Those You've Known (Newsies)

2: Changes

That night, Jack refused to sleep. For the past few evenings, he had hardly slept a wink. He’d drift off to sleep in a pseudo-bliss, and then he’d suddenly awaken from a nightmare within the next thirty minutes. Every night, all he saw was Crutchie’s face, looking at him with hatred in his eyes. Jack had never seen his friend look so hateful ever before. He would awake with the sounds of accusations and hate-filled comments ringing in his ears. He knew it wasn’t really him, since Crutchie didn’t seem to be capable of saying those things during his short life. But, even though he knew the truth, he was certain he just couldn’t put himself through it again, even if it was supposedly “a big day tomorrow.”

So, after saying goodnight to Medda, he retreated to his bedroom and sat on the little chair by his window. The young artist reached for the sketchbook on the windowsill and the pencil that was positioned on top of it, his mind swirling with ideas for new drawings. If he was going to stay up all night, he may as well do something productive with the time.

When he opened the book up, his hand started to dance across the page with the pencil. Drawing was natural to him. At this point, the action of sketching was completely automatic every chance he had. It was the only way he kept himself sane, especially nowadays. He was fascinated by the way that a simple group of lines could form a beautiful picture like some of the ones he pinned on his wall.

By the starlight, he started a new picture by drawing a rough silhouette and the outline of a tombstone in front of the person’s legs. As he added detail, the simple lines turned into a lovely drawing of a woman walking among the tombstones. It was that mystery girl he had spotted after the funeral. Jack couldn’t figure out why she was sticking in his mind. He saw lovely girls on the street every day. This one was no different, right?

Yeah, definitely. This girl was no different than any other one he saw on the street. Besides, New York City was a big place. He probably wouldn’t even see her again. She’d just be one of those faces that exist only in the briefest of memories.

And that was that. As soon as he finished the sketch, he flipped the page and subsequently tried to forget her with another few drawings.

By the time morning came, Jack had finished four sketches and was working on a fifth, but there were also plenty of crumpled up pieces of paper strewn around the room. The sun was just starting to rise, bringing bright light into the bedroom to illuminate the newest sketch he was working on: a landscape of someplace out west. As he added a little bit of shading to the image, he heard a voice in the hall outside. It sounded like singing, and it was getting closer to his door.

Cursing under his breath, the young man quickly placed his sketchbook and pencil on the windowsill and got into his bed. He hoped that this could potentially convince his foster mother that he had actually attempted to sleep that night.

Within seconds of getting under the blankets, Medda burst through the door. “Jack! Time to get up!” she exclaimed excitedly as she strolled over to the bed.

Jack, hoping to keep up the charade, slowly rolled over and stretched out. “Mmm...what time is it?” he mumbled.

“It’s seven a.m. I’ve made breakfast,” Medda began while she stepped over some of the sketches, “and then as soon as you’re done, we can head down to the campus and get you moved in before people start to rush. I thought it would give you some time to relax and get to know the place.”

He groaned a little bit and rubbed his eyes. “Do I have to go?”

“I thought you were excited to go to college,” Medda commented as she sat on the edge of the bed. With a gesture at the papers on the floor, she added, “Isn’t that why you stayed up all night drawing?”