There was a painful screeching sound as the fork tines slid against the plate and then clattered to the dining room floor. Maria "Blue Skies" Costello felt her face grow hot as her hosts looked up from their meals in surprise.
"Excuse me," she mumbled, leaning over in her seat to retrieve the lost fork.
"Here, I'll take that." Katie Callahan appeared at Maria's side, brandishing a clean fork for barter.
"Thank you," Maria replied, growing more embarrassed as she clumsily exchanged utensils with the young woman. She stole a glance to her right at boyfriend Conrad Callahan, but the fork mishap seemed to have escaped his notice. She resumed eating, eyes glued to the plate.
"I'm rather surprised that we haven't been selling more almanacs." Jeremy White's thin voice wafted down the table at Maria.
"Really?" Mrs. Callahan inquired between bites of potato.
"Well, yes." Jeremy paused for a moment in thought. "In the last week I'd say their sales have been down nearly...nearly ten percent." His watery eyes glimmered at the figure. "Of course, fiction sales are good--as usual, of course." He colored slightly, bemused at the notion of fiction sales being anything less than good.
Blue pushed her food around the plate with disinterest. Jeremy prattled on. "I'm just surprised is all, since nearly everyone can enjoy something as simple as the Farmer's Almanac. Don't you think?"
His wife shot him a winning (though somewhat forced) smile. Mrs. Callahan nodded, her mouth full of mashed potato.
Conrad smiled tightly. "Ah, yeah... I think so."
Jeremy nodded and smiled. "Maria," he glanced at her from his position at the head of the table, "what do you think?"
"Hm?" Blue looked up from the mosaic she had been crafting with her peas and mashed potatoes.
Jeremy looked more flustered than usual. "Um, do you... enjoy the Farmer's Almanac? Do you--can you read?"
Maria blinked at him, shocked. "Of course I kin read," she said, the defensiveness creeping into her voice despite all efforts to assail it. "An' I enjoy th' almanac jus' fine, but I'd much rathah read a book," she finished, a bit coldly. Swallowing her pride, she mustered a gooey smile for Jeremy, who grinned nervously back.
"Thank you," Maria repeated for what seemed like the twentieth time. She fingered the collar of the white flowered nightgown Katie had placed in her hands. After dinner, Katie and Jeremy had insisted she and Conrad stay the night, saying the journey back to Harlem was too far.
"I hope it fits you," Katie said, watching Maria unbutton her blouse. "Oh!" Her forehead crinkled with concern as one of the buttons popped off.
"It's nothin'," Maria shrugged. "I'll sew it back on latah." In truth, the outfit was growing too small for the maturing young woman, but she had considered the purchase of a new dress wasteful when she could still manage to wriggle into the current one.
Katie was already rifling through her dresser drawers. "Maybe I could let you have some of my old--"
"No," Maria broke in sharply.
Katie looked up in surprise.
Maria colored, realizing how she must have sounded. "It's fine," she mumbled before slipping the borrowed nightgown over her head.
Katie nodded, aware of her own mistake, and took a seat on the bed. "It's a little long," she remarked, helping Maria button the garment, "but I think it will do." She offered a sisterly smile to the younger girl.
"Thanks," Maria repeated, smiling a little more genuinely than earlier that evening. Katie then showed her into the parlor. (Conrad had a cot in the kitchen.) There were profuse apologies over the lack of a guest bedroom followed by a cool set of assurances that the sofa would be just fine, and finally Maria was left to her own devices amid the darkness of the living room.
It wasn't until the light from under both bedroom doors had dimmed and faded into the blue shadows of the apartment, when Maria was nearing the edges of the sleeping abyss, teetering toward a drop into the night's oblivion, that the door to the kitchen swung open.
Conrad slipped unnoticed into the parlor, and took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "Hey."
"Mm." Maria forced herself to sit up, curling her legs underneath her. Conrad slid over, and they shared the sofa.
"Sorry. You prob'ly wanted t'git back in time tah sell da mornin' editions." He studied his hands in the darkness.
"Nah," she hedged. "I don't mind." She was thankful he couldn't see her face clearly.
Conrad snorted and leaned back into the cushions. "C'mon, 'Ria. I saw yah at dinnah."
She began to protest. "No, it wuz, jus'--"
"Shh."
"Fine."
"I mean, it's awright, I know Jeremy is hard tah--"
"Shh."
He cracked a smile, his white teeth luminous. "Yes?"
Maria's lips were on the edge of a place that her mind already resided in. She peered over the edge and then looked into Conrad's hazel eyes glittering before her. Shutting the door with a heavy heart, a wan smile formed on her lips. "Nothin'."
He laughed a little in surprise, but quieted as she reached a hand out to brush a strand of butterscotch brown hair out of his eyes. She smiled again. She look tired, he thought, taking her hand and pulling her toward him.
She pushed her face into the soft folds of his flannel shirt, breathing the familiar smell in: comfort to a girl who hadn't known home in a long time, and a temporary shield against the unease she felt inside.
"Haaaaaappy biiiiirthday to yooooou!"
The off-key notes rang out in the parlor of the East Harlem Newsboys Lodging House, and Charlie "Chance" Costello was promptly raised onto several pairs of able shoulder to a jubilant chorus of "He's a Jolly Good Fellow". Chance let out a loud whoop as Knuckles and Tommy paraded him in a circle about the room. "To the kitchen!" Tommy commanded, and the assembled Harlem newsgirls and newsboys, led by their new birthday king, walked, danced, skipped, and sang down the hallway to the awaiting chocolate cake.
"Oh my goodness," Chance proclaimed, once he'd been allowed to stand on solid ground once more, "where didja get dis maaahvalous cake?"
"I made it, ya twit," his sister grinned, brandishing a large knife.
Chance's brown eyes widened. "Well, in dat case, I ain't so shoah 'bout eatin' any..."
Blue scowled in mock annoyance and raised the knife over her head as if she was about to cut her brother down with it. He placed his hands over his eyes and let out a girlish scream of terror. Blue laughed and lowered her arm. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Charlie." She handed him the knife. "Heah. You do th' honahs."
"Sure yah don't wanna head back yet?" Blue shot a glance at Knuckles, who was sitting on the park bench next to her. "The guys 're all goin' out tanight tah Millinger's tah celebrate." She studied Knuckles for a moment; he was blithely staring up at the patchwork of green under a fading spring sky.
Knuckles shrugged, still studying the trees. "Don't really feel like it tanight. Yah know?" He turned to face Blue, his brown eyebrows knit.
She nodded. "Yeah."
"Uh huh." He frowned. "You awright?"
Blue blinked rapidly, looking as though she'd been caught in the act of a crime. "Me? Oh, 'course." She directed her azure eye straight ahead, staring into the trees of Central Park.
Knuckles resisted the temptation to come back with, "No, you ain't" and, in a flash of brilliance, responded instead with, "Hey, let's ride da streetcar!"
"What?!"
But Knuckles already had Blue Skies by the wrist and was dragging her out of the park. She laughed as they stumbled onto the sidewalk, and he swept her up in his arms and they waltzed down to the corner.
The car was nearly deserted. Blue had attempted to sit near the front only to be moved to the back at Knuckles' insistence. They kneeled on the benches, faces pressed up against the windows, watching the buildings fly past.
"Heah, watch dis." Knuckles grinned, his hazel eyes growing wide. He yanked the window open and, bracing himself against the pane, leaned his head out the window, a euphoric smile blooming on his lips as the wind rushed over his chiseled face.
"Dis what yah did fah fun back in New Jersey?" Blue queried, trying to stifle her giggles at Knuckles' idiotic appearance.
Knuckles closed his eyes, the grin on his face broadening, and removed his hands from the window pane. "Yes!" he shouted, the breeze whipping the sound away from his lips.
Blue laughed loudly and would have continued had it not been for the unusually loud sounds of hooves clattering against the street and crackle of carriage wheels turning. "Con..." Her giddy expression turned sour as she turned to see a carriage quickly approaching in the opposite direction of the trolley.
"CONRAD!"
The last thing Knuckles was able to register was the sharp, black corner of a carriage top, inches away from his face.
Desperate, newsprint-stained hands closed around the collar of Knuckles' shirt and yanked backward with all their might. He could feel the window frame graze the back of his head before his balance gave way, head and neck rolling backward, spine arching. For a moment he could feel his body hang in the air in horrible disconnection from sky and earth before he felt the deliberate pull of gravity as he began to fall. He and Blue Skies landed on the wooden floor in a tangle of arms and legs. The pair lay gasping on the floor when they suddenly felt the car lurch to a halt. Blue scrambled to her feet as she saw the shoes of the angry street car driver approach from the front of the car.
"What do you kids think yer doin'?" he barked at them.
"Uh, he-he jus' fell--" Blue stammered.
"Yeah, I lost my balance an--" Knuckles pulled himself off the ground to join her.
"Fell," she finished, looking wholly miserable and apologetic. "We're sorry."
The driver looked decidedly unconvinced and snapped, "I don't care! Get off the car!" He jerked a finger at the open door. The pair wordlessly exited the street car and walked the last blocks back to the East Harlem Newsboys Lodging House in silence.
"Sorry," Knuckles mumbled, plopping down on the steps of the lodging house. There was an extended pause, and he looked up in surprise when he noticed that Blue was still standing on the sidewalk, face lost in thought. "Hey, c'mon. I thought it'd make yah laugh." He smiled weakly.
"Hm?" Blue looked at him for the first time since they'd gotten off the street car.
His face took on a wounded look. "I said, I'm sorry. 'Bout da street car."
"Oh." Blue sat down on the stoop next to Knuckles and shivered slightly. "What if you'd hit dat carriage?"
Knuckles shrugged. "But... I din't."
"Yeah, but--" Blue sighed. "But what about yer family."
"What about 'em?"
She arched an ebony eyebrow and bit her lip. "I'm jus' tryin' ta figure dis out... I'm jus' tryin' ta figure out," she glanced at Knuckles out of the corner of her eye, "why yer still here."
She held up a hand before he could begin speaking. "Yes, you'se da leadah of da boys house. An' I like you, an' you like me, but... it ain't like we'se gettin' married. Cuz... I mean, we... we can't do dis forevah."
Knuckles stared at his girlfriend, rather taken aback. "Is dis 'bout us? If yah wanted ta break it off, yah could have jus' said so. Jesus, 'Ria--"
"No!" she broke in. "Dis is about da future," she snapped, jabbing the air angrily with her hand. "I mean, you ain't gonna spend yah whole goddamn life bein' a newsboy, are yah?"
"Well, no, 'course not. Geez, what is wrong wit' you?" Knuckles glowered at her.
"So, so when you'se 'done' bein' a newsboy, when you'se decided dat dis is too bornin', or yah want more money, or, or maybe yah decided you'se was too old, I dunno, then whaddya goin' do? Go back ta Jersey and work fah yah brother-in-law at his store?"
Knuckles' hazel eyes had gone wide, Blue's anxious face reflected in their irises. "Well, yeah, I guess. I hadn't really t'ought 'bout it, but... What... What is yah point?"
"Nothin'," Blue muttered darkly, a foul expression overcoming her face.
"HEY! Stop dat!" Knuckles snapped, grabbing Blue by the shoulder and forcing her to face him. "It ain't nothin', so why don't you jus' tell me what da hell is wrong."
Blue yanked her shoulder out of his grasp, a haughty sigh exiting her lips. "I see you gettin' too old fah dis place, but you got a home and family and job tah turn ta too. An' dat makes you lucky. Really lucky, Con." She turned away, frowning. "An' I see myself gettin' too old fah dis place, an' I don't know what tah do, and I don't know wheah tah go. An' it scares me. An' I'm takin' it out on you." She scowled in self-loathing and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry."
"Aw, c'mon, you'll be fine, 'Ria," he offered, placing a hand on her back. "You'se still got a few yeahs heah. You'll get a new job, move out, get married. An' yah still got Charlie. C'mon, you don't wanna sell papes yah whole life."
"No, I don't. But Harlem's my home, Con. Cuz I don't got anywheah else. A lot of us don't got anywheah else. An' I don't 'spect you tah undastand dat in da same way I do, cuz you'se lucky." She smiled grimly at Knuckles. "An'..." Blue rolled her sapphire eyes heavenward. "God, dis is gonna sound stupid, but I don't wanna jus' get married an' have babies. Or go work in a factory or as a waitress. I... I get tah be somebody heah. Dat's hard fer a girl."
"Dat's hard fah anybody."
"You was somebody in Jersey."
"Yeah, an' look wheah it got me," he snorted.
"But, dat feelin'." She glanced at him out of sky-colored eyes. "You know."
He nodded slowly. "'Course I know. Suddenly, you'se important. Feels like flyin'."
Blue studied her hands, and they were quiet for a while, sitting on the steps, watching the sun go down.
"When I turn eighteen, Charlie and I get some money from my grandma. An' wit' it bein' his birthday... I jus' keep thinkin' bout what we'se gonna do wit' dat money." She paused in protracted thought. "How much you think a buildin' costs?"
Knuckles' eyebrows crinkled in surprise. "What, like tah buy?"
"Yeah."
"Don't it depend on th' buildin'?"
"Well, yeah, but a buildin' like, say..." She swallowed. "The Harlem house."
"Maria, you can't afford a buildin'," Knuckles exclaimed.
"No, not right now. But, maybe if I saved an' wit' th' inheritance, and if, I don't know, if you saved--"
"If I saved? When did I agree t'dis scheme a' yers?"
"Fine, if Charlie saved, maybe if Flash saved... I'd have tah get a new job--anothah job, fah that mattah--but maybe, someday I could be like...like Evans. 'Sides, she ain't gettin' any youngah eithah." Blue tried to keep a straight face at her last comment, but was failing miserably. "So," she smiled, "is that crazy?"
Knuckles put a finger to his chin and seemed to ponder this question for a rather long period of time. When he opened his mouth, he spoke in measured tones. "Yes, it is crazy." She blushed. "But," he raised an eyebrow, "I think yah should talk ta Evans. Someday..." He broke into a smile. "Yah nevah know."
