A collection of very short

Hector

'What can I get you?"

Hector was still hesitant. He waved at the woman behind him for her to go ahead while he decided on the pastry he wanted.

"Madam, what can I get you? This young man is here every week and always has a hard time deciding."

"Oh it's quite all right," the woman answered, observing Hector with great attention. I can wait for him to make his choice. I haven't made mine either.

She took a step towards the pastry display, standing by Hector's side.

"You said he comes here often?" She asked the baker as if Hector was not right beside her.

"Every week, right Hector?"

Distracted, Hector nodded. He was hesitating between a chocolate eclair and a chocolate religieuse, his two favourites.

The name Hector rung all sorts of bells and whistles in the woman's head. She stared at Hector's reflection in the display case. She was too shy to look at him directly. She did not want to appear to stare

"I'll have an eclair please," Hector finally asked. It has been a difficult decision made of trade offs and self promise on the following week's order.

The woman took a step back and observed him. He was in his late teens, early twenties, thin and a little taller than her but nothing out of the ordinary, and he had blond hair. Every box was ticked.

Propelled by her memories, she overcame her reserve. "Where are you from Hector?"

"I'm from around here." Hector turned back to get a good look at the her. She seemed boring enough, the typical middle aged woman on a holiday on the coast.

"You were born around here?" She felt there was a need for her to make sure she was not wrong. "If I may insist," she added not to be impolite.

The baker had packed a small bag for Hector and was about to ask for him to pay.

"No, not really," Hector replied. "I have been living here since I was six. I'm from the North otherwise."

Her eyes shone. This was the last box on the list. She was certain now. She was free to pursue her questioning. She extended a hand.

"Hi, I'm Rama. I come on holidays here, once in a while. Would you mind having breakfast with me? It won't take long, don't worry."

The baker looked surprise at the turn of event. Hector barely reacted.

"Can you make that two?" Rama asked the baker without waiting for an answer from Hector. She knew that only if she was persistent she would get her answers. "I'll pay for the both of us, it's no worry."

Hector nodded, happy to be treated to a free breakfast. This happiness did not transpire in his facial expressions. He was not about to refuse a free breakfast, but his guard was up. He knew from experience that talking to strangers should be done with great caution.

They sat inside the bakery at a small table in the corner. Rama peppered Hector with questions. He answered the best he could, making sure that he was not divulging too much information. Rama was mostly interested on the period when he had moved. Hector was least interested in sharing that part of his life. He did his best to remain polite in his non-answers or round about answers. The more answers she got and the surer Rama became. A tear rolled down her cheeks, though a smile was present on her face at all time. She had waited for this moment for more than a decade.

Once the eclairs were done and she was satisfied with the questions, her motivations finally became clear.

"I have to confess that I am not asking all of these questions out of the kindness of my heart." She slowed down, choosing her words carefully. She did not want to scare or worry Hector. "But I think I know who you are."

She took a deep breath.

"You see, a little over a decade ago I had a son. His name was Hector, just like you. We lived in the North, not far from the ocean. He had a sweet tooth and we used to go to the bakery every Saturday. He always chose the eclair. I can still remember the tantrums I had to face whenever I forced a strawberry tart on him."

She giggled. Hector's face showed no emotions. No smile, no frown. Impassible to the point that it was not clear whether he was even listening to what she was saying.

"One night, it was a stormy night, Hector went out. We looked for him for days, weeks even but we never found him." She placed her open hands on the table. "After three months, the police declared him dead. But I never stopped looking. I knew he was out there. I knew you were out there."

She looked into Hector's eyes. She thought she saw a light in there but she was not sure.

"Hector how did you end up here? On this side of the country? On this coast?"

Hector looked at her. He had no answer for her.

"Hector, I think I'm your mother."

The baker who had been watching and listening from behind the counter was dumbstruck. But she said nothing. She continued observing, worried about Hector's reaction. The boy had never been the kind to let others know what he thought, at least from her weekly interactions with him.

"Hector, can I see your left hand?"

Hector got up without a word. He was staring at the door. He took a step forward but stopped. He let his hand linger on the table without opening it. Rama slowly reached for it, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks. Before she could reach his hand, Hector walked away. He never even looked at her. He exited the bakery and this was the last time he would ever come.