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So, youse here from crutchie. Course you is. I bet he's over there tellin' Jacks tale again. Loves to brag and gossip. You wants to know why Jack took up sharing his information with all y'all? Well, it depends. Do ya want the nice version, or the gruely truth filled version?
Truth filled, ya say? All right, but don’t say I didn’t give youse an out.
To know why Jack started sharing the gold mine of knowledge he's got stored up in his noggin, youse got to know more about me first. I's was born upper east side, not far from pulitzers penthouse now that I thinks about it. Mum and pap were delighted to have me. Their sweet, adorable, baby girl.
Shush, shush, just listen.
They loved me more than life itself. Load o' crap if you ask me. If you love something more than life, youse got issues. Anyways, they'd dress me up and parade me around to all of there "high society" friends. But, as I came to realize, they's didn’t love me more then life itself, they loved the idea of a trophy more than life itself. And a kids the ultimate trophy. Proof y'all's got along good enough to fuck. So around we go, years on end. One I's was old enough to voice my displeasure, they's had another trophy. I was left at home alone most nights. Best years of my life.
Then puberty hits. Suddenly, I'm the trophy again. But this times, I'm the trophy to gain them a trophy. Around and around they parade me, showin' me to every eligible bachelor here to the greater west. It wasn’t so bad at firsts. Made a few friends. Then, when its apparent I's ain't findin' a suitor my own age, they send me out to the older range. Its about this time I start realizin' some stuff.
The dresses, they ain't the fun joy to wear they's were, but a prison that showcased everythin' wrong with me. And my's body begun to betray. Its weird and soft in all the wrong places. I's start to realize that the few guys I was attracted too, well, it wasn’t attraction. At least, not the kind's that people want. I's was a boy.
Once I realized this, life became so much worse. The suffocatin' wasn’t just from dresses. My own skin felt like it was constrictin'. So, I's go about releasin' the pressure the only way's I know how. Takin' a switchblade to the areas that felt tight. By the time my parents found out what I's was doin', my chest, hips, and thighs was more scar tissue then skin. They's blew up. "How could you?! No one is going to want to marry you now!" "what caused you to do such a thing?!" I tried to explain, but they's didn’t get it. " you are not a boy! You are our darling baby ********!" "those people are freaks! There is no way our sweet baby ******** is one of them!" but I insisted, and so they threw me to the curb..
And so I wandered the streets o' upper 'hattan for who knows how long. I's was curled up in an alley just off cent’r street, and I’s here a shout from above. “You there! Skedaddle! No audience allowed in the back alley!” Now, I’d been out here for some time now, and hadn’t seen a scrap o’ food in even longer, so I was in no condition to be haulin’ myself around the streets, so there I stayed. And moments later, down the fire escape scrambles this scrawny boy, ‘round my age, and he’s lookin’ at me with a look of true curiosity on his face.
“What’s a darlin’ gal like youse doin’ on the street?”
“I’s not a fuckin’ girl!” I shouted with all my muster.
“Okay’s then. Geez, I didn mean to offend ya. What’s your name, ‘not a girl’” this caught me of guard. I’d not actually had a chance to think o’ one. I’d been more focused on tryin’ not to die that I’s hadn’t wondered what I’d answer too now.
“I’s… not sure.”
“Well, where’s you from?”
“My’s house used ta be down by the racetrack.”
“Racetrack it is then! I’s Jack Kelly! Why don’t ya come on inta Medda’s, and we can get ya situated.” He then promptly leaped back up the fire escape, an’ reappeared moments later down on the street. He helped me inside, where we’s were greeted by the kindest lookin’ woman I ever did see.
“Hey there sweetheart. Jack here’s told me everythin’. Let’s get you cleaned up an’ fed. Then we’ll discuss next steps.” And so off I was whisked, into a room with a very nice tub, filled to the brim with hot water an’ some sweet smellin’ perfume. Medda gave me the decency of scrubbin’ up for myselfs, and left, instead a clothes, a nice plush robe. So out I came, and there’s jack, still grinin’ brighter then tha sun, holdin’ a couple different outfits.
“Ma an’ I didn’t know what kinda outfit ya would prefer, so I’s grabbed a bit of everythin’.” I’d honestly not known what ta say, so I just stared at him for a solid minute.
“M..may I try the boys clothes?”
“‘Course Racer! If you feels like one o’ us, then ya are, and you ought to be allowed to dress that way. You think ya can manage on yer own, or would ya like some help getting’ dressed?”
“Could ya maybe help me? I’s quite sore, and I’d prefer if it’s was a boy helpin’.”
“Sure thing!” He passed me a pair o’ boxers. “You should prolly put these on first.” He then turned away shyly as i shimmied inta them. He turned back around, let out a small yelp, then pivoted right back around.
“What happened to yer, um, yer chest?” I forgot that. Oops.
“Well, I wasn’t ‘xactly wantin’ it, and there wasn’t really a better option, so here we are.”
“Oh. Well, would ya like some bandages or somethin’, maybe try to… smush ‘em back a bit?” That would actually be.. Really nice. I’s let him know as much, and he scrambled right off, appearin’ few minutes later with a roll o’ a light flesh colored fabric. He proceeded to help me wrap it ‘round my chest, bein’ very kind ‘n gently around my front section, but also not actin’ any different then if it had been a true boys chest. When he’s was done, My’s front could pass for a plank if it needed ta. I’d stared in the mirror for what must have seemed like an eternity. We’s got the rest o’ me dressed, then headed back to where jack claimed was the kitchen. Medda was there with two bowls of the best lookin’ grub I ever did see.
Once we’d eaten (some o’ us faster then others), Jack, Medda, and I discussed where I might go, an’ what I might do. They’s suggested taken up bein’ a newsie, which sounded mighty fine to me. Turns out Jack was also one. He sometimes stayed at Medda’s, but most nights, he said, he stayed at a place called kloppmans. We’s walked down, and got me rooming with another boy, Specs. The name was on account of his havin’ spectacles.
And so there’s I settled in. Became a proper newsie. No one knew, or if they did, didn’t bother to mention, the fact that I’s was technically a girl. I was now Racetrack Higgins (a name I chose from a pretty street sign). I often sold down by the racetrack, so that if anyone asked about my name, I could tell ‘em it’s because I sold there.
Now, the bindin’ wasn’t all that cozy. It chaffed and tugged, but it did the job. One day, couple months after I joined the newsies, Jack comes ta me, same timid look on his face as that first time he tossed me my undergarments.
“So, racer, I may a made ya something.”
“We’ll don’t be shy now Jack, give it here.” And out from behind his back he pulls a piece o’ fabric. It looks exactly like a tank top.
“ thanks Jack, but if I’m bein’ perfectly honest, I haven’t the darndest clue what I’m holdin’.”
“Try it on. Oh, and take of yer bindings first.” I look at him skeptically, but do as instructed. The garments a bit tight and hard to get on, but once it’s on, I see why.
“Jackie, where’d my tits go?”
“Smushed back, same as the bindin’ does. Thought this would be more comfortable.”
“It’s perfect! Thank ya so much jack! Did you make this yourself?”
“Yeah, it’s not that big a deal.”
“Jack, I doubt most boys out there could tell ya how to thread a needle, much less how to make their own shirt. You need to teach this!” And, after some arguin’ he did. So now, every first and third Saturday of the month, up on this here roof of kloppmans, Jack teaches sewin’ skills.