When We Get There

Chapter 1

Ignacio ran down the cracked and weed-choked sidewalk, a soccer ball leaping from foot to foot. The streets were mostly empty—the town was still slumbering with the afternoon siesta apart from a few dozen kids that, like Ignacio, ran down the sidewalk in loose groups with soccer balls, toy guns, and dolls. The ancient stone storefronts with their antique oak doors stared down at him as he ran past, eventually coming upon a grassy alcove between two buildings in the block.

A small group of other kids had already started up a game of soccer. The field was nearly big enough for it, but you would have trouble fitting more than the half dozen people already there. Ignacio kicked the ball into the air, balanced it on his toe, then gracefully set it back down and nestled in the grass. As he slipped his bag from his shoulders, he heard someone call:

"Ignacio? What're you still doing here, flaco?"

Ignacio forced a smile and turned. Carlos, his best friend of several years, was jogging across the field to him, a cloth bag slung under one arm and a genuine smile on his face.

"No, loco," Ignacio said. "We leave tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you back a calendar, too?"

"No, no," Carlos chuckled. "Esta bien. Just an actual soccer ball would be fine."

He picked up Ignacio's ball from the ground. It was a marred white color mixed with dapples of green, with rounded black triangles ringing a word in the center that was nearly unrecognizable. Clumsy stitches ran along the seams. It was Ignacio's dad's back when he was younger. Ignacio didn't remember the name, but his dad probably did.

"I don't think this old thing is going to survive much longer, no?"

Carlos spun the ball once in his hands, then looked at Ignacio and smiled.

"Good. Are we going to play or not?"

Carlos grinned even wider. "I thought you would never ask. Come on!"

He dropped the bag into the grass and ran into the field. Ignacio joined him.

Ignacio's team of four won the game easily-- mostly because Marco wasn't an effective goalkeeper. You might've thought he played for the opposite team with how many goals he missed by a long shot. While Ignacio prepared himself for the long walk home, Carlos approached him, again holding the bag he had set down.

"Ignacio. Before you go, I got you this. To help remember us."

From the bag, he procured two small leather pouches, each tied with a drawstring. In the first leather pouch, Ignacio revealed a little, handcrafted model train like the ones Tia Cathy made for the kids in the town square on Children's Day. The second pouch unveiled a handle made of a pristine white bull horn. The white bull horn handle had a silver button on one side, and a shallow channel that ran down the length of it like a vein of quicksilver on the other.

Ignacio snorted. "I understand the train. What's this, though?"

He picked it up, examined it, then pressed the button. It clicked, and a three-inch-long knife blade flicked out. It was polished. The fine edge winked at him.

"My dad made it for you," he explained. "You know, just in case. New place, different people...all that..."

Ignacio flicked it open and shut a couple of times, then placed it in the pouch and pocketed it. He returned a bittersweet smile, though each time he tried, it only felt more fake.

"I'm going to miss you guys."

"I hope I'll see you again soon. Don't forget about us, hm? Come back some time."

"I will. I promise," Ignacio said, though he wasn't all too sure he meant it. Would he be able to come back? Ignacio didn't know. There wasn't much that he could know. His family kept in him the dark about most of the trip. Ignacio went to pack his ball in his bag and then paused.

"Do you want the ball?"

Carlos stared at him, eyes wide. "Are you serious?" He asked, his voice edging on excitement.

"Yeah. Until I come back with the new ball, I think you should have it. That way you can remember me, too."

Ignacio spun the ball, gave it one last longing gaze, then tossed it into Carlos' arms.

"We'll never forget you, Ignacio. That doesn't mean you don't get to come back, though. Do you know when that'll be?"

Ignacio's throat tightened. "I hope soon."

They hugged briefly, and before Carlos could say goodbye, Ignacio had run down the street, away from his friends and the good memories that came with them. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be.

Three blocks on, Ignacio stopped running. It was long after the siesta had ended, now. The faint orange lights of early evening descended over the town. The sun hid in a stew of thin white clouds. It sent diffused orange rays across the bruised purple sky.

Ignacio breathed, composed himself, then continued walking. He picked a route home that went by the outskirts of town. There, he passed the old town train station. It was a small thing, more resembling an apartment than a station of any kind. Of all things, that small station was the most recognizable for the bold green letters painted along the side: URDAMPILLETA. Long since abandoned, it lay isolated in a field collecting more dust than passengers. Ignacio's grandparents told him the station was abandoned because it just wasn't worth servicing the smaller towns anymore. At least, that's what the government thought. Occasionally a train ran through, though you were more likely to catch an elephant on those tracks than even the smallest train. Ignacio remembered playing with his friends when he was younger, acting out scenes with old tools left behind, shouting 'All Aboard!' as an imaginary train rumbled to a stop. He remembered walking on the train tracks with his friends, exploring the pastures hidden behind the tall grass that flanked the tracks with wide-eyed fascination.

Ignacio stopped for a moment. He fished in his bag for something, and after a brief second of worry, thinking that he had already lost it, pulled out the model train Carlos had given him. He held it up so that, from his perspective, the train's tiny button wheels lined up parallel with the rusting iron tracks.

Then all at once, he felt a hot pressure build behind his eyes. Ignacio closed them for a moment, then put his attention elsewhere and kept walking.

I'll come back, he reassured himself. I'll come back, and we'll go to the tracks again and there'll be a real train for us to ride together.

Right?

Tears like blue-white gemstones filled his eyes. They fell silently onto the pavement as he walked down the block, his head bowed.