We didn't save the world. We didn't beat the Elite Four. We didn't travel to distant lands. She didn't become the top coordinator. She didn't become a renowned breeder. But, what we did accomplish was friendship. That deep compassion that only graces two living beings when they truly know each other. We loved one another and that was the only thing that mattered- the only thing that still matters.
I am old, but she looks older somehow. Only 58, but her eyes look so road weary. We did travel a lot of roads- maybe that's why. Or, maybe she won't live as long me. That's probably it. It would be sadder the other way around, if I was going to die first. Having the pokemon die before the trainer is like a child dieing before a parent. No one should have to bury their child, likewise no one should have to bury their pokemon. Of course, it isn't easier on me to see her dieing, either.
When we first met neither of us knew what to do. I remember basking in the sun surrounded by some lush green grass when a girl appeared out of the blue. I also remember her screaming and hitting me.
"It's a Vulpix!"
I barked at her, but that didn't stop the rapid slapping. Those childish blows kept me on the ground- she was practically laying on me. The next thing I know she is jumping up and pulling out a little red and white ball. A pokeball. I had never been in a capture situation before and didn't know how to react or what to do. I tried to run, but the ball tractor-beamed me in before I could get an inch away.
Nothing is more scary than your first pokeball experience. It isn't that the ball is cramped like you think, but the thing is dark. Very, very dark. Imagine the sun turning off one sunny afternoon at the bach and leaving you in pitch black nothing. That is a pokeball. So, like anyone else would have done: I panicked and pushed and banged and eventually broke out of that black hole of hell . . . only to have another one thrown at my face. Again, I broke out.
"Hey! Stay in there! I want a pokemon," the girl whined. She looked like she was about to cry, but I didn't care. Who wants to be trapped in eternal darkness? Not me. So, when that next ball came at me, I broke out again. And again. And- then I couldn't. Another ball was thrown and I tried to escape, but I couldn't do it. It seemed to be stronger than the last one. I panicked and howled and barked. Nothing worked. I was trapped.
"Uh, so you are my pokemon now," she said. I could hear her from inside the ball, "Um, so what do I do with a Vulpix?"
I am not a Vulpix.
She took me home and showed me to her mother. I overheard that the pokeballs were taken from her dad's dresser. While she did get yelled at, her mom was so proud she caught me. I remember thinking, What a nice family, can I go now?
When her dad got home I was released and I almost ran out the door, but something stopped me. I don't know if it was that pokeball's power or what, but I stayed in the home and was shown off to the man of the house. I am glad I stayed, he knew what I was.
"Oh, it's a Growlith," he said while patting my head. It felt nice to be tapped like that.
"Oooooohhhhhh. What do I do with it?" The little girl pointed at me.
"Love it, train it, and never let it feel lonely."
"I can do that,"she hugged me, "My name is Ginger. I will love you."
Ginger gave me to her son as a going away present. He was going to start his own journey; I suppose she thinks I don't need to retire with her just yet.
"I don't want your stupid Arcanine." He is a kind boy.
I could feel her heart crack a little. Ginger knew her son was just being stubborn, but it still hurt her all the same, "Honey, please. He is strong and will be very useful on your journey."
"Ugh, but I already have my own pokemon. Why do I need him?"
"I want you to always be safe, dear. I know that Arcanine will protect you just like he did me."
The conversation was longer, but it ended up with me going with the kid. I am to travel the world with a 17-year-old boy who didn't want me. Want to know how thrilled I am? Not at all, but I did it for Ginger. She wanted me to go. For her son, for me, and partly for herself.
"I don't like fire-types," the kid said. Oh, I didn't mention his name. Matt. My new captor was Matt the Blunt Teenager. "But, Mom wants me to take you. I hope you don't totally blow or something."
I feel the same about you, kid.