Circusmaster Grayson

Training

Sorry for not updating this since November.

xXx

Dick struggled against his sling, trying to get it to fit even in the slightest. He had discovered, to his surprise, that the one he used to wear a few years ago was far too small, and had to be given to a younger performer. He hadn't used it in too long, and now he had to use the stiff, confusing one they had managed to dig out of an old steam trunk before the train pulled out to head to the next city.

"It was mine when I was your age," his father had explained.

That didn't make it any easier to adjust the stupid contraption.

As he toiled to get the ancient thing to do something in his favor, someone tapped on the doorframe to his room. He looked up and saw his mother standing in the doorway, smiling at him and swaying slightly with the movements of the train.

He yanked the strap one last time, glaring at his arm, and flexed his hand. "Hi, Mom."

She leaned lightly against the wall. "Someone's grumpy."

"Why wouldn't I be? I just guaranteed that I won't be performing for at least two weeks." He sat down with a huff.

She sat down next to him, setting her crutches against the window, and took his good hand in her own. "Do you know that I love you?"

He nodded sullenly, staring at the scenery speeding by outside.

She pulled his head onto her shoulder and placed hers gently on top. "What's making you so upset about this time?" she probed.

He shrugged his good shoulder. "I dunno. I guess it's just that I could've avoided getting hurt so easily. If I'd just grabbed the bar right--"

"Stop talking like that," his mother chastised. "You'll only waste your breath."

"Yeah, I know." Dick stared at a cloud that looked like Abraham Lincoln. The longer he thought about it, the easier it was to convince himself that it was an accurate depiction of the deceased president and not just his imagination.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mary finally asked, "What do you say we make our special popcorn and read? We haven't done that in a while."

Dick drew in a deep breath and sighed. "Sure, why not?"

Mary left the car to get the radio as Dick grabbed their books from his bag. His mother was working on Gone with the Wind, and Dick was reading Robin Hood for what must have been the hundredth time. They listened to a classics station playing quietly in the background as they settled down next to each other with their books and popcorn.

Dick loved these quiet times he spent with his mother. Spending a few hours in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the popcorn and each other's company, all while killing the time spent traveling between cities, had a soothing effect on him that was unmatchable.

Here he marked upon the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of his right hand those things which he wished for. "Firstly, I would have a sweet brown pie of tender larks; mark ye, not dry cooked, but with a good sop of gravy to moisten it withal. Next, I would have a pretty pullet, fairly boiled, with tender pigeons' eggs, cunningly sliced, garnishing the platter around. With these I would have a long, slim loaf of wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it should be warm from the fire, with glossy brown crust, the color of the hair of mine own Maid Marian, and this same crust should be as crisp and brittle as the thin white ice that lies across the furrows in the early winter's morning. These will do for the more solid things; but with these I must have three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary, and one brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack."