What a Fine Life

What a Fine Life (Short Story)

Josephine Becker examined her new haircut to make sure it looked somewhat even. She reminded herself that newsboys didn't always have perfect haircuts, so she put her scissors away and swept her blonde curls under the carpet. She then swooped up her satchel and then headed outside.

A downpour flattened her hair and soaked her stolen shirt. No, not stolen, borrowed. Josephine borrowed the shirt from her brother. And she borrowed two pairs of trousers, a vest, and an eight-panel, newsboy cap. What would Father do when he found out that she had disappeared? Father wanted her to be a perfect little girl forever: to never explore, to never try, to never fail, and in Josephine's perspective, to never succeed. Father would probably call the police immediately. She must leave no trace. 

She splashed through the puddles that flooded the New York City streets. With soggy shoes and her hat flopping over her face, she walked to the newsboy lodging house.

The man at the desk when she entered didn't even notice her. Josephine couldn't help but blush and mumble, "sorry," as her wet clothes dripped over the carpet.

The man stood up and peered over the wooden desk.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked, pushing his round glasses up on his nose.

"Joseph-" she stopped herself. "I go by Joe."

"It's fifteen cents a night, Joe," he said with a matter-of-fact tone. "And if you're new, we'll have to ask you some questions."

She fumbled through her wet satchel and pulled out some change.

"What's your last name, Joe?" he asked.

"It's... umm... Smalls?"

"Got any parents?"

Josephine avoided the man's eyes. She didn't want to think about her family at all. In her mind, it was time to grow up and become self-dependent. If her brother could get a job at fourteen and have his own income, why couldn't she?

"Okay, then. Don't worry about it. You're not alone here, Joe. Many boys are probably in the same situation as you."

Highly unlikely, she thought.

"Joe, you can pick any open bed upstairs. Please keep the noise level down. Some people actually want to sleep. And no fighting up there!"

Joe picked a bed in the back corner. In the bed next to her, a lanky boy with dark hair was counting some coins and putting them in a brown, drawstring pouch.

"What're ya lookin' at, Smalls?' he sneered.

Joe shrugged.

"You're new here, aren't ya?" He asked as he tied the pouch to his belt. "Listen up, Smalls. If you're sellin' papes tomorrow, stay away from Brooklyn. Don't be super quiet like ya are now cause ya won't sell nothin'. And, the boys'll be wondrin' whas wrong with ya." The boy's mouth kept moving, but Josephine became mesmerized by his beautiful brown eyes. They made her feel warm, and made her feel like she was somewhere where she could be anything. It was similar to the feeling she got when she learned about the newsboy strike and that kids were standing up for what they believed in. It magnified her strong desire to be a newsie. She  allowed herself to drown in the feeling. The rest of her senses were completely numbed. 

"Smalls! Hello?"

"Huh?" Josephine snapped into reality.

"I asked, 'How old are you?'"

"I'm fifteen."

He stared and collected his thoughts. "Ya know what, Smalls? I'll let you sell papes with me. We can work together. But, we've gotta get up early and be the first to get papes in the mornin'. Now go to sleep."