Sneak

[Sneak]

Well you look like a respectable young lad. What's your name sonny?

"Sneak or Sneaks is fine, nobody cares or needs to know my real name. This will do."


You ain't going to sneak off on me now, eh? And what would be your age?

"Clever. The least I can pass off for is fourteen, and that's a bit of a stretch. If I'm correct I should be about sixteen."

What do you do for a living, young gentleman?

"I hawk newspapers. I keep an eye out for things going on in the city, report it to the charge of Brooklyn, Conlon. That's about it."

Ah, a newsie. Seems the city is flooded with those. Where do you stay? Got yourself a place? Live with your family?

"My current place is the lodging house. Doesn't cost much. It's shelter. Good enough for me. At least there's no bars on the windows, no authority, besides Spot."

I'm guessing you're indicating you don't have a family. What happened to them? Passed on? Mistreated you? Did you run away? and where would you be seeing bars on the windows laddie? Sounds like you've got quite of a story to tell.

"If you're asking for it, I'll tell it. Most don't ask but I'll tell you. A small epidemic passed through our tenement building. By the time my parents received treatment, they were too weak to even recognize me. I wasn't allowed to see them towards the end. I remember nurses carrying white sheets, and when I snuck up to try to see my parents, their were different people in their infirmary beds. I searched for them for a while, wandering the beds aimlessly, peering into the faces. I thought they were simply moved. But not a single face in that wing belonged to my father or mother. I left the infirmary and tried to find my way home, figuring maybe they were better and had gone on home without me by mistake. I found it as we had left it. They weren't there.

I just started wandering around then, coughing a little, watching people walk up and down the street. I didn't really have anywhere to go, anywhere to be, anybody to turn to that I knew of. So I just sat on a store step and watched people. I wondered where they were going, where they were off to, who they would see, who they would meet, what would they eat? I watched the streets slowly empty out, my butt becoming more and more numb under the hard stone. I told myself I should move, before it gets dark out, but still I sat. I was unaware of the shopkeeper watching my back behind the glass window. The door opened behind me with a small jingle and I looked up to see him. I remember he was tall, the big jelly belly sorts with dark hair and a dark bushy beard. The jolly type, your St. Nicholas without the robes and the presents.

He asked me if I was waiting for someone and I honestly answered no. How long was I intending to sit there? I said I didn't think the fact through that anybody owned the step. Next, he asked if might my parents be looking for me? I said I didn't really think so. He opened the door a little wider and motioned me into his quaint little pleasantly lit shop. I was a little bit too eager to step in. He had baked goods at the counter. He took me in the back by the warmth of the ovens and fed me some bread and sweet sugary margarine. It would be the last filling meal I would have for a very good while. He gave me some tonic for my cough, and prepared a small make shift bed for me on the floor a little ways from his own cot. I was out like a light before he could say another word. I learned, some people you just can't be honest with. I woke up in a city children's home.

I stayed there for what had to be a good year or so. I wouldn't know exactly. I didn't count the days. I never knew what day it was while I was there, they didn't give us newspapers to read. There were no calenders. A couple kids made tallies for each day. I couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it. I only knew what time of year it was by looking out the window, or the small allotted time we had outside in the iron fenced area. Everyday was the same. To bed at the same time, wake up at the same time, eat the cold stew and gruel at the same time. Some days a child would be asked to step out, and they'd never come back. Nobody knew whether it was because they found a home or something horrible happened to them. But whenever a kid left, at night, there would always be one or two quiet sobs from a child praying to get out.

Nothing horribly terrible ever happened to me while I was there. I was struck a few times, got mildly sick once or twice. But I was living and I had a place over my head. But I didn't care. No matter how good or bad it was, I decided I was getting out. Well, finally I did. I found my chance when some nuns came to lead prayers. I robed myself in the black dorm curtains and followed them out the door, snuck into the back of the wagon and rode to freedom. You wouldn't think it would actually work, but it did...almost. One of the nuns later caught me hopping off the back of a wagon and started to raise up a noise. I panicked and I reached out and shoved her, hoping it would make her stop. Then I did the logical thing, run. There were bulls on my tail faster than that poor Sister could start wailing.

In no time I was on my way to the refuge. I didn't get a chance to enjoy my freedom, instead I was loaded out of the barred carriage and taken into the tall brick building. It was a lot more crowded there in the boys' ward. Instead of the creaky cots at the home, there were wooden bunks with dirty skimpy mattresses stacked on top of each other. We didn't get to go outside and had two skimpy meals a day. My sentence didn't shrink but grew while I was there. I was quick and light on my feet and would often sneak into the warden's office to take back what he had confiscated from my fellow prisoners. I was a regular inhabitant of the refuge for quite some time.

Of course, if I were still in there, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. As much as they seemed to think, they couldn't keep me there forever. Now I lay low, selling and sneaking around the boroughs of the city, gaining what information I can and hoping to be able to pay for supper and lodging and keep my feet away from the refuge as best I can."

That's quite a bit of a tale you got there. You seem rather experienced, do you have any philosophies or advice for the young ones out there?

"Yeah, like I said, you can't always be honest with everybody. Just where it counts and when you can trust the person not to abuse your honesty. Secondly, sometimes its best to just keep your mouth shut, no matter how hard it is. You can avoid some pretty nasty situations that way. Thirdly, and I promise I won't make a whole list here but don't take your freedom for granted. And lastly, I think this one is pretty obvious...don't shove nuns?"

Now, what's your shoe size?
"What kind of a question is that? You trying to sell me something? I don't got money for that. I'll buy new shoes when I need 'em. Get outta here!"

Nice talking to you, young chap.

"Yeah, okay you too mister."