Departure
The cart was a magnificent thing to behold for Hector's young eyes. He had heard his father talk for hours about it when his company was over, but he had never risen early enough to see the wooden spectacle. The wood on the cart's bed was dark, traced and outline intricately with a lighter, chestnut wood. A set of leather reigns were resting on the hook of the driver's bench and attached to the reigns were a pair of old, brown nags. They snorted and tossed their heads impatiently, clouds of silver, smoke- like air rushing from their nostrils in the cool morning air. They pawed at the cobbled street as their glossy black eyes remained locked forward on the trail ahead. They had clearly done this many times before, and their impatient anxiousness did not match the age their bodies told in the least.
His intent concentration on the cart was broken as he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the hand belonged to his mother. The skin beneath her eyes was rest and puffy, eyes glistening brightly like dew upon a field of greens. She had been crying.
"Promise to be careful?" She questioned in a whisper, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. Her touch was soft, nothing like his father's would ever be.
Hector wasn't sure what she was in fear of, but he nodded just to make her happy. It as probably just a mother-type thing. Apparently the nod was appreciated, for the beautiful, infamous smile returned to her face, dimples appearing and curling around her lips. It was enough to make anyone smile, that spark that she kindled and carried. Her brows remained sunken back, however, and the reassuring smile faces. A soft sob escaped her and she looked down just as she burst into a bit. Roughly, she threw her arms around Hector, knees buckling as she pulled him close. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, frightened at the sudden change and more confused than ever.
"I would have taken it all back if I could have." She took in a sharp breath and sniffled, "I would have jumped in last night, I would have stood up for you or recommended some other way to him."
She wasn't making anything easier. He could only keep holding onto her tightly, nodding slightly for reassurance. There was a loud clatter as some heavy bundle of supplies was dropped into the bed of the cart. Hector pulled away from his mother, whipping around to see his father hopping out of the bed. Vincent wiped his sweaty brow, taking in a deep breath.
"Get in, boy."
Hector looked back to his mother, she nodded timidly and offered him a soft, sincere smile. It was his turn to be reassured. He knew he couldn't run back to her now, so he did the only thing he knew he could do; get in the cart.
As he drew closer to the cart he had admired earlier, he realized it was much different than his imagination had led him to believe. The wood was chipped and worn, rotting from the inside out. In the breaks of the wood, soft, yellow, powdery bits of wood coated the rims of the gaping holes. The bed wasn't as wide as he had hoped either, or perhaps it was all the bundles that would be enclosed around him. The wheels were just holding on to their rusty rivets, which had seen their share of rain and river alike. Rather than a rounded, smooth surface, the wheel was becoming worn and angled, becoming almost square in shape.
No more observations could be made; Hector felt his father's strong arms hoist his body over the railing and into the cart. Once his father released he fell a good three inches, only to collapse in a bed of hay and sawdust that kept the fragile bundles secure. A few bundles wavered at the new weight and rolled over, enclosing him in a tight spot. His head was pressed against the wood of the railing. At the sound of a crack, he knew the rotting was far worse inside than out. He leaned up as best as he could manage and shoved the bundles aside.
Scrambling to his knees, he clambered atop a few bundles. It was just enough to peer over the railing. He could see his mother waving, the unmistakable tears falling across her pale cheeks. He considered jumping over the railing and running into her arms. She was so warm and welcoming and the cart was everything opposite. The thought died immediately...he'd be back. If he was to learn to become a man and please his mother, he would sacrifice a week. Before he could wave back, the cart lurched forward as the horses began to trot. Falling back into the debris, he remembered the cart's age. No use sitting up...it was going to be a bumpy ride.
The cart was a magnificent thing to behold for Hector's young eyes. He had heard his father talk for hours about it when his company was over, but he had never risen early enough to see the wooden spectacle. The wood on the cart's bed was dark, traced and outline intricately with a lighter, chestnut wood. A set of leather reigns were resting on the hook of the driver's bench and attached to the reigns were a pair of old, brown nags. They snorted and tossed their heads impatiently, clouds of silver, smoke- like air rushing from their nostrils in the cool morning air. They pawed at the cobbled street as their glossy black eyes remained locked forward on the trail ahead. They had clearly done this many times before, and their impatient anxiousness did not match the age their bodies told in the least.
His intent concentration on the cart was broken as he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the hand belonged to his mother. The skin beneath her eyes was rest and puffy, eyes glistening brightly like dew upon a field of greens. She had been crying.
"Promise to be careful?" She questioned in a whisper, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. Her touch was soft, nothing like his father's would ever be.
Hector wasn't sure what she was in fear of, but he nodded just to make her happy. It as probably just a mother-type thing. Apparently the nod was appreciated, for the beautiful, infamous smile returned to her face, dimples appearing and curling around her lips. It was enough to make anyone smile, that spark that she kindled and carried. Her brows remained sunken back, however, and the reassuring smile faces. A soft sob escaped her and she looked down just as she burst into a bit. Roughly, she threw her arms around Hector, knees buckling as she pulled him close. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, frightened at the sudden change and more confused than ever.
"I would have taken it all back if I could have." She took in a sharp breath and sniffled, "I would have jumped in last night, I would have stood up for you or recommended some other way to him."
She wasn't making anything easier. He could only keep holding onto her tightly, nodding slightly for reassurance. There was a loud clatter as some heavy bundle of supplies was dropped into the bed of the cart. Hector pulled away from his mother, whipping around to see his father hopping out of the bed. Vincent wiped his sweaty brow, taking in a deep breath.
"Get in, boy."
Hector looked back to his mother, she nodded timidly and offered him a soft, sincere smile. It was his turn to be reassured. He knew he couldn't run back to her now, so he did the only thing he knew he could do; get in the cart.
As he drew closer to the cart he had admired earlier, he realized it was much different than his imagination had led him to believe. The wood was chipped and worn, rotting from the inside out. In the breaks of the wood, soft, yellow, powdery bits of wood coated the rims of the gaping holes. The bed wasn't as wide as he had hoped either, or perhaps it was all the bundles that would be enclosed around him. The wheels were just holding on to their rusty rivets, which had seen their share of rain and river alike. Rather than a rounded, smooth surface, the wheel was becoming worn and angled, becoming almost square in shape.
No more observations could be made; Hector felt his father's strong arms hoist his body over the railing and into the cart. Once his father released he fell a good three inches, only to collapse in a bed of hay and sawdust that kept the fragile bundles secure. A few bundles wavered at the new weight and rolled over, enclosing him in a tight spot. His head was pressed against the wood of the railing. At the sound of a crack, he knew the rotting was far worse inside than out. He leaned up as best as he could manage and shoved the bundles aside.
Scrambling to his knees, he clambered atop a few bundles. It was just enough to peer over the railing. He could see his mother waving, the unmistakable tears falling across her pale cheeks. He considered jumping over the railing and running into her arms. She was so warm and welcoming and the cart was everything opposite. The thought died immediately...he'd be back. If he was to learn to become a man and please his mother, he would sacrifice a week. Before he could wave back, the cart lurched forward as the horses began to trot. Falling back into the debris, he remembered the cart's age. No use sitting up...it was going to be a bumpy ride.