Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 5

They let me sleep.

Perhaps my parents had heard my stifled sobs throughout the night and had taken pity on me, for usually I would be made to get up, get dressed and work for the day. But today of all days, I wouldn't have objected. I would have happily subjected myself to all sorts of menial tasks if any of them would have put a stop to the painful memories endlessly running through my mind.

The silence in our home was somewhat eerie. There were five of us in total: my father, my mother, my two younger sisters and myself, so the lifelessness that our apartment had taken on was much the opposite of the temperament that usually was present.

I knew my family had left for the store, and maybe it had been a sense of concern that had caused them to let me rest, but for once, my present solitude felt unbearable. So, knowing that being in the presence of people, even through my misery would be better, I decided to get dressed and walk to my father's store. It would keep me busy for the remainder of the time that I actually had to be conscious.

As I dressed myself in my common work cloths, including a long skirt and white shirt, I heard a knock at the door from downstairs. Looking up surprised, I quickly finished dressing and headed down the creaky wooden stairs.

However, an unexpected memory suddenly passed through my mind, paralyzing me in its abrupt onset and making my legs momentarily lose their steadiness. I leaned against the wall in the stairwell for support as the cold winter night, nearly a year ago enveloped me. I found myself suddenly evoking a different set of stairs and the feelings of rage and desolation that had filled me when rushing down them.

On that frozen night, I had angrily descended the stairs of the Manhattan newsie's lodging house, pushing past rowdy party goers to get to the exit. I had heard several familiar voices drunkenly call to me as I forced my way past them, but I had not turned around. My need to reach the open air far outweighed my usual proclivity for courtesy. Once I had secured my way outside, I slammed the door behind me and let out a frustrated shriek into the freezing night sky, caring little of who might be close enough to hear it.

But exasperation was only one of the many emotions churning within me that night. I felt paralyzed by the magnitude of these feelings, the scream forced out purely from the immense pressure they created within me. I walked away from the shut door and slid down the side of the lodging house building, letting the darkness of the night cover me in shadows. Knowing that I had barely quelled the pressure within me, I had pulled my knees into my chest, pressing my face down to them in an attempt to quiet my urge to screech again, for fear that I would never be able to stop.

I had experienced this suffocation momentarily before, but never to this extreme. My year long relationship with Jack Kelly seemed to be quickly imploding before my eyes and all I could do was silently watch it happen. Why had I never seen it before?

It must have been willful blindness, for that night nothing else in my life had ever been as clear to me. Unfortunately, the deep hole in which I had resided with Jack was now much too precipitous to climb out of on my own, especially with his hand grasped around my ankle, ensuring I remain a captive in his darkness.

Jack had insisted that I attend the Manhattan newsies' party that night. He had ignored my repeated refusals and had belittled the several different excuses I conveyed. I had felt that perhaps a few nights' respite from him would aid in revitalizing our relationship and steadying his unpredictability, but he would not hear of it. Eventually, I had felt that the only option I had was to go to the celebration, regardless of my growing apprehension of Jack's wildly capricious moods. He had made it clear to me that if I did not join him, I did not care for him as I should. If I did not attend, then he must be worth more dead than alive to me.