I can't find enough time to get all my ideas down fast enough. So all five of my readers know what's ahead: Gang fights, Team Rocket under new management, and the First and a Half Coming. Thanks for all of the great reviews, and keep them coming! I do this so we all can enjoy it, but mostly you guys.
Chapter Eight: An Ode To Jersey.
The rest of our way to Cherrygrove was as uneventful as being warped into a videogame and hiking can possibly be. I christened the stain-removal-and-beating stick Edward; Edward and I took turns with Chicky in fending off attacking pokémon (a satisfactorily low level of pidgies, I noticed). By the time we reached Cherrygrove, Chicky was level ten and I had a Hall Of Fame batting average. Flavius opted to run a few errands- take our pokémon to the center and heal them, pick up a few things (legally this time) at the market, et cetera.
This respite- really the first I had all morning- gave me time to think, and to observe. I didn't bother with any of the townspeople as I walked towards the edge of the land, to the waterfront. I stared down at my reflection in the perfect blue ocean. It was practically a mirror image of myself, scarcely interrupted by discoloration or ripples in the water. I watched the waves benignly splash onto the sand and pull back again, rhythmically, methodically. Splash, back, splash splash, back…suddenly I realized the waves operated on a ¾ time signature. That was it.
A wave of homesickness crashed directly into the pit of my stomach. I hated the bright blue water, the immaculate skyline, the ideal weather. Glaring at the shore now, I found myself longing for the muddy olive colored rivers back home, for the smoggy mornings and toxic evenings, for hazy afternoons and unbreathable air. Where were the grubby panhandlers, the sidewalk lunatics, the vulgar cab drivers screaming obscenities at groups of loitering drug dealers? Certainly there was danger here, but not the familiar, comforting kind from home. I missed the sense of hostility, the menace of muggers and careless policemen and acidic rain falling on the heads of naive schoolchildren. That was home for me! Not here, where what were once the only non-threatening things- chirping birds and bugs humming along with their erratic harmonies- were the enemy, the attackers, the cause for alarm. This place was total sensory depletion. Everything smelled sterile- the biggest affront to my sense of smell was the faint odor of vanilla in the forest earlier. Visually it was all so pristine it made me a little uncomfortable. On my tongue was the faint taste of white bread. Touch and sound were the least affected- a little dulled perhaps, less harsh than Reality, but at least snarling purple rats reminded me of the city. The rest of this world was upside-down, and it was deeply unsettling.
"Mercedes, hey! I got all the potions, and Chicky's all set, and I was wondering if you wanted to-"
Feces, Flavius! Rapidly recalling his perceptiveness the last time I'd been troubled by my thoughts, I tried to look occupied. I fixed the way my bangs fell across my forehead and adjusted my clothes. Flavius was an inch away from me when I was fixing my shirt. And then it happened: I accidentally snapped my bra strap. This is the kind of shit they should teach us to deal with in school, I thought ferociously, not the use of imagery in post-modernist poetry!
The lights dimmed and the music swelled when the Best Actor award was presented to Flavius for his performance in Ignoring the Snap Heard 'Round The World. He deliberately looked at my face and continued his sentence nearly without missing a beat-
"to see if there's a way to Mr. P's house without all the tall grass and the pokémon attacks. It'll just slow us down."
He took a second to make eye contact with me. Grateful as I was for his intentional avoidance of a Class 5 awkward situation (in tornado form enough to decimate an entire Midwestern state) , I couldn't help but wonder if Flavius was ever going to get any better at speaking to the ladies, specifically me. A female Don Juan I was not, but I wasn't a nun either. I could talk to guys and flirt with the occasional saxophone player (though I blame my stunted education in the rest of the art of seduction on eight years of harpsichord). And though I still wasn't clear on my feelings or plans for furthering my relationship with Flavius (video game guy weird?), I was okay with the uncertainty. For now. If only he wasn't so awkward, and awkward about not being awkward!
"Yeah, but that's probably unavoidable." I noted, looking through the tree line at the road up ahead. I pivoted back on my heels and stared straight at him for the first time since he returned from his errands.
"What's with the Long John Silver look?" I asked.
"Oh, her?" Flavius asked, indicating to the pidgey perched on his left shoulder. "She didn't seem to like the pokéball very much, and it saves me some time from calling her anyway." He patted the bird on its head, and it cooed. Then it eyed me and growled, MGM lion style. Involuntarily I jumped back a little, then cringed at my own silliness. Edward The Punisher Of Vermin And Stains was in my hands. I purposefully eyed the stick and looked into the pidgey's eyes. It gave out a little squawk and ruffled its feathers a bit. I smiled maniacally. No one messes with Edward the Avenger.
Flavius and I began walking to Mr. Pokémon's house, exchanging information from our respective worlds. He explained poké market items, I explained cable television. I learned about type advantages, he learned about Chinese takeout and the social nuances of bowling alley etiquette. I learned about evolution, he learned about the internet. Well, what parts of the internet I could explain, anyway. Our conversation was easy; it flowed naturally, though still marred with awkward pauses and blushing more often than I'd have liked. Flavius' pidgey took up most of the wild pokémon battle work so Chicky and Edward the Mighty could take a break. We could see the clearing where Mr. Pokémon's house stood when I abruptly came to a stop.
"Hey Flavius. What was the pokémon I gave you, anyway?" I realized he hadn't summoned it at all since I'd given it to him that morning.
Flavius looked startled. "I don't know, actually," he stated, equally as surprised as I was that he'd forgotten to check. "I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate it more than any gesture ever shown to me in the course of my entire existence, it's just we've been so busy this morning, and-"
"Calm down. It's alright. Let's just see what it is, okay my hipster pirate amigo?"
"Aye aye, cap'n." He removed a pokéball from his white leather belt and threw it on the ground before us.
"Slugma!"
