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R a ú l A r m a n d o

For a moment, Armando stared at the fallen strings, confused, and a little disappointed. Was it malicious intent that driven Travis to pull the knot apart? He sighed and made to start the process over again, only to find Travis trying the strings back together. Armando smiled, more relieved than he probably ought to be, considering it was only a silly knot.
“Thank you,” He called to Travis’ retreating back, though he knew he was unlikely to get any response, but that did not matter. It was no skin off his nose to say ‘thank you.’
He pulled on one glove over his good hand, not really needing to protect the other one.
Armando walked around to the shelves of the garage, humming as he plucked tools off and stuck them into the huge front pockets of his apron. There were two untouched cars left, but only one was in for repair. The other belonged to Armando, and did not run at all. It just sat in the corner collecting dust and looking old and rusted. He had always meant to try to repair the old thing, but had never got around to it.
It was not this rust bucket that Armando now approached, but the last untouched car. He flipped up the hood and set about unscrewing, unhinging, and generally dismantling a better part of the engine, setting each part aside carefully. Armando might not go about fixing vehicles the way Travis did, but he knew what he was doing. There was a reason he had managed to become as successful as he was.

((I’m a little more than halfway finished with your picture))

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Armando did not notice that Travis had begun to investigate the old car. He had become too absorbed in his own work to notice much else. That was one of the things he loved about mechanics. It requiered a certain amount of concentration, but there was a method to it, a ryhthm, so to speak.
Once he found that ryhthm, Armando could tune out to the rest of the world.
“Travis,” He started without looking over at his assistant. Armando had most of the engine in pieces now and had finally identified the offending part. From his apron pocket, Armando pulled an odd tool that looked like a cross between a screwdriver and a wrench.
“Why did you run off last night?”

((Sorry that it is on the shorter side))

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Armando chuckled. He should not have expected an answer from Travis. He was probably just prying into Travis’ personal life anyway. Armando never thought of himself as a nosy person, just a curious one. Still, having Travis leave his question unanswered allowed Armando to go back to his theories.
He disconnected the offending part from the engine and straightened up. About to go in search of a replacement, Armando was caught by Travis’ question.
“Oh, she’s mine.” He said quickly, sticking both the tool he had been using and the small piece of metal into his apron pocket. Armando went to stand near the car.
For all that the car was an old rust-bucket, Armando was very fond of it. He wasn’t sure this model was even produced anymore. They had already been starting to die out when he’d saved this car from his old mentor’s garage. It had not looked much better back then.
“You don’t have to do that, if you don’t want to.” Armando said cautiously. What he really wanted to say was ‘be careful,’ but didn’t know if Travis would respond to that. That the car was running while the motor was exposed made him just a little… uncomfortable. Just a little.

((Look, I found a pretty car. 8D Purty))

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“Thank you,” Armando said in response to both Travis’ evaluation of the car and to his shutting off the engine. The churning rust was all too familiar for his taste, even after six years. He watched Travis for another moment, before turning away to locate the replacement part he had been trying to find. They still had work after all.
The day continued uneventfully, unless almost being hit in the head with a wrench thrown across the garage in a fit of frustration. For all that Travis may have loved the car, hours of working on it with so little to show for it, did not seem to sit well with him. Still, it was more progress than Armando had ever made on it, though it didn’t do much good even when he said so.

⊰~≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎~⊱

And so they fell easily into a routine. Every morning Armando would hurry down the stairs to find Travis already waiting for him to open the doors. For a few weeks, Armando made a little game of it, trying to see if he could ever get there before his assistant, but he never could. They would spend the morning in the garage with the cars, Armando occasionally trying to pry information out of Travis, Travis brushing him aside with his usual sarcasm. They would break for meals, alternating who paid, though really the mechanic had stopped keeping track. The day ended just after dark, when Armando closed the shop.
It was comforting to Armando, having the pattern during the day. The days themselves seemed to blend together, characterized only by the small memorable moments, until suddenly it was not quite so hot in the garage while they worked. The sun began to set earlier, and the breeze blew chilly through the leaves of the few trees in the city.

It was on one such morning, just after Armando had noted the yellow tinge to the leaves, that it didn’t happen. He rounded the corner of his building, fifteen minutes late as usual and prepared to beg Travis’ forgiveness yet again, when he stopped. His assistant was nowhere to be seen. For a minute, Armando just looked at the place where Travis should have been. A little unnerved, Armando unlocked the shop without him, setting about readying the garage for the day. It couldn’t have been much more than a month since Travis had begun working with him, but it already felt very strange to be starting the day without him.

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Still wondering where his assistant could possibly be, Armando had begun the day’s work without Travis. He thought as we worked, turning different possibilities over in his head, each one more ridiculous than the last.
Maybe Travis was just sick! It wouldn’t be that far fetched. Perhaps he should go check on him, just in case? Armando had begun trying to remember what one was supposed to cook for a sick person, when it occurred to him that he neither knew how to cook, nor where Travis lived.
Luckily, the door swung open before the thought had a chance to dampen Armando’s spirits. He turned, wiping greasy hands on his apron as he maneuvered around the cars.
“Travis? Is that you?” He called as he walked. “You’re late. Are you ok? Who’s this?”
Armando stopped short, surprised, looking between Travis and the small boy. Without thinking, Armando crouched, smiling, so that he was on a level with William. The boy was only a little older than his cousins’ oldest son.
“Hello, what’s your name?”

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The hug startled Armando for about half a second, before he started laughing. He scooped the boy up, holding William up over his head and spinning in a circle, before settling him comfortably on one hip, the way he’d seen his aunt and cousin do with their children.
“You’re big,” He told William, a little out of breath, and trying to look reproachful. This was, of course, difficult, when one was still grinning like the Cheshire cat.
Armando liked children.
Still holding William, he crossed to the counter where Travis was, failing to notice the box of possessions. He set the child on the counter, leaning on it himself to watch Travis.
“Really, Travis, is this your brother? Uh, your son?” He asked curiously.
Armando doubted that the boy was Travis’s son. They did not look very much alike, and it would have made Travis a very young father, but it wasn’t too far out of the question.

R a ú l A r m a n d o

“He looks pretty good for a grandpa,” Armando stage whispered to William, cupping a hand around his mouth as if this would prevent Travis from hearing.
He was actually rather proud that he had been able to detect that the comment was sarcasm in only a few seconds. It might be slow improvement, but it was still improvement!
He lifted William down from the counter, letting him wander where he willed. The child instantly gravitated towards Travis.
So Travis was his guardian? How had that happened? Armando had not really considered Travis the sort of guy who liked children, if only because his sarcasm would probably go right over their heads. Yet, it did not seem out of place for this little boy to be following him like a shadow. Maybe William was the reason he always left so quickly after they closed the shop?
Armando realized that he had been staring into space… Space that happened to be in his assistant’s general area.
Armando returned to the car he had been working on before Travis and his charge had entered the store, but could not bring himself to start on it again.
“Why bring in the Little Man today?” He asked, leaning against the automobile. Maybe he was being nosy, but Armando preferred to think of it as being curious. It was his shop after all.