First foray into The Pit in FOREVER and Riley's mom isn't on the character list. Figures. Anyway, I find myself in a position where I still don't believe I actually wrote a fic I just finished writing. There are soooo many reasons I wrote this. But, having slept on it, I think I mainly wrote this because the way Riley's emotions feel about Riley struck me as very parental.
It's strange to wake up and realize that the years you spent with this amazing, tiny person is something only you remember. It feels bittersweet to realize it's because they're too busy growing up and chasing their future.
When Riley returns home from school, she finds Mom sitting next to a box half-filled with books, one of them open on her lap. There are more behind her, a mountain of them that almost looks sturdy enough to climb ("oh no no there is NO WAY we're going up there are you CRAZY Joy we'll DIE") but Riley remembers hands scraped raw and sprained ankles from similar adventures, so she wisely decides to keep both feet on the ground today.
"Please tell me the moving truck came," she says as she drops her bag on the kitchen table ("i am SO DONE with that disgusting sweaty sleeping bag") and grimaces. "I'll do anything to sleep in a bed. I'd eat broccoli to have my bed back."
Mom raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Well, well, that does sound desperate."
("is she teasing us about this? really? REALLY?!") "Mooooooooom!" Riley whines, annoyed and frustrated. Mom just laughs.
"Don't worry, all your things are upstairs. I cleaned your room, so all you have to do is unpack and start decorating." Mom pauses and then smiles. "Now are you glad we painted last weekend?"
("yyeeeeeeeeEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!") Excitement bubbles up in Riley and, yes, she is so so glad she let her parents talk her into it. Now her walls are a beautiful sky blue and it'll go great with her curtains and her glow-in-the-dark stars and suddenly San Francisco seems infinitely more tolerable than it did this morning. She rushes over and crouches to plant a kiss on Mom's cheek, hugging her around her neck.
"OH MY GOSH MOM YES THANK YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH GOTTA GO FIX EVERYTHING BYE!" she half-yells and darts away, but Mom catches her by the collar before Riley can take more than a step.
"Hold onto your bananas, monkey, I want you to see this," she says and ("can't we just have this?") Riley slumps, mood deflating a little ("come on, Sadness! Mom's home early! she did all the hard work for us! let me just —") before it comes bouncing back. Waiting a little never hurt anyone and her room will be there after Mom shows her... whatever she wants to show her.
Riley makes hooting noises at Mom and she chuckles and pulls Riley down to sit next to her. Mom tilts the book so Riley could see inside and she belatedly realizes that it's not a book at all, not a real one. It's a photo album filled with pictures of her as a toddler.
("aww, look at how happy Riley is!") While Riley wants to grin, because, hey, she was pretty cute back then, another part of her ("this is SO embarrassing, THIS is why our parents always treat Riley like a child") wants to roll her eyes and yet another part ("what if Mom shows this to the kids at school oh no oh no oh no aaaaaaaaaaaaaa—") is making her blush and fight the urge to grab the album and throw it away before anyone can see it. She settles for ("calm down Fear, Joy and i got this covered") wrinkling her nose and leaning her head on Mom's shoulder.
"I can't believe you still have this," Riley says and Mom wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
"I can't believe how much you've grown," she replies and there's something wistful in her voice. Before Riley can really react, Mom turns the page and points to a photo. "Do you recognize this? Your dad took it right before your fourth birthday."
Sure enough, the next page of the album has photos of a slightly less tiny Riley in front of a cake. But Riley focuses on the photo Mom is trying to show her. It's her, in those pigtails she stopped wearing when she was seven ("good riddance, those were SO noughties"), crayons scattered all around her with more of them clenched between her chubby fists. She's sitting in front of a wall in their old house ("this place is never going to feel like home") and there's a drawing on it, of something pink and vaguely elephant-shaped. There's also a red wagon with... rainbows going out the back? Riley feels—
("that's..."
"what—Joy! what's the matter with you?!"
"heeeey, isn't that Bing Bong? i haven't seen him since that nuh... n-n-n-nuh... n-n-NIGHTMARE!"
"are you serious? listen up people! long term can't find ANY memories of that cotton-candied weirdo"
"he didn't make it, did he?")
—confused. "No. What is that?" Mom makes a noise that's somewhere between a sigh and a coo.
"That, my silly monkey, is Bing Bong. He was your best friend when you were little." She scoffs to herself. "Well, littler."
Riley's eyebrows furrow in thought. She tries to remember—
("what do you mean they can't find any memories?!"
"i MEAN that they can't find him or anything to DO with him!"
"i'm sorry everyone, i didn't—he gave up everything for Riley's sake and i couldn't even—"
"whoa whoa whoa Joy is crying WHY IS JOY CRYING SOMEONE DO SOMETHING"
"i—Sadness i'm sorry i can't!"
"shhh it's ok, come here Joy, let's sit down and talk about it")
—but she comes up blank. Instead, ("since you two are having your little chit chat over there, I'LL be helping Riley") she gives in to the urge to roll her eyes.
"I'm way too old to have an imaginary friend, Mom," she protests and Mom smiles sadly.
"Yes, I suppose you are." Mom's hand moves up to stroke Riley's hair and the other hand traces the wagon drawing in the photo. "You two had so many adventures together. You and Bing Bong played games, formed a band, travelled the universe together... when we first got you those stars, you said you and Bing Bong needed to make a map of all the places you visited."
("Mom... remembers him? but...")
Riley tries to absorb this. "I guess I... always liked space, huh?"
Mom heaves a sigh that seemed on the edge of a sob. "Yes. I'm not surprised you don't remember. People lose a lot of memories as they grow older, especially of childhood. I wonder sometimes..." Mom trails off. She turns and holds Riley's face in her hands, looking into her eyes. "Maybe you won't understand this until you're older, but, sometimes, I believe the job of being a parent—and its gift too—is remembering what it's like to be a kid."
("come on, get up Joy, Riley needs us")
It feels like an eternity before Riley puts her hands over her mother's. She doesn't know why Mom seems lost in thought today. She only knows what she feels.
"Then you can remember Bing Bong for tiny me," she says and it's almost like something inside her eases. "That's your job, Mom. My job is to get you and Dad to take us to the planetarium this weekend."
Mom kind of laughs and hiccups at the same time and leans her forehead against hers. "You devious rascal."
(at the center of her being, a blue and yellow orb rolls into place)
