"No, I don't have anything 'cept a change of clothes and me hat. I ain't been able to find a job yet." He answered. He was aware that Jonathan was mouthing something to Jack, but he couldn't make it out.He saw Jack mouth back, 'You think so?' but that was all he got out of the conversation.
Jonathan faced him and said, "Well, if ya needs a job, you can work as a newsie. It'd be great! I could help you start off. I been savin' some money up and you could pay me back. I'll give Kloppman enough money for the rest of the month and I'll give ya enough money for 50 papes. You should be able to get enough profit. It'll all work out. What do ya say?"
Malcolm looked at Jack, who nodded, as if giving permission. He looked back at the other newsies, who seemed to be waiting for his reply. This was his chance. A chance to start over, make new friends, erase his past. He finally answered, "Alright, I'll do it. You're right, it will be fun."
The other newsies came up to him and patted him on the back. Although he had only been here a few minutes, this place felt more like home to him than his old house. He looked around and smiled.
Later that night, all of the boys were sitting on the front steps of the lodging house. Jack made an annoucement.
"Okay. Seeing dats we gots ourselves a new newsie, we gonna need tah give him a new name. Can anyone think of one?"
The newsies mumbled amung themsleves. Malcolm, who was standing by a trash can, leaned over and whispered in to Jonathan's ear. "What do they mean, new name?"
"Well, ya know, a nickname. All the newsie's got dem. Jack's is Cowboy. Don't tell him I told you this, but Racetrack's real name is Randolph." Jonathan laughed quietly. "Even I gots one. No one 'ere calls me Jonathan, day call me Snitch. Don't worry, we'll find ya one. It may take a while though, we ain't da most creative bunch."
Malcolm grinned down at his friend. He heard some of the suggestions and grimaced. The only one that made any sense to him was Curly, but there was no way he was going to be called that. Suddenly, all the boys stopped talking and stared. Malcolm leaned forward to see what the big deal was.
Walking past the group was the prettiest girl Malcolm had ever seen. He leaned forward to get a better look and fell off the trash can with a loud crash. The girl glanced over at him, smiled, then hurried along. The boys hooted and whistled. Jonathan, no, Snitch, helped him up.
"I think she likes ya. Go after her." Snitch told him. The other boys aggreed. He was pushed forward, and he started to go, wondering what he was going to say, when his knees got weak and gave out. The newsies rushed to him. The girl was gone now. The boys groaned in disappointment. They had been hoping that at least one of them would get luckly tonight. It obviously wasn't going to be Malcolm.
"Whatsa matta?" Jack asked as he helped him up. "You're knees turn to mush or somethin'?"
"They always do. He gets all weak and mushy whenever a goil is around." Snitch told Jack. "I though he woulda grown outta it by now. Well, Jacky-boy, you'll havts teach him a thing or two about goils."
"Wait! I got it!" Bumlets exclaimed out of nowhere. "Mush! We'll call him Mush!"
The newsies all agreed quickly, not bothering to ask Malcolm if he liked the name or not. It wasn't the best, but he had to admit, it was better than Curly. He followed the other boys upstairs and Snitch showed him where he could sleep, the bunk between Itey and Bumlets. Snitch was just underneath him.
He dirfted in and out of sleep. He had a dream that night about Michael.
He dreamt that Michael was happy, and happy for him. He awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed then he had in days.
Snitch took him downstairs and explained to Kloppman what was going on. Kloppman was glab to see another boy int he lodging house. The two boys ran back upstairs and got ready for work. They walked in a group to Newspaper Row. As they walked, Mush looked about at the group of boys that surrounded him. "Family," he thought. This was definitely his family, and he was finally home.