lilbluecorsola
Binky-boo! <3
I’m sitting on Ash’s bed right now, marveling at the timeless souvenirs of innocence that have been preserved all around me. This room is like a museum, was my first thought when I stepped into the small space filled wall to wall with childhood memories. Not my own memories, but someone else’s, laid out ostentatiously on display for others to come and admire. And these are artifacts, ancient relics that remind me of how much time he- no, “we” rather, wasted on such puerile pastimes. Pokémon toys, games, books – all neatly stacked on their shelves by the exhibit’s orderly caretaker for the past four years. I can hear her downstairs, watching a movie on TV. The slightly staticy murmur of voices rises up through the floorboards, and I can’t shake off the idea that it’s a quiet but insistent reminder that I’m not alone.
Perhaps she’s not the curator of this domain. I can hear another dull hum, towards my right, underneath a different section of floorboards. Her Mr. Mime housemaid – Mimey, I think she calls it – is vacuuming the kitchen. I once heard her say to the Professor that Mr. Mime will automatically clean whatever looks dirty, so maybe it manages Ash’s room of its own accord, simply treating it as part of its alpha leader’s territory. Goodness knows the place was always a mess before he left, at least from what I saw. Not that I’m boasting of much better habits. Simply put, this room would never have looked so clean and habitable had it actually possessed a permanent habitant, particularly one as slovenly and careless as Ash.
I also heard Mrs. Ketchum say that “Mimey dear” will only do what she tells it to. So then I guess she is the keeper of this vacant base, the one who turned it into an equally sad and empty exposition. Perhaps “sad and empty” aren’t the right words to describe the atmosphere. The simple, charming traces of boyhood innocence such as the Pokémon action figures (still poised for battle) and coloring books and TCG decks are anything but sad. There’s even an old NES still plugged into the TV, with a forgotten cartridge inserted in the game slot. Mrs. Ketchum probably never thought to open the machine and check inside. Doubtful she even knew how. I thought about taking it out and putting it with the others in the bin, but in the end I decided to just leave it there.
It’s the absence of anyone to enjoy these hobbies anymore that makes it sad.
When I returned home from Johto, I found to my bemusement my room had been rented out and turned into an artists’ studio/shrine to Professor Oak. There were sketchpads and pencils scattered all over the desk and shelves, and parading grandly across the wall were numerous exaggerated profiles of my aging grandfather, many which bore his signature and one of his famous Pokémon poems beside it.
I stared silently as the current occupant rushed about, setting the room straight and trying frantically to hide traces of his residence there.
“Sorry! The Professor said I could make myself at home. And you gave permission for me to stay here before you left.”
That was true. I remember agreeing to something along those lines right before I set off for Johto.
“I thought that you and Ash weren’t due back in Pallet for a few more days.”
“I took a shortcut through the base of Mt. Silver.”
“Oh.”
There followed a stretch of silence, save for the restless rustling of paper stacks being shoved aside.
“Er… I’m Tracey by the way. Your grandfather’s new lab assistant.” He laughed nervously, stuffing some drawings inside a binder. There was nothing he could do about the posters. They had obviously already been seen, and he seemed reluctant to take them down anyway.
“Yeah, I remember. You answered the phone once.”
“Oh! Yes, that’s right! Ha ha… Uh, say, is that your Umbreon?”
I looked down at the black dog crouched beside my feet. Its yellow-banded ears flicked meditatively to and fro, and its half-moon eyes tracked the young man’s excited gestures with bewildered interest. I realized that it must view the curious stranger as an invader on its master’s territory, and I swiftly ordered it down. Then I turned back and nodded.
“Yes, it is.”
“Wow. It’s got such a beautiful coat. I would love to sketch it… I mean, um, with your permission, of course.”
I shrugged. “You can if you want.”
“Really? That would be fantastic!” His eyes lit up like he had just won the lottery. Then he grinned sheepishly, remembering what I was here for. “Ah, I forgot my manners again, sorry. What I meant is: ‘You can have your room back now.’”
I gazed appraisingly around the bedroom, particularly at the walls. Everywhere my grandfather’s wrinkled visage kept beaming back at me.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just sleep in my sister’s old room for now.”
“Oh, no!” the boy cried, agitated. “I’ll take the posters down too, don’t worry! I don’t want to run you out of your room. I can sleep on the sofa in the lobby.”
“Nah, it’s fine. You can stay here. Trust me, it’ll be less awkward.” Not that Daisy’s room will be any more comforting, but at least she has some sense of fashionable taste. …Some.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I turned to leave.
“Oh, wait!”
I aimed back, smiling sardonically. “Yes?”
“Just thought I’d mention, I found this over behind a shelf…”
The smile abruptly faded from my face.
We used to play against each other. The few times I went to his house – if gramps went out on a research trip or something and my sister couldn’t babysit me – we ended up playing video games since there wasn’t much else to do besides. Ash would get annoyed if we played cards or had pretend battles with his toy Pokémon models, since I was always lecturing him about the rules and how an Electric attack wouldn’t damage a Ground Pokémon in real life, etc. I knew because my grandfather taught me. He wrote a book on it, which I had until my sister lent it out without my permission, or knowledge, to that matter…
At any rate, we’d end up playing Mario Bros. or Tetris or some other game, since he couldn’t stand always being criticized over his ignorance, especially by someone his own age. I will happily admit with due pride and enjoyment that I still won whatever challenge he threw at me. Every time he’d suggest something new, with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, as if he thought he’d finally caught me by surprise and I’d fumble somehow in the face of the unknown. I never did, and he’d throw the controller down with childish rage at my concluding snide remark and we’d end up on the floor, kicking and punching each other physically in a brutal rematch, from which we were hastily separated by his alert but unconcerned mother, who came flying up the stairs not as soon as the loud yelling and thumping started, but when the noise reached a level just before she knew we were apt to cause damage to our surroundings.
She’d peel the two of us apart, holding our struggling selves firmly in her grip (which was surprisingly strong considering her stature) at arm’s length, and say to us cheerfully: “Now I know you two love to fight, but do it outside please so you don’t break my furniture.” And she’d toss us out the front door where we’d immediately resume, and finally come in to lunch or dinner later, bruised and bleeding and covered in grass stains. You could always judge by the number of injuries that Ash had lost. Still, Mrs. Ketchum looked at us and said nothing. She simply smiled and said, “Food’s ready,” and we’d grin stupidly as we ate. After the kind woman treated our cuts and scrapes, we’d head out together to the river to fish or the forest to catch bugs. Ash was always satisfied at this point that he’d been able to land some hard hits, which he’d never stop boasting about for the rest of the day, and promptly forgot the next, when the cycle would inevitably repeat.
But in the end, Ash was never really satisfied with video games or fistfights. As soon as these distractions were finished, he’d always insist on setting out to hunt and observe wild Pokémon. At times, he’d listen earnestly as I quoted my grandfather on a Pidgey’s nesting habits and the differences between a Goldeen and a Magikarp. He never accepted any advice or theories that I put forth of my own without complaint, but the discourses of the renowned Professor Oak were another matter. He had great respect for the man known throughout Kanto for his achievements in the Pokémon research field. It infuriated me sometimes, that he wouldn’t listen to a word I said unless I credited my grandfather for the information. Even if I warned him of danger, he’d think he was lying to get back at him for something (which, admittedly, I was on a few occasions). So eventually I stopped trying to give him counsel altogether.
But the detailed facts and statistics about Pokémon weren’t what really interested Ash anyway. What enthralled him was the idea of catching Pokémon of his own and ultimately beating me in a Pokémon Battle. This never changed about him, and years later he’d still chase after me, eager to prove himself. Good old Ashy boy. Always the same idiot.
What Ash didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that I preferred playing video games with him. What I mean is that I enjoyed the different challenges he set before me each day. Not just video games. Sports, crafts, even chores – everything and anything he could think of that might pose a challenge to his constant opponent. I found myself enjoying it after a while. I liked being able to test new skills, and developing my array of talents and abilities each day. I soundly defeated him in all subjects, of course, but each time there was always a little doubt, which was exciting. So I egged him on, day after day. He hated it, and I exulted gratuitously in my victory, but he never gave up either. I’ll give him credit for that.
All right, I’ll be honest. Thanks to Ash, I was pushed all the way to my limits. The following might sound conceited, but the truth is I nearly became an expert at everything. It was because he kept challenging me, forcing me to learn. So yeah, I suppose I’m grateful to him as well.
But strangely, he would never feel fulfilled until he had beaten me in a real Pokémon match. Everything else was just a distraction, just warming up for the fateful day when he would receive a Pokémon, and finally face me in a one-on-one battle. He said so himself. And he believed it would happen. That conviction of his never wavered.
Maybe that’s why he eventually won. I mean, I never took his threats seriously and all. And by that time, I had already mostly grown out of those childish pursuits.
…Let me attempt to explain something. Truthfully, I never intended to be a Pokémon Trainer for life. I knew I’d grow out of the youthful phase at some point, and move on to something more meaningful. Well, maybe I didn’t know fully at first. But I began to gain a sense of awareness during the Indigo League. It has continued to grow since. So when I met Ash again in Johto, I was a lot more restrained. He was still brimming with motivation, which put me off slightly.
At that time, I was already exploring new interests. I even tried far-out sports such as Extreme Pokémon Racing. …Although the weird part is that Ash even entered the same race I did, and he actually won. He had hardly an afternoon of training before the race. I had trained for a week. What’s more, I always used to beat him when we rode wooden boards down hills back in Pallet. It was my first loss to him since the fishing incident right before we began our journeys.
But not even that could deter him from his dream of beating me in a Pokémon Battle. I was puzzled; I couldn’t understand his permanent fixation on being “the best there ever was”. I realized long ago that it’s an obvious fantasy. There’s no point in chasing after it, you’ll only end up going in circles. That’s what I tried to tell myself afterwards, at any rate.
Upon my return from the Johto League Silver Conference, I was “much changed and full of wondering” – as the Professor fluently put it in one of his crazy poems. I have a new ambition now. I want to become a Pokémon researcher. Why? I could come up with a number of reasons (really they’re just excuses), but probably none of them could sufficiently explain why I decided to “give it all up” and start over.
But as I examine it now, I realize that it’s really not a complex matter. The simple truth is that I’m tired of this stasis. We win, we lose, we move on. From town to town, every trainer in the world suffers from wanderlust. We’re always traveling, yet we never reach anywhere. No real destination, no goal other than to become “the greatest Pokémon Master”. But I understood recently that to become that means an end to the journey. No more wandering, no more training and pushing forward and struggling with your friends in the name of getting stronger. When you’re the strongest, there’s nowhere left to turn. No more room to grow. Nowhere to run.
Deep down, every trainer knows this in his heart. When one target is achieved, a tournament won or lost, victory or failure, there is always next time: the next region to explore, new challenges to face, the next competition to partake in. But none of it is really new. Everything just gets repeated, over and over, to satisfy our need for stability; after all, it’s an adventure without risk of failure, nor the risk of ever truly winning and “ending” the game we’ve enjoyed so much.
Everyone seems content with this arrangement. Why shouldn’t they be? People always find safety in routine. This is true of humans all across the globe.
I was content – for a while. But now I want to take a risk. I’m tired of this routine. I need change. I don’t understand why others don’t feel the same.
No, the truth is I genuinely understand. We are all born with a fear of falling. There is prosperity just around the corner, but we in fact don’t bother to search for it. We’d rather stay where we are, avoiding that unseen pitfall around the bend. But what’s more, there’s a desire to preserve what we have, the safety of childhood, like the innocence sealed inside this room. It’s the fear of letting go that gets us.
There’s a part of me that wants to stay the same. But it’s time to let go. I don’t want to, but it’s something that I have to do.
I put his hat on, just for fun. It was sitting there right on the dresser, like he’d taken it off to simply go to sleep or something. It’s the old one he always used to wear, the one he constantly bragged about winning at the Pokémon League Expo. I can remember the commercial they used to play. You had to send in postcards in order to win. Ash claimed he won because he sent in about a million postcards. But that can’t be right. I didn’t get one, and I had sent in over two million.
“Gotta catch ‘em all.” That’s a phrase you used to hear all the time. They aired it on TV, printed it on the backs of Mart merchandise labels, even manufactured clothing lines that promoted the slogan. I heard it was mostly a Kanto fad.
I turned the hat backwards, as I had often seen him do when we were kids. (I notice he never does it anymore.) “I’m Ash Ketchum, and I’m gonna be the very best!” I mocked in the mirror, mimicking his raspy voice. I bet he’d throw a fit if he saw me right now.
It’s a red hat. A “Pokémon-catching” hat, he used to call it. Even so, I caught way more Pokémon than he ever did.
I chuckled. Then I fell backwards onto the bed, shaking with laughter. Help! Someone catch me, I’m falling! I had to bury my face in the pillow to stifle my inane giggles, since I was afraid Mrs. Ketchum would hear. I almost started crying.
Catch ‘em – all the little kids – before they fall off a crazy cliff.
Catch me if you can.
TRAINER GARY OAK’s Pokédex Completion (as of Indigo League Conference):
Accessed PROF.OAK's PC. Accessed POKéDEX Rating System. Want to get your POKéDEX rated?
> YES
POKéDEX completion is:
60 POKéMON seen
232 POKéMON owned
PROF. OAK's Rating: Magnificent! You could become a POKéMON professor right now!
Closed link to PROF. OAK's PC.
TRAINER ASH KETCHUM’s Pokédex Completion (as of Indigo League Conference):
Accessed PROF. OAK's PC. Accessed POKéDEX Rating System. Want to get your POKéDEX rated?
> YES
POKéDEX completion is:
118 POKéMON seen
37 POKéMON owned
PROF. OAK's Rating: You need to fill up the POKéDEX. Catch different kinds of POKéMON!
Closed link to PROF. OAK's PC.
Sis, have you seen my copy of the Professor’s book? I’m talking about the first edition, not the latest one.
“You mean the one grandpa wrote? It’s not in your room?”
No, I checked. I even asked Tracey if he’d seen it. He said he never saw a book of that description.
“You could ask grandpa for another one.”
He’s out of town, remember.
“What do you need it for?”
There’s something I have to look up.
“Oh, you know what? I think I might’ve lent it to that friend of yours several years ago. He might still have it.”
What friend?
“I don’t recall what his name was or what he looked like exactly… Wait, I remember. It was Mrs. Ketchum’s son.”
What? You lent it to him?
“Is there a problem?”
I thought I told you not to help him out!
“Why ever not?”
Uh… Never mind. Forget it. Still, this feels like a betrayal. One time she even let him have a map of Kanto when I specifically told her not to give him one. My sister never listens to me.
“He came up one day begging to have a copy of Professor Oak’s book. He seemed desperate. It was right before you two were scheduled to leave on your journeys, if I recall correctly. I thought it’d be all right if I gave him yours.”
I bet he never even read it.
“I’d let you have mine, but I gave it to my dear friend Erika as a present. She said she wanted to read it.”
That’s okay. I’ll just go look for it at his house. It’s probably lying somewhere around his room.
“Wait. If you’re going to see Mrs. Ketchum, please take this to her.”
What is it?
“Celadon tea. My friend Erika cultivated the herbs herself. Would you like to try it?”
No thanks.
“Tell Mrs. Ketchum it’s a gift from me.”
All right. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.
“Remember to be polite!”
Yeah, yeah. Smell ya later.
My sister is one of those doll fanatics. She collects them and keeps them in her room. Whenever she comes home, she brings boxes of them from the Celadon Dept. Store, and spends a lot of time rearranging them on the shelves. They’re not just on the shelves either. The huge life-size ones take up every corner of the room and cover most of the floor space, and the entire Eeveelution family crowds around her pillows. The place is overrun by Pokémon. Most are cute and fluffy.
Despite that, it’s a skillfully aesthetic arrangement. The room is painted in a soothing grey moss tone. Every Pokémon model stands deliberately in a complementing position. It’s a relaxing area, a stark improvement over the garish temple I just evacuated. Daisy’s a Coordinator, so she knows how to bring out a Pokémon’s best visible qualities, real or stuffed.
Umbreon sprang lightly onto the bed and settled itself beside its twin, wagging its tail contentedly. I smiled and closed the door. Umbreon used to belong to my sister, though it wasn’t consciously aware of that fact. Her Espeon bred with another Coordinator’s Flareon, and she asked me to take care of the egg while she traveled around Hoenn to partake in the region’s Contests. This was right after the Indigo League. Umbreon (or Eevee, rather) hatched a little while before Ash came back from the Orange Islands.
I thought of something. Daisy always keeps a Pokémon grooming kit in her room. When we were younger, I remember she used to sit at her table, drinking tea and brushing a Rattata or another Pokémon from the Lab downstairs. I hated tea, but I sat and drank it with her sometimes because I liked to watch her make the soft, even strokes that made the creature in her lap yawn and curl its tail with pleasure. She always spoke gently to the patient as she was grooming, which helped calm even the most Timid Pokémon. She taught me how to tell a Pokémon’s Nature by the way it responds to contact, and allowed me to pick and choose Pokéblocks she made to feed the subject. A lot of my first attempts were met with angry hisses and disgusted sputters, but in time I got better. I’m not nearly at the same expert level as her, but I can make fairly good guesses with consistent accuracy.
Where is the kit now? I started going through her stuff. I didn’t feel any shame in this, since I used to do it all the time. It’s a little brother’s duty to annoy his sister after all. It didn’t take me long to find it. It was inside a flowered drawer, right next to an extra supply of Pokéblocks. Bingo. I dispensed a red block and tossed it to Umbreon. “Catch.”
And it did, swallowing blissfully. It then looked back at me and wagged its tail, eager for more.
“Better not, pal. Then she’ll notice they’re gone.” Though she probably won’t mind. Still, better to be safe than sorry. No one knows this except me, but she can get downright touchy at times.
“Want me to groom your coat?”
It nodded, and bounded into my lap. We did this together a lot when it was an Eevee. Sometimes I talked to it as I brushed, like Daisy always did. Most of the time, though, I was silent, counting the number of strokes.
What he found was my Pokémon study diary, the one I kept as a kid. He was holding it carefully, with a certain amount of respect, as one might hold an ordinary Pokéball known to contain a rare Pokémon.
“I apologize. I read it, thinking it was the Professor’s. I thought it fell from the same shelf as his books, you see. And the handwriting’s similar.”
I understand.
“But it’s really amazing. I was impressed. I mean, you could probably get a lot of this published in a scientific journal. Some of it’s out of date, but that hardly matters compared to the rest.” He seemed to grow a little more excited. “And the drawings are top-notch. The anatomy’s completely perfect. When did you record this?”
“When I was about eight or nine, I guess.”
He stared at me with unconcealed awe. Normally I enjoyed this kind of stare, but ever since about a year ago, it’s started to make me feel uncomfortable.
“Could I have it back please?”
“Ah! Yes, sure!” He looked at me curiously as I took the notebook. “If you don’t mind, may I ask you something?”
Fire away.
“Have you ever considered following in your grandfather’s footsteps and becoming a Pokémon researcher?”
I smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, I’m contemplating that now.”
“Really? Well, good luck! I’m sure you’ll make it!” He had a sincere grin on his face. I thought about the sketchpads he’d tucked away earlier, and at that moment I noticed a pair of binoculars hanging from the bedpost.
Hey, Tracey. Can I ask you something?
“Sure!”
You’re a Pokémon Watcher, right?
“That’s right! Did you hear from the Professor?”
It was kind of obvious. So, have you never wanted to be a Pokémon Trainer?
“Hm, not really. I’m not that interested in battling. I prefer just observing Pokémon.”
So you never changed your mind about your goals?
He paused for a moment, thinking. “No, I guess not.”
I see.
I turned suddenly and left, leaving him likely bewildered. Daisy’s room was just down the hall. I went there, with Umbreon tagging dutifully at my heels.
I sat up, finally. I replaced the hat on the dresser. I looked in the mirror. The face hovering there looked like mine, but different somehow. He wasn’t older, but something seemed changed. He spoke:
“My name is Gary Oak, and I want to be…”
For kicks, I rode the bike handles-free down the dirt driveway. The Professor’s Lab was built on top of an old, steep hill. Ash and I used to ride wooden boards down it in the summer, and in the winter we’d go sledding. But I wasn’t supposed to ride a bicycle down the driveway, let alone at such speed. (“What if you crash at the bottom and break your neck?” Daisy would always cry, exasperated.) I did it anyway.
When I reached the bottom, I skirted the grass, grabbed the handlebars again, and steered in the direction of the Ketchum household. As soon as I regained balance, I removed one hand again briefly, still maneuvering carefully with the other, and checked to make sure the package my sister gave me was still in my pocket. It was.
I pedaled slower now. There wasn’t any rush.
I passed a group of children playing by the river. They were trying to catch a small Poliwag, who kept slipping out of their grasp and splashing bemusedly through the puddles. It had rained yesterday, and while the road was mostly dry by now thanks to the hot sun, I had to be watchful since closer to the bank the soil was still soft and loose. I pulled to a slow stop in order to watch a boy try to attract the puzzled Poliwag with a stalk of rush grass. A smirk tugged at my lips as the blue ball only bounced further away, splattering the poor boy with water as its tail sharply slapped the stream. The kids gave a yell and chased after it, leaving their spluttering companion behind.
I wondered if these kids would become Trainers when they got older. Most likely they would. They took no notice of me as I continued briskly on my way. They were all absorbed in their own little world of fun and games, a place where even shorter giants like me weren’t allowed.
I crossed the bridge where Ash and I fought over an old Pokéball a long time ago until it broke in half. It seems so childish, looking back on it now. He wanted to call it a draw, but I felt that a draw with that idiot meant I had practically lost. For a long time, I couldn’t accept that. Now it doesn’t matter. I’m not the immature person I used to be. I’ve changed, even if he hasn’t.
I rolled off the bridge with a slight jerk, and continued down the path.
We got along pretty well, actually. I’m talking about Tracey. He showed me his sketchbooks, and I offered him some criticisms, which he took with solemn grace. He’d ask me questions about Pokémon behaviors and habitats when we were out doing fieldwork for the Professor. I used those few days between my and Ash’s arrival to train as one of the Professor’s aides, in preparation for studying Pokémon on my own. Tracey was always impressed by the vast amount of knowledge I had, and I’ll admit it was fun showing off. As promised, he drew a full-color portrait of my Umbreon, and gave it to me before I left (although I only ended up taking Blastoise with me). He wished me luck again, and pledged to look after my grandfather while I was away. I liked him a lot better than that other guy who always hung around Ash.
“Why, hello, Gary! What a nice surprise! Come in, what can I do for you?”
Mrs. Ketchum smiled pleasantly and held open the door as I stepped inside her house. I glanced around the bright entry hall as she closed the screen behind me. From what I could tell, the quaint scenery was completely unchanged from my memory. How long has it been since I last stood here? At least five years. It feels a lot shorter than that.
“Woul you like some tea? I was just about to make some.”
“Oh, no thanks. But if you’re making tea, you can use this. It’s a present from my sister.”
“How sweet, thank you! I’ll go put it on right away.” She seemed to momentarily forget she had a guest then and headed towards the kitchen, so I followed her, thinking there was no point in standing on the doormat like an idiot. As she filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove, she suddenly asked, “How’s your grandfather doing?”
Startled by the unexpected address, I cleared my throat and mumbled he was still researching something or other.
“Well, that’s nice. Give my regards to him, will you?”
Will do.
“Are you sure you don’t want some tea?” she inquired again as she turned around. “I can bring out some cookies too if you’d like.”
“No, but thanks for the offer. I’m not that fond of tea.”
She sort of gazed at me for a moment, then she laughed. It was like a Swablu’s soothing lullaby; clear and melodious, but still somewhat girlish. At that moment, she reminded me of my sister. “Ah, yes, that’s right. That was one thing you two had in common. You both hated tea.”
A few years ago, I probably would’ve met this statement with hot denial. Now I’m older and more mature, so I simply looked to the side and said, “Oh, really.”
“My, this is exquisite packaging. Where is this tea from?” The woman was already distracted from the conversation again by the fancy feminine parcel the tea leaves came in.
I immediately had to stifle a laugh of my own. I see now where Ash inherits his short attention span from.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing. Daisy got it from her friend Erika in Celadon.”
“How is Daisy? Does she still perform in Contests?”
“Yeah. She just got back from winning the Grand Festival in Sinnoh.”
“How wonderful! I’ll have to congratulate her also when I thank her for the tea.”
You do that.
We both jumped as the kettle abruptly started to whistle. Mrs. Ketchum rushed over to the stove to turn it off. She then poured the hot water into a mug. To my surprise, I watched her empty the cup again and leave it on the counter. She then measured a teaspoon of leaves into a sort of wire mess strainer. When she closed the contraption, its size and shape reminded me of a Pokéball. I also noticed a little silver chain attached to the side.
Mrs. Ketchum picked up the ball and deposited it in the mug, fastening the chain to the rim via a small clip at the end. She then filled the cup with boiling water again, and covered it over with a plate. She left the service there, presumably to soak.
I watched these proceedings with a sort of fascination. I never saw my sister make tea before. Let’s just say that learning how to host tea parties was the least of my interests as a child.
But Mrs. Ketchum’s swift, serene movements mesmerized me. …For a moment, I wondered if my mother ever stood in our kitchen like that, making tea – perhaps for both my sister and herself. And for her father as well. Gramps drinks the stuff too, I remember.
“Well?”
Mrs. Ketchum had turned back to me and was smiling. When she smiles charmingly like that, it’s sort of hard for me to imagine her as a mother anymore. She still looks really young. How old was she when she got married? Geeze, why am I even thinking about these kinds of things?
“Since you’re not here for tea, I take it there’s another reason you stopped by? Or did you just come to deliver Daisy’s present?”
Her tone wasn’t insisting or annoyed I was still here, or anything like that. Just curious.
“Um, actually, there is. I came to see if Ash might still have a book he borrowed from me. It was a long time ago, before we…” I was about to say “left Pallet Town”, but instead I ended with “became Pokémon Trainers”.
“In that case, it’s probably up in his bedroom. Would you like me to find it for you? What’s the title?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll search for it. If it’s all right for me to go inside your son’s room, that is.”
“Oh, sure, dear. You’ve been in there before, haven’t you? I’m sure he won’t mind. Do you remember where it is?”
“Yeah. I’ll find it, don’t worry. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Ketchum.”
“No problem, dear. Just let me know if you need help. I’ll be downstairs watching television.”
“Enjoy your tea.”
As I turned to go upstairs, I noticed her out of the corner of my eye lift the plate from her mug and stare into the tea. Very slowly, she pinched the end of the chain between her fingernail and thumb and dipped the small ball of tea leaves in and out, in and out. It might’ve just been my imagination, but she seemed disappointed about something.
The vacuuming has stopped. I can still hear the buzz of voices from downstairs. The indistinct rise and fall of muffled, heated drama suddenly reminds me of something I forgot.
I get up and walk over to the bookcase. I scan the spines, trying to take my mind off the millions of thoughts that keep entering it. There are a bunch of magazines, the kinds kids used to read as an introduction to Pokémon Training, chock-full of neat little tips and tricks that are completely useless in any real profession. No wonder everyone wants to train Pokémon.
POKéMON PAL, POKéMON HANDBOOK, POKéMON GRAPH… There it is, tucked between an issue of POKéMON INSIDER and an old Let’s Find Pokémon! picture book. I pull my grandfather’s report from the shelf, hardly giving the worn cover a glance, and creep out the door as soft and silently as possible, like I were stealing from a museum.
I intended to sneak out quietly, but the steps are old and they creak loudly as soon as I put pressure on them, alerting the warden to my escape.
“Oh! Did you find the book?” She twists around the sofa and beams at the guilty boy standing at the foot of the stairs. She caught me.
I straighten up. “Yes. Here it is. Thanks again for letting me look.”
“You’re welcome. Say, would you like to watch a movie? There’s this interesting film on about some boys setting out on a journey together. I think you might like it.”
I cast an eye over the blue screen. It currently shows a peaceful scene at night. Stars dot the sky as two boys ride on a train… I remember this film. My sister took both of us to see it once. The funny thing is, Ash and I brought it up in a conversation years later, just out of random mention. He remembered the scene I described differently though. He claimed there were four boys walking on railroad tracks during the day. We both insisted on our versions, and we ended up in a huge argument over it. At that time, it was impossible to determine a winner. But I was obviously right. This image right now proves it. Not that I needed any proof.
“No thanks. I have to go home and help the Professor.”
The woman smiles, but she seems a little sad. I notice the empty mug on the coffee table in front of her.
“Of course. I understand. It was very nice seeing you, Gary. Take care.”
I nod, but don’t move towards the exit. I simply stand there, staring at the screen. She looked really lonely sitting there on the sofa, watching TV by herself.
“Gary? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine.” I turn away.
“Thank you for the tea,” I hear her call softly from behind. I look down at the carpet and hurriedly break free from the living room. As I run blindly out the front door, I almost trip on Mr. Mime and the vacuum cleaner.
I sometimes wonder what happened to those other two boys who were walking on the railroad tracks. Maybe they ran away. Maybe they found something more exciting to follow than tracks someone else laid down before them. Maybe they found dreams of their own to chase. Maybe they were kidnapped and forced to work for their entire lives as slaves. Or more likely they simply ended up working some boring job for a company or such that doesn’t involve monsters and adventures in wonderland and building up impractical hopes leading to daydreaming castles in the sky that can never be knocked down since you can never get to the top of them anyway and they’re only fantasy but that’s what makes it all the more exciting. It could happen.
Or maybe they just got run over by a train.
Greetings, SPPf Fanfiction community. It’s been years since I’ve written a Fanfic, so I apologize if this piece was unsophisticated and rusty (as well as for its compensating length, I suppose). I doubt that anyone here knows or remembers me, but I used to be a One-Shot writer once upon a time. For absurd reasons, I gave up Fanfic-writing. This piece does not by any means signal a return, it just shows that I finally decided to seize upon an urge to write down all the inspiration that’s been boiling up inside me for the past year. As you can probably tell, this story is a mish-mash of several different story ideas, none of which I could persuade to amount to much on its own, so I ended up just sticking them all together. Whether doing so was a good idea or not, I’ll leave you – the reader – to judge.
But first, a little bit of background: Before my disappearance, I had plans to start my first chaptered Fanfic entitled Chasing Rainbows. It would mostly revolve around the characters Gary Oak and Molly Hale (from the third movie), with some focus on Ash as well. The story would be told mostly (later I decided completely) from Gary’s perspective. My interpretation of Gary was rather cynical and jaded, which clearly shows through in some parts of this story. I kind of felt like this didn’t really preserve his true character though (the cocky and arrogant rival of the hero), which I regretted since the original story was about safeguarding the Pokémon world and all its characters as they were, but ultimately learning to let go. So I tried my best to remain as faithful to canon in this fic as possible, while still exploring new depths of Gary’s personality.
What I’m basically trying to convey is that this One-Shot is pretty much Gary’s side of Chasing Rainbows in a nutshell. Well, about half of it anyway. Although you could probably tell by the similar title.
Another thing I’d like to mention that I found interesting is that the game reference towards the end about the movie on TV actually does reference a 1986 coming-of-age film called Stand by Me. I had envisioned the ending for this story already in my head, so I was really surprised when I found this out while researching the exact in-game text. I couldn’t find any information on whether the later G/S version text (“Stars dot the sky as two boys ride on a train…”) actually referenced a movie or not. If anybody knows whether it does, I’d be curious to learn the name and what it’s about.
There’s also another literary allusion which I’m sure that some, if not many of you will recognize. I’ll let you spot the reference on your own.
Well, it’s 3:30 AM. I’m off to bed now. If you’ve stuck with this spontaneous sleep-deprived ramble up to here, you have my thanks and deepest sympathy.
Smell ya later~
Blue
Perhaps she’s not the curator of this domain. I can hear another dull hum, towards my right, underneath a different section of floorboards. Her Mr. Mime housemaid – Mimey, I think she calls it – is vacuuming the kitchen. I once heard her say to the Professor that Mr. Mime will automatically clean whatever looks dirty, so maybe it manages Ash’s room of its own accord, simply treating it as part of its alpha leader’s territory. Goodness knows the place was always a mess before he left, at least from what I saw. Not that I’m boasting of much better habits. Simply put, this room would never have looked so clean and habitable had it actually possessed a permanent habitant, particularly one as slovenly and careless as Ash.
I also heard Mrs. Ketchum say that “Mimey dear” will only do what she tells it to. So then I guess she is the keeper of this vacant base, the one who turned it into an equally sad and empty exposition. Perhaps “sad and empty” aren’t the right words to describe the atmosphere. The simple, charming traces of boyhood innocence such as the Pokémon action figures (still poised for battle) and coloring books and TCG decks are anything but sad. There’s even an old NES still plugged into the TV, with a forgotten cartridge inserted in the game slot. Mrs. Ketchum probably never thought to open the machine and check inside. Doubtful she even knew how. I thought about taking it out and putting it with the others in the bin, but in the end I decided to just leave it there.
It’s the absence of anyone to enjoy these hobbies anymore that makes it sad.
When I returned home from Johto, I found to my bemusement my room had been rented out and turned into an artists’ studio/shrine to Professor Oak. There were sketchpads and pencils scattered all over the desk and shelves, and parading grandly across the wall were numerous exaggerated profiles of my aging grandfather, many which bore his signature and one of his famous Pokémon poems beside it.
I stared silently as the current occupant rushed about, setting the room straight and trying frantically to hide traces of his residence there.
“Sorry! The Professor said I could make myself at home. And you gave permission for me to stay here before you left.”
That was true. I remember agreeing to something along those lines right before I set off for Johto.
“I thought that you and Ash weren’t due back in Pallet for a few more days.”
“I took a shortcut through the base of Mt. Silver.”
“Oh.”
There followed a stretch of silence, save for the restless rustling of paper stacks being shoved aside.
“Er… I’m Tracey by the way. Your grandfather’s new lab assistant.” He laughed nervously, stuffing some drawings inside a binder. There was nothing he could do about the posters. They had obviously already been seen, and he seemed reluctant to take them down anyway.
“Yeah, I remember. You answered the phone once.”
“Oh! Yes, that’s right! Ha ha… Uh, say, is that your Umbreon?”
I looked down at the black dog crouched beside my feet. Its yellow-banded ears flicked meditatively to and fro, and its half-moon eyes tracked the young man’s excited gestures with bewildered interest. I realized that it must view the curious stranger as an invader on its master’s territory, and I swiftly ordered it down. Then I turned back and nodded.
“Yes, it is.”
“Wow. It’s got such a beautiful coat. I would love to sketch it… I mean, um, with your permission, of course.”
I shrugged. “You can if you want.”
“Really? That would be fantastic!” His eyes lit up like he had just won the lottery. Then he grinned sheepishly, remembering what I was here for. “Ah, I forgot my manners again, sorry. What I meant is: ‘You can have your room back now.’”
I gazed appraisingly around the bedroom, particularly at the walls. Everywhere my grandfather’s wrinkled visage kept beaming back at me.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just sleep in my sister’s old room for now.”
“Oh, no!” the boy cried, agitated. “I’ll take the posters down too, don’t worry! I don’t want to run you out of your room. I can sleep on the sofa in the lobby.”
“Nah, it’s fine. You can stay here. Trust me, it’ll be less awkward.” Not that Daisy’s room will be any more comforting, but at least she has some sense of fashionable taste. …Some.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I turned to leave.
“Oh, wait!”
I aimed back, smiling sardonically. “Yes?”
“Just thought I’d mention, I found this over behind a shelf…”
The smile abruptly faded from my face.
We used to play against each other. The few times I went to his house – if gramps went out on a research trip or something and my sister couldn’t babysit me – we ended up playing video games since there wasn’t much else to do besides. Ash would get annoyed if we played cards or had pretend battles with his toy Pokémon models, since I was always lecturing him about the rules and how an Electric attack wouldn’t damage a Ground Pokémon in real life, etc. I knew because my grandfather taught me. He wrote a book on it, which I had until my sister lent it out without my permission, or knowledge, to that matter…
At any rate, we’d end up playing Mario Bros. or Tetris or some other game, since he couldn’t stand always being criticized over his ignorance, especially by someone his own age. I will happily admit with due pride and enjoyment that I still won whatever challenge he threw at me. Every time he’d suggest something new, with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, as if he thought he’d finally caught me by surprise and I’d fumble somehow in the face of the unknown. I never did, and he’d throw the controller down with childish rage at my concluding snide remark and we’d end up on the floor, kicking and punching each other physically in a brutal rematch, from which we were hastily separated by his alert but unconcerned mother, who came flying up the stairs not as soon as the loud yelling and thumping started, but when the noise reached a level just before she knew we were apt to cause damage to our surroundings.
She’d peel the two of us apart, holding our struggling selves firmly in her grip (which was surprisingly strong considering her stature) at arm’s length, and say to us cheerfully: “Now I know you two love to fight, but do it outside please so you don’t break my furniture.” And she’d toss us out the front door where we’d immediately resume, and finally come in to lunch or dinner later, bruised and bleeding and covered in grass stains. You could always judge by the number of injuries that Ash had lost. Still, Mrs. Ketchum looked at us and said nothing. She simply smiled and said, “Food’s ready,” and we’d grin stupidly as we ate. After the kind woman treated our cuts and scrapes, we’d head out together to the river to fish or the forest to catch bugs. Ash was always satisfied at this point that he’d been able to land some hard hits, which he’d never stop boasting about for the rest of the day, and promptly forgot the next, when the cycle would inevitably repeat.
But in the end, Ash was never really satisfied with video games or fistfights. As soon as these distractions were finished, he’d always insist on setting out to hunt and observe wild Pokémon. At times, he’d listen earnestly as I quoted my grandfather on a Pidgey’s nesting habits and the differences between a Goldeen and a Magikarp. He never accepted any advice or theories that I put forth of my own without complaint, but the discourses of the renowned Professor Oak were another matter. He had great respect for the man known throughout Kanto for his achievements in the Pokémon research field. It infuriated me sometimes, that he wouldn’t listen to a word I said unless I credited my grandfather for the information. Even if I warned him of danger, he’d think he was lying to get back at him for something (which, admittedly, I was on a few occasions). So eventually I stopped trying to give him counsel altogether.
But the detailed facts and statistics about Pokémon weren’t what really interested Ash anyway. What enthralled him was the idea of catching Pokémon of his own and ultimately beating me in a Pokémon Battle. This never changed about him, and years later he’d still chase after me, eager to prove himself. Good old Ashy boy. Always the same idiot.
What Ash didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that I preferred playing video games with him. What I mean is that I enjoyed the different challenges he set before me each day. Not just video games. Sports, crafts, even chores – everything and anything he could think of that might pose a challenge to his constant opponent. I found myself enjoying it after a while. I liked being able to test new skills, and developing my array of talents and abilities each day. I soundly defeated him in all subjects, of course, but each time there was always a little doubt, which was exciting. So I egged him on, day after day. He hated it, and I exulted gratuitously in my victory, but he never gave up either. I’ll give him credit for that.
All right, I’ll be honest. Thanks to Ash, I was pushed all the way to my limits. The following might sound conceited, but the truth is I nearly became an expert at everything. It was because he kept challenging me, forcing me to learn. So yeah, I suppose I’m grateful to him as well.
But strangely, he would never feel fulfilled until he had beaten me in a real Pokémon match. Everything else was just a distraction, just warming up for the fateful day when he would receive a Pokémon, and finally face me in a one-on-one battle. He said so himself. And he believed it would happen. That conviction of his never wavered.
Maybe that’s why he eventually won. I mean, I never took his threats seriously and all. And by that time, I had already mostly grown out of those childish pursuits.
…Let me attempt to explain something. Truthfully, I never intended to be a Pokémon Trainer for life. I knew I’d grow out of the youthful phase at some point, and move on to something more meaningful. Well, maybe I didn’t know fully at first. But I began to gain a sense of awareness during the Indigo League. It has continued to grow since. So when I met Ash again in Johto, I was a lot more restrained. He was still brimming with motivation, which put me off slightly.
At that time, I was already exploring new interests. I even tried far-out sports such as Extreme Pokémon Racing. …Although the weird part is that Ash even entered the same race I did, and he actually won. He had hardly an afternoon of training before the race. I had trained for a week. What’s more, I always used to beat him when we rode wooden boards down hills back in Pallet. It was my first loss to him since the fishing incident right before we began our journeys.
But not even that could deter him from his dream of beating me in a Pokémon Battle. I was puzzled; I couldn’t understand his permanent fixation on being “the best there ever was”. I realized long ago that it’s an obvious fantasy. There’s no point in chasing after it, you’ll only end up going in circles. That’s what I tried to tell myself afterwards, at any rate.
Upon my return from the Johto League Silver Conference, I was “much changed and full of wondering” – as the Professor fluently put it in one of his crazy poems. I have a new ambition now. I want to become a Pokémon researcher. Why? I could come up with a number of reasons (really they’re just excuses), but probably none of them could sufficiently explain why I decided to “give it all up” and start over.
But as I examine it now, I realize that it’s really not a complex matter. The simple truth is that I’m tired of this stasis. We win, we lose, we move on. From town to town, every trainer in the world suffers from wanderlust. We’re always traveling, yet we never reach anywhere. No real destination, no goal other than to become “the greatest Pokémon Master”. But I understood recently that to become that means an end to the journey. No more wandering, no more training and pushing forward and struggling with your friends in the name of getting stronger. When you’re the strongest, there’s nowhere left to turn. No more room to grow. Nowhere to run.
Deep down, every trainer knows this in his heart. When one target is achieved, a tournament won or lost, victory or failure, there is always next time: the next region to explore, new challenges to face, the next competition to partake in. But none of it is really new. Everything just gets repeated, over and over, to satisfy our need for stability; after all, it’s an adventure without risk of failure, nor the risk of ever truly winning and “ending” the game we’ve enjoyed so much.
Everyone seems content with this arrangement. Why shouldn’t they be? People always find safety in routine. This is true of humans all across the globe.
I was content – for a while. But now I want to take a risk. I’m tired of this routine. I need change. I don’t understand why others don’t feel the same.
No, the truth is I genuinely understand. We are all born with a fear of falling. There is prosperity just around the corner, but we in fact don’t bother to search for it. We’d rather stay where we are, avoiding that unseen pitfall around the bend. But what’s more, there’s a desire to preserve what we have, the safety of childhood, like the innocence sealed inside this room. It’s the fear of letting go that gets us.
There’s a part of me that wants to stay the same. But it’s time to let go. I don’t want to, but it’s something that I have to do.
I put his hat on, just for fun. It was sitting there right on the dresser, like he’d taken it off to simply go to sleep or something. It’s the old one he always used to wear, the one he constantly bragged about winning at the Pokémon League Expo. I can remember the commercial they used to play. You had to send in postcards in order to win. Ash claimed he won because he sent in about a million postcards. But that can’t be right. I didn’t get one, and I had sent in over two million.
“Gotta catch ‘em all.” That’s a phrase you used to hear all the time. They aired it on TV, printed it on the backs of Mart merchandise labels, even manufactured clothing lines that promoted the slogan. I heard it was mostly a Kanto fad.
I turned the hat backwards, as I had often seen him do when we were kids. (I notice he never does it anymore.) “I’m Ash Ketchum, and I’m gonna be the very best!” I mocked in the mirror, mimicking his raspy voice. I bet he’d throw a fit if he saw me right now.
It’s a red hat. A “Pokémon-catching” hat, he used to call it. Even so, I caught way more Pokémon than he ever did.
I chuckled. Then I fell backwards onto the bed, shaking with laughter. Help! Someone catch me, I’m falling! I had to bury my face in the pillow to stifle my inane giggles, since I was afraid Mrs. Ketchum would hear. I almost started crying.
Catch ‘em – all the little kids – before they fall off a crazy cliff.
Catch me if you can.
TRAINER GARY OAK’s Pokédex Completion (as of Indigo League Conference):
Accessed PROF.OAK's PC. Accessed POKéDEX Rating System. Want to get your POKéDEX rated?
> YES
POKéDEX completion is:
60 POKéMON seen
232 POKéMON owned
PROF. OAK's Rating: Magnificent! You could become a POKéMON professor right now!
Closed link to PROF. OAK's PC.
TRAINER ASH KETCHUM’s Pokédex Completion (as of Indigo League Conference):
Accessed PROF. OAK's PC. Accessed POKéDEX Rating System. Want to get your POKéDEX rated?
> YES
POKéDEX completion is:
118 POKéMON seen
37 POKéMON owned
PROF. OAK's Rating: You need to fill up the POKéDEX. Catch different kinds of POKéMON!
Closed link to PROF. OAK's PC.
Sis, have you seen my copy of the Professor’s book? I’m talking about the first edition, not the latest one.
“You mean the one grandpa wrote? It’s not in your room?”
No, I checked. I even asked Tracey if he’d seen it. He said he never saw a book of that description.
“You could ask grandpa for another one.”
He’s out of town, remember.
“What do you need it for?”
There’s something I have to look up.
“Oh, you know what? I think I might’ve lent it to that friend of yours several years ago. He might still have it.”
What friend?
“I don’t recall what his name was or what he looked like exactly… Wait, I remember. It was Mrs. Ketchum’s son.”
What? You lent it to him?
“Is there a problem?”
I thought I told you not to help him out!
“Why ever not?”
Uh… Never mind. Forget it. Still, this feels like a betrayal. One time she even let him have a map of Kanto when I specifically told her not to give him one. My sister never listens to me.
“He came up one day begging to have a copy of Professor Oak’s book. He seemed desperate. It was right before you two were scheduled to leave on your journeys, if I recall correctly. I thought it’d be all right if I gave him yours.”
I bet he never even read it.
“I’d let you have mine, but I gave it to my dear friend Erika as a present. She said she wanted to read it.”
That’s okay. I’ll just go look for it at his house. It’s probably lying somewhere around his room.
“Wait. If you’re going to see Mrs. Ketchum, please take this to her.”
What is it?
“Celadon tea. My friend Erika cultivated the herbs herself. Would you like to try it?”
No thanks.
“Tell Mrs. Ketchum it’s a gift from me.”
All right. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.
“Remember to be polite!”
Yeah, yeah. Smell ya later.
My sister is one of those doll fanatics. She collects them and keeps them in her room. Whenever she comes home, she brings boxes of them from the Celadon Dept. Store, and spends a lot of time rearranging them on the shelves. They’re not just on the shelves either. The huge life-size ones take up every corner of the room and cover most of the floor space, and the entire Eeveelution family crowds around her pillows. The place is overrun by Pokémon. Most are cute and fluffy.
Despite that, it’s a skillfully aesthetic arrangement. The room is painted in a soothing grey moss tone. Every Pokémon model stands deliberately in a complementing position. It’s a relaxing area, a stark improvement over the garish temple I just evacuated. Daisy’s a Coordinator, so she knows how to bring out a Pokémon’s best visible qualities, real or stuffed.
Umbreon sprang lightly onto the bed and settled itself beside its twin, wagging its tail contentedly. I smiled and closed the door. Umbreon used to belong to my sister, though it wasn’t consciously aware of that fact. Her Espeon bred with another Coordinator’s Flareon, and she asked me to take care of the egg while she traveled around Hoenn to partake in the region’s Contests. This was right after the Indigo League. Umbreon (or Eevee, rather) hatched a little while before Ash came back from the Orange Islands.
I thought of something. Daisy always keeps a Pokémon grooming kit in her room. When we were younger, I remember she used to sit at her table, drinking tea and brushing a Rattata or another Pokémon from the Lab downstairs. I hated tea, but I sat and drank it with her sometimes because I liked to watch her make the soft, even strokes that made the creature in her lap yawn and curl its tail with pleasure. She always spoke gently to the patient as she was grooming, which helped calm even the most Timid Pokémon. She taught me how to tell a Pokémon’s Nature by the way it responds to contact, and allowed me to pick and choose Pokéblocks she made to feed the subject. A lot of my first attempts were met with angry hisses and disgusted sputters, but in time I got better. I’m not nearly at the same expert level as her, but I can make fairly good guesses with consistent accuracy.
Where is the kit now? I started going through her stuff. I didn’t feel any shame in this, since I used to do it all the time. It’s a little brother’s duty to annoy his sister after all. It didn’t take me long to find it. It was inside a flowered drawer, right next to an extra supply of Pokéblocks. Bingo. I dispensed a red block and tossed it to Umbreon. “Catch.”
And it did, swallowing blissfully. It then looked back at me and wagged its tail, eager for more.
“Better not, pal. Then she’ll notice they’re gone.” Though she probably won’t mind. Still, better to be safe than sorry. No one knows this except me, but she can get downright touchy at times.
“Want me to groom your coat?”
It nodded, and bounded into my lap. We did this together a lot when it was an Eevee. Sometimes I talked to it as I brushed, like Daisy always did. Most of the time, though, I was silent, counting the number of strokes.
What he found was my Pokémon study diary, the one I kept as a kid. He was holding it carefully, with a certain amount of respect, as one might hold an ordinary Pokéball known to contain a rare Pokémon.
“I apologize. I read it, thinking it was the Professor’s. I thought it fell from the same shelf as his books, you see. And the handwriting’s similar.”
I understand.
“But it’s really amazing. I was impressed. I mean, you could probably get a lot of this published in a scientific journal. Some of it’s out of date, but that hardly matters compared to the rest.” He seemed to grow a little more excited. “And the drawings are top-notch. The anatomy’s completely perfect. When did you record this?”
“When I was about eight or nine, I guess.”
He stared at me with unconcealed awe. Normally I enjoyed this kind of stare, but ever since about a year ago, it’s started to make me feel uncomfortable.
“Could I have it back please?”
“Ah! Yes, sure!” He looked at me curiously as I took the notebook. “If you don’t mind, may I ask you something?”
Fire away.
“Have you ever considered following in your grandfather’s footsteps and becoming a Pokémon researcher?”
I smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, I’m contemplating that now.”
“Really? Well, good luck! I’m sure you’ll make it!” He had a sincere grin on his face. I thought about the sketchpads he’d tucked away earlier, and at that moment I noticed a pair of binoculars hanging from the bedpost.
Hey, Tracey. Can I ask you something?
“Sure!”
You’re a Pokémon Watcher, right?
“That’s right! Did you hear from the Professor?”
It was kind of obvious. So, have you never wanted to be a Pokémon Trainer?
“Hm, not really. I’m not that interested in battling. I prefer just observing Pokémon.”
So you never changed your mind about your goals?
He paused for a moment, thinking. “No, I guess not.”
I see.
I turned suddenly and left, leaving him likely bewildered. Daisy’s room was just down the hall. I went there, with Umbreon tagging dutifully at my heels.
I sat up, finally. I replaced the hat on the dresser. I looked in the mirror. The face hovering there looked like mine, but different somehow. He wasn’t older, but something seemed changed. He spoke:
“My name is Gary Oak, and I want to be…”
For kicks, I rode the bike handles-free down the dirt driveway. The Professor’s Lab was built on top of an old, steep hill. Ash and I used to ride wooden boards down it in the summer, and in the winter we’d go sledding. But I wasn’t supposed to ride a bicycle down the driveway, let alone at such speed. (“What if you crash at the bottom and break your neck?” Daisy would always cry, exasperated.) I did it anyway.
When I reached the bottom, I skirted the grass, grabbed the handlebars again, and steered in the direction of the Ketchum household. As soon as I regained balance, I removed one hand again briefly, still maneuvering carefully with the other, and checked to make sure the package my sister gave me was still in my pocket. It was.
I pedaled slower now. There wasn’t any rush.
I passed a group of children playing by the river. They were trying to catch a small Poliwag, who kept slipping out of their grasp and splashing bemusedly through the puddles. It had rained yesterday, and while the road was mostly dry by now thanks to the hot sun, I had to be watchful since closer to the bank the soil was still soft and loose. I pulled to a slow stop in order to watch a boy try to attract the puzzled Poliwag with a stalk of rush grass. A smirk tugged at my lips as the blue ball only bounced further away, splattering the poor boy with water as its tail sharply slapped the stream. The kids gave a yell and chased after it, leaving their spluttering companion behind.
I wondered if these kids would become Trainers when they got older. Most likely they would. They took no notice of me as I continued briskly on my way. They were all absorbed in their own little world of fun and games, a place where even shorter giants like me weren’t allowed.
I crossed the bridge where Ash and I fought over an old Pokéball a long time ago until it broke in half. It seems so childish, looking back on it now. He wanted to call it a draw, but I felt that a draw with that idiot meant I had practically lost. For a long time, I couldn’t accept that. Now it doesn’t matter. I’m not the immature person I used to be. I’ve changed, even if he hasn’t.
I rolled off the bridge with a slight jerk, and continued down the path.
We got along pretty well, actually. I’m talking about Tracey. He showed me his sketchbooks, and I offered him some criticisms, which he took with solemn grace. He’d ask me questions about Pokémon behaviors and habitats when we were out doing fieldwork for the Professor. I used those few days between my and Ash’s arrival to train as one of the Professor’s aides, in preparation for studying Pokémon on my own. Tracey was always impressed by the vast amount of knowledge I had, and I’ll admit it was fun showing off. As promised, he drew a full-color portrait of my Umbreon, and gave it to me before I left (although I only ended up taking Blastoise with me). He wished me luck again, and pledged to look after my grandfather while I was away. I liked him a lot better than that other guy who always hung around Ash.
“Why, hello, Gary! What a nice surprise! Come in, what can I do for you?”
Mrs. Ketchum smiled pleasantly and held open the door as I stepped inside her house. I glanced around the bright entry hall as she closed the screen behind me. From what I could tell, the quaint scenery was completely unchanged from my memory. How long has it been since I last stood here? At least five years. It feels a lot shorter than that.
“Woul you like some tea? I was just about to make some.”
“Oh, no thanks. But if you’re making tea, you can use this. It’s a present from my sister.”
“How sweet, thank you! I’ll go put it on right away.” She seemed to momentarily forget she had a guest then and headed towards the kitchen, so I followed her, thinking there was no point in standing on the doormat like an idiot. As she filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove, she suddenly asked, “How’s your grandfather doing?”
Startled by the unexpected address, I cleared my throat and mumbled he was still researching something or other.
“Well, that’s nice. Give my regards to him, will you?”
Will do.
“Are you sure you don’t want some tea?” she inquired again as she turned around. “I can bring out some cookies too if you’d like.”
“No, but thanks for the offer. I’m not that fond of tea.”
She sort of gazed at me for a moment, then she laughed. It was like a Swablu’s soothing lullaby; clear and melodious, but still somewhat girlish. At that moment, she reminded me of my sister. “Ah, yes, that’s right. That was one thing you two had in common. You both hated tea.”
A few years ago, I probably would’ve met this statement with hot denial. Now I’m older and more mature, so I simply looked to the side and said, “Oh, really.”
“My, this is exquisite packaging. Where is this tea from?” The woman was already distracted from the conversation again by the fancy feminine parcel the tea leaves came in.
I immediately had to stifle a laugh of my own. I see now where Ash inherits his short attention span from.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing. Daisy got it from her friend Erika in Celadon.”
“How is Daisy? Does she still perform in Contests?”
“Yeah. She just got back from winning the Grand Festival in Sinnoh.”
“How wonderful! I’ll have to congratulate her also when I thank her for the tea.”
You do that.
We both jumped as the kettle abruptly started to whistle. Mrs. Ketchum rushed over to the stove to turn it off. She then poured the hot water into a mug. To my surprise, I watched her empty the cup again and leave it on the counter. She then measured a teaspoon of leaves into a sort of wire mess strainer. When she closed the contraption, its size and shape reminded me of a Pokéball. I also noticed a little silver chain attached to the side.
Mrs. Ketchum picked up the ball and deposited it in the mug, fastening the chain to the rim via a small clip at the end. She then filled the cup with boiling water again, and covered it over with a plate. She left the service there, presumably to soak.
I watched these proceedings with a sort of fascination. I never saw my sister make tea before. Let’s just say that learning how to host tea parties was the least of my interests as a child.
But Mrs. Ketchum’s swift, serene movements mesmerized me. …For a moment, I wondered if my mother ever stood in our kitchen like that, making tea – perhaps for both my sister and herself. And for her father as well. Gramps drinks the stuff too, I remember.
“Well?”
Mrs. Ketchum had turned back to me and was smiling. When she smiles charmingly like that, it’s sort of hard for me to imagine her as a mother anymore. She still looks really young. How old was she when she got married? Geeze, why am I even thinking about these kinds of things?
“Since you’re not here for tea, I take it there’s another reason you stopped by? Or did you just come to deliver Daisy’s present?”
Her tone wasn’t insisting or annoyed I was still here, or anything like that. Just curious.
“Um, actually, there is. I came to see if Ash might still have a book he borrowed from me. It was a long time ago, before we…” I was about to say “left Pallet Town”, but instead I ended with “became Pokémon Trainers”.
“In that case, it’s probably up in his bedroom. Would you like me to find it for you? What’s the title?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll search for it. If it’s all right for me to go inside your son’s room, that is.”
“Oh, sure, dear. You’ve been in there before, haven’t you? I’m sure he won’t mind. Do you remember where it is?”
“Yeah. I’ll find it, don’t worry. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Ketchum.”
“No problem, dear. Just let me know if you need help. I’ll be downstairs watching television.”
“Enjoy your tea.”
As I turned to go upstairs, I noticed her out of the corner of my eye lift the plate from her mug and stare into the tea. Very slowly, she pinched the end of the chain between her fingernail and thumb and dipped the small ball of tea leaves in and out, in and out. It might’ve just been my imagination, but she seemed disappointed about something.
The vacuuming has stopped. I can still hear the buzz of voices from downstairs. The indistinct rise and fall of muffled, heated drama suddenly reminds me of something I forgot.
I get up and walk over to the bookcase. I scan the spines, trying to take my mind off the millions of thoughts that keep entering it. There are a bunch of magazines, the kinds kids used to read as an introduction to Pokémon Training, chock-full of neat little tips and tricks that are completely useless in any real profession. No wonder everyone wants to train Pokémon.
POKéMON PAL, POKéMON HANDBOOK, POKéMON GRAPH… There it is, tucked between an issue of POKéMON INSIDER and an old Let’s Find Pokémon! picture book. I pull my grandfather’s report from the shelf, hardly giving the worn cover a glance, and creep out the door as soft and silently as possible, like I were stealing from a museum.
I intended to sneak out quietly, but the steps are old and they creak loudly as soon as I put pressure on them, alerting the warden to my escape.
“Oh! Did you find the book?” She twists around the sofa and beams at the guilty boy standing at the foot of the stairs. She caught me.
I straighten up. “Yes. Here it is. Thanks again for letting me look.”
“You’re welcome. Say, would you like to watch a movie? There’s this interesting film on about some boys setting out on a journey together. I think you might like it.”
I cast an eye over the blue screen. It currently shows a peaceful scene at night. Stars dot the sky as two boys ride on a train… I remember this film. My sister took both of us to see it once. The funny thing is, Ash and I brought it up in a conversation years later, just out of random mention. He remembered the scene I described differently though. He claimed there were four boys walking on railroad tracks during the day. We both insisted on our versions, and we ended up in a huge argument over it. At that time, it was impossible to determine a winner. But I was obviously right. This image right now proves it. Not that I needed any proof.
“No thanks. I have to go home and help the Professor.”
The woman smiles, but she seems a little sad. I notice the empty mug on the coffee table in front of her.
“Of course. I understand. It was very nice seeing you, Gary. Take care.”
I nod, but don’t move towards the exit. I simply stand there, staring at the screen. She looked really lonely sitting there on the sofa, watching TV by herself.
“Gary? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine.” I turn away.
“Thank you for the tea,” I hear her call softly from behind. I look down at the carpet and hurriedly break free from the living room. As I run blindly out the front door, I almost trip on Mr. Mime and the vacuum cleaner.
I sometimes wonder what happened to those other two boys who were walking on the railroad tracks. Maybe they ran away. Maybe they found something more exciting to follow than tracks someone else laid down before them. Maybe they found dreams of their own to chase. Maybe they were kidnapped and forced to work for their entire lives as slaves. Or more likely they simply ended up working some boring job for a company or such that doesn’t involve monsters and adventures in wonderland and building up impractical hopes leading to daydreaming castles in the sky that can never be knocked down since you can never get to the top of them anyway and they’re only fantasy but that’s what makes it all the more exciting. It could happen.
Or maybe they just got run over by a train.
Greetings, SPPf Fanfiction community. It’s been years since I’ve written a Fanfic, so I apologize if this piece was unsophisticated and rusty (as well as for its compensating length, I suppose). I doubt that anyone here knows or remembers me, but I used to be a One-Shot writer once upon a time. For absurd reasons, I gave up Fanfic-writing. This piece does not by any means signal a return, it just shows that I finally decided to seize upon an urge to write down all the inspiration that’s been boiling up inside me for the past year. As you can probably tell, this story is a mish-mash of several different story ideas, none of which I could persuade to amount to much on its own, so I ended up just sticking them all together. Whether doing so was a good idea or not, I’ll leave you – the reader – to judge.
But first, a little bit of background: Before my disappearance, I had plans to start my first chaptered Fanfic entitled Chasing Rainbows. It would mostly revolve around the characters Gary Oak and Molly Hale (from the third movie), with some focus on Ash as well. The story would be told mostly (later I decided completely) from Gary’s perspective. My interpretation of Gary was rather cynical and jaded, which clearly shows through in some parts of this story. I kind of felt like this didn’t really preserve his true character though (the cocky and arrogant rival of the hero), which I regretted since the original story was about safeguarding the Pokémon world and all its characters as they were, but ultimately learning to let go. So I tried my best to remain as faithful to canon in this fic as possible, while still exploring new depths of Gary’s personality.
What I’m basically trying to convey is that this One-Shot is pretty much Gary’s side of Chasing Rainbows in a nutshell. Well, about half of it anyway. Although you could probably tell by the similar title.
Another thing I’d like to mention that I found interesting is that the game reference towards the end about the movie on TV actually does reference a 1986 coming-of-age film called Stand by Me. I had envisioned the ending for this story already in my head, so I was really surprised when I found this out while researching the exact in-game text. I couldn’t find any information on whether the later G/S version text (“Stars dot the sky as two boys ride on a train…”) actually referenced a movie or not. If anybody knows whether it does, I’d be curious to learn the name and what it’s about.
There’s also another literary allusion which I’m sure that some, if not many of you will recognize. I’ll let you spot the reference on your own.
Well, it’s 3:30 AM. I’m off to bed now. If you’ve stuck with this spontaneous sleep-deprived ramble up to here, you have my thanks and deepest sympathy.
Smell ya later~
Blue
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