As I exited Grand Central Station, carpetbag in hand, I gasped in amazement. The City was much larger than I had anticipated. Throngs of people walking, running, and riding bicycles, all with the same get-through-life expression plastered on their faces, jostled me around as they made their way to wherever they were going. I felt severely out of place, for unlike the others, I didn’t have a destination.
I had come to New York City with little money, no direction, and no companions, on the notion that I could further pursue my passion- the theater. I had heard wonderful things about all the theater districts, and would eat up articles in the local newspaper about professional entertainers. I had always dreamed that I would one day be onstage in the Big City, bowing for the third time, appeasing the standing ovation received from the amazed crowd. The only thing standing in my way was my family. While they didn’t shun my obsession with dramatics, they didn’t encourage it, either. It was never spoken, but I knew that I was expected to marry a local man when I reached the appropriate age, manage his household, and raise several healthy, happy children. I didn’t fancy the plan, but I didn’t seem to have many other options save suicide or becoming an old maid. Since neither appealed to me, I just went along with what was presumed, learning to cook and clean, and helping to take care of my seven younger brothers and sister.
My whole mundane life collapsed around me one day, however, when the Half Plague hit our unsuspecting little town. So dubbed because it wiped out half of the already-meager population of Partridge Town, the Half Plague caused high fever, seizures, and delirium in all those affected. Because we were such an isolated town, there was no local doctor, and the homemade remedies didn’t help. Few who caught the contagious disease survived. I watched four of seven classmates get buried, and stood helplessly as the sickness spread through my own household. My youngest brother was the first to die, followed by both of the twins, his only surviving triplet, my mother, and lastly, my father. When it was done, I was left with nobody but my then nine-year-old brother, and three-year-old sister. The funerals were like a blur to me, one right after the other. I watched the caskets get lowered into the foreboding holes in the ground, and stood silently, denying the urge to leap effortlessly into the pits with the wooden boxes.
When word reached my relatives in New Hampshire, they arrived to take custody of my two surviving siblings. However, they already had four children, and they couldn’t afford to take another child under their wing, so I was left on my own. I was left to stake out my own life, and without a second thought decided to board the train to New York City.
Now I found myself standing in front of the train station, gaping at my surroundings. I had always been burdened with a binding timidness. Before my mother had died, she had always joked that if I were ever to be on my own, I wouldn’t be able to handle myself, for I wouldn’t ask anybody I didn’t know for anything- information, possessions, or even simple questions. As I found myself in just that circumstance, I had no alternative but to approach one of the ever-changing members of the sea of people that surrounded me. Luckily for me, the first person I saw turned out to be one of my greatest benefactors in the future. She was a young woman, probably about the same age as me, with dark blonde hair and greenish blue eyes. Dressed in shabby clothing and holding a stack of newspapers, she was nobody who would usually get a second glance.
“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to know of a-of an inexpensive place to s-stay, would you?” I stuttered, uncomfortable with addressing a stranger. Her eyes lit up.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. What is it that you are looking for exactly?” The girl asked, perkily.
“I don’t know.....just some place that’s cheap until I can get a—get a job.” I looked at the ground again; my heart was beating uncontrollably.
“What kind of job are you interested in?” She adjusted the cap that was placed on her head-unusual, I thought, for a girl.
“Um, well, I don’t know. I mean, I do, but.....” I couldn’t figure out how to finish my sentence.
“How about selling newspapers? I’m not a big recruiter or anything, but it is a fine job, it gets you by, at least, until you find just what you’re looking for. And, you can stay at the lodging house for only six cents a night.” She shrugged.
“I guess so....” I hesitated, thinking how far off selling newspapers was from Shakespeare.
“Alright, then. I can take you to the lodging house; someone else is likely to be there that’s better at explaining this stuff then I am. I’m Muse, in case you were wondering.” She extended her hand, and it wavered a bit as if she was trying to decide whether or not to do something. I shook it delicately, wary of the fact that I had just agreed to do something recommended by an urchin girl named Muse.
“I’m Annie.” I said simply.
“Like the cowgirl? Annie Oakley...” I really had never heard of Annie Oakley, so I just lifted the corners of my mouth slightly, afraid to break a full smile, and didn’t say anything.
“Alright, Annie, so the lodging house is downtown. Come on.” She instructed me to follow. I had to blink to make sure that all of this was really happening, it was moving so fast.
We walked for what seemed like an hour. Muse attempted to start conversations along the way, but I kept my answers to her questions brief and vague. I didn’t want to annoy her with constant chit-chat I was reminded of an article I had read in our newspaper, urging young ladies to talk as little as possible. “Too much chatter makes others find an excuse to leave”, it informed.
“We’re almost there.” Muse suddenly stated, after a few minutes of awkward silence. Sure enough, a few moments later, we reached a brick building with a sign that read “Newsboys' Lodging House”. I raised my eyebrows in a manner that must have seemed critical, for Muse suddenly spoke up.
“It fooled me, too, at first. I guess that this place used to be for just boys, but there are not lots of females. I’m sure you’ll get along with most of the people here.” She assured me.
We entered the building to find a room with a large desk with an elderly man sitting behind it, reading a newspaper. He was wearing a bowler, and had on small spectacles. There were a few guys and girls standing around the room, talking amongst themselves. I already felt secluded, everybody else there seemed to know each other, and I was just some reject from Maine. A reject orphan from Maine, I had to remind myself. Though it had been at least two weeks since the last funeral, it still hadn’t sunken in that I was an orphan.