Author's Note: So I love the games; I've got a few—Friends of Mineral Town (which this is), More Friends of Mineral Town, Magical Melody, A Wonderful Life, and Another Wonderful Life. This—probably quite apparently—is my first attempt in this category to write anything worth anything (although I'm already crafting another much longer piece).
The song, "Innocence," is Sarah Buxton's. For whatever reason, Popuri (or Nina, although more the prior) comes to mind. Thus, earlier today (or, rather, yesterday now), I was pulled from my nap by a wild inspiration to write THIS.
I'd appreciate if you read and reviewed, as I fall into "funks" fairly easily, and it really doesn't help when (for whatever reason) readers don't linger long enough to type a sensible review.
…
Disclaimer: Harvest Moon isn't mine.
Innocence
The beautiful golden sunset peered immodestly as a curious child would through the virginal white curtains of the lodge, perhaps in fear, perhaps in awe of a truth long secreted. Deep chocolaty eyes considerably larger and brighter than the average adult's dulled, anchored in silent regret.
It's the first time that I've been here since I was here with him.
I remember all the wild flowers waving in the wind.
Life was an undiscovered river; I was jumping in…
Head first…
He seemed to have gotten over their wedding night, when she'd proved "touched," "impure,"—she could spit so many adjectives to exemplify that moment, that glaring instance when she'd spiraled from angelic to human in Tyson's eyes. He'd been so visibly flabbergasted, so pitiable, sitting there wide eyed and frozen stiff. She could still feel Tyson's jealous rage ardent upon her lips as he tried again and again in wild vehement sex to erase that unnamed man—curse that man—from Popuri's memory, heart, and soul.
Back then, he couldn't accept that the past was the past. Back then, she couldn't accept that Tyson left a steady passionate anywhere-anytime romance with Karen—pub-loving, wine-chugging Karen—a virgin.
It was sink or swim—
Do or die—
Sneaking out on summer nights—
Stealing wine from my Pa—
The thrill of not getting caught…
And now and then, I miss those days.
But coming back to this place I realize it ain't him I miss…
It's that young-girl, wide-eyed, first-love, one-time innocence—yeah.
How ironic, disgustingly ironic, it was that she now was wedded to Kai.
It wasn't that Popuri was envious, but she still could vividly recall a time when there was "them," when there was "Kai and Popuri." Not too long ago they spent summer days alone together playing tag, splashing in the ocean, having a good time. She never would have thought there would have come a time when "Kai and Popuri" wasn't.
We ran off to the cornfield just outside the county fair.
There were butterflies in my stomach and fireflies in the air.
He tried hard not to show it—
Oh, but he was just as scared… as me…
She remembered years ago, one summer night, running to this very ranch whose elderly owner'd probably already gone to sleep. There they were—she and Kai—standing in the cornfield staring each other down, seeming as sweet as anything, as true as truth itself, as everlasting as the inevitable cycle of life and death. She'd never since felt giddier than she did then, when there was "Kai and Popuri."
That was a sorry thing.
And it was sink or swim—
Do or die—
Sneaking out on summer nights—
Stealing wine from my Pa—
The thrill of not getting caught…
And now and then I miss those days.
But coming back to this place I realize it ain't him I miss…
It's that young-girl, wide-eyed, first-love, one-time innocence—yeah.
But "Kai and Popuri" were no more.
They'd gone on to new romances, new loves, and new lives, and there wasn't anything wrong with that. It wasn't wrong. They were content. Everything was as it was meant to be, as it should be.
And coming here has made me come to this: the one thing I can't get back is the one thing I miss—yeah…
Popuri smiled watching Tyson plowing those old whimsical cornfields into something new—she wasn't yet sure what.
And it was breaking rules—
Flying blind—
What you see through younger eyes.
It wasn't what I thought it was.
Man, I swore he was the one…
And now and then, I miss those days.
But coming back to this place I realize it ain't him I miss…
It's that young-girl, wide-eyed, first-love, one-time innocence—yeah.
He was an amazing person, really, possessing an unyielding spirit—an uncanny enthusiasm for adventure, reform, competition. He was always up for a challenge, couldn't resist one, which, she was led to believe, is why this farm meant so much—it was a challenge. He wasn't afraid of anything… which is perhaps, coupled with that unquestionable over-the-top nature, what first captivated Popuri's attention. He was everything she wasn't, everything Kai wasn't—superman. He'd water and plant plenteous crops, nurse a young fowl or lamb or calf, train their pup or with callous palms pet its coat or tease its flopped ears, wrangle a charging cow loose in town into captivity with a notable zeal, assume control of Poultry Farm when even Rick was rendered unable, slave in the mines to earn extra cash or in search of ores or gems to respectively improve tools or craft jewelry which always went on Popuri's shapely fingers or around Popuri's neck or in Popuri's jewelry box. He never forgot in all this chaos an appointment or promise made. He never failed to notice, then settle, Popuri's easily-wrought perturbations or to reasonably leave last-minute occurrences to join Popuri in their bedroom for late-night amorism (with a side-order of speech) proceeded with sleep.
It was at intervals such as these, when she reflected on this past year they'd spent together, that she concluded only to conclude again a later date that Tyson was Prince Charming, and it wasn't "Kai and Popuri" she missed; it was Popuri, Popuri alone, Popuri as she'd been then, when there was "Kai and Popuri."
It's that young-girl, wide-eyed, first-love, one-time innocence—yeah, it's that innocence…