10 – These Things I Can Never Say

On the occasions we share a bed or futon, I usually let Jasmine fall asleep first so I do not have to deal with her Slumbering Fists Technique. However, her joke of me being a heavy sleeper was not unfounded, and I usually had trouble keeping awake past her. This wasn't helped any by her being a Night-Noctowl type.

Tonight was different. She was getting tired and struggling to stay awake, while I had so much coursing through my mind that sleep was an impossibility. She had pilfered four pillows and the entirety of the comforter, nestling into them like a hibernating Teddiursa. I rested sidelong under a single sheet and did without a pillow. The lights were off. Illumination came from the glow of the city filtering through the window shades.

"I don't know how to thank you," I said aloud.

"For what? Saving the Oddish? There's no need. I wanted to help them, simple as that."

"It was my responsibility to protect them though."

"You're going to tell me you feel bad because you couldn't save them on your own and had to rely on me to bail you out, aren't you? Don't think like that. It's not healthy."

"But-"

"The world is unfair. Bad things happen all the time, and you can't stop the tiniest fraction of them. The best you can do is not add to people's misery. Even that's a hard thing to do all the time."

"I wish it wasn't that way."

"Reality is realistic," she recited.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means a lot of different things in different contexts. Mostly, it's just a fancy way of conveying pessimism."

"But doesn't that make you feel bad, to go through life saying and believing such things? Even you can see, there is good in the world. The Oddish are alive because of you. A dangerous drug is no longer being peddled on the street because of you. That's not something to sniff at. Are you not happy about those accomplishments?"

"It doesn't mean happiness is impossible," Jasmine countered. "Good things can be where they're supposed to be. I'm a decent trainer with a very strong Pokemon, and this was a situation that could be solved by someone like me."

"It could only be solved by someone like you."

"No, I'm sure anyone else could do the same. You could have done it, I think. I don't know why you didn't. Were you that afraid of breaking the law and going against the police?"

"Haaa." There's no way I could tell you the reasons I did not, Jasmine.

"Something like that," I answered her.

"Eh. Well, being a goody two-shoes is not always something to be ashamed of. What if there was a problem that could only be solved with the cops' help? You'd need to be in their good graces to get them to help you, even if you disliked their other actions. That's not something I could do. I'm too stubborn, my prejudices are too hardened, to let me work with people I don't like."

"Does that include men?"

"Especially men!"

I mulled her words over.

"You are right," I said. She had a good point. "'Reality is realistic', in this situation, means that some people can solve a problem and others cannot. Is that what you're saying?"

"I guess."

"Then to extrapolate upon that supposition, isn't it better to have friends to help with different situations? Each person's strength can make up for the weaknesses of the others."

"Right. Just like a-" she let out a deep yawn, "-like a Pokemon team."

"Right. Although, there is the overall team, and then smaller sub-teams that are more tightly bonded."

"Huh? I've never heard of that in Pokemon battles. Maybe operation battles, but I don't follow those."

"It's a bad metaphor," I said, backpedaling. "I mean to say, when two individuals form a bond, they can derive a greater benefit from their close connection than from their loose association with the overall group."

"…."

*Kricketots.*

"I mean lovers," I clarified.

"I know," she replied, and again fell silent. She turned on her side so that I was facing the back of her head.

"You promised me you would talk about it," I said, seeing if I could guilt her into opening up.

"I did."

"So?"

"What do you want to know?"

"What went wrong with Gary Oak? Did you not like him?"

"No."

"'No' as in you did and I'm mistaken, or 'No', you did not like him?"

"I didn't like him."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"He's a guy."

"What is wrong with men? Do you think they have cooties?"

"Yes."

"Dear, cooties don't exist…"

Oh wait, she was being facetious.

"Is there a history here I should know about?" I asked.

"No."

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Have you ever been kissed?"

"…no."

"What about, have you ever had a crush?"

"Yes."

Ah!

"Who was it?"

"Steven Stone."

Grr!

"I didn't mean a celebrity crush, I meant a real one, for someone you knew."

"No," came her answer.

"Nothing? No interest in romance whatsoever?"

"That's right."

"Zero desire for a boyfriend?"

"None."

"You are not right in the head, young miss."

"Don't make fun of me."

I bit my lip. This next question I had for her… Go ahead. Ask her.

"Are you attracted to boys?"

She did not answer.

"Hm? Hmmm?" I raised my tone a little. "Well? Or do you like girls?"

"Neither. Not boys or girls," she answered at last.

I blinked.

That answer was not truly unexpected, but much blunter than anticipated. Did her opposition to romance run this deep? Truly?

"Pokemon?" I ventured.

She kicked me through the sheets.

"Not in that way, dummy."

"Sorry! Sorry! It was a bad joke."

"Don't joke about things like that!" Her voice lowered. "Some guys once spread rumors like that about me. A lot of people believed them. It really hurt."

"Oh. Dear. I'm terribly sorry."

"It's fine. You didn't know."

"Well if you were going to forgive me, please don't kick me first."

"That's part of the forgiving process."

"I cannot argue that."

"Mmm."

"But Jasmine, I'm confused. Liking neither boys or girls or anything else, do you consider yourself asexual?"

"Isn't that rude to ask?"

"I would just like to get it clarified, so I can properly respect your preference from here on out."

"Oh. In that case…"

She rolled over onto her back, eyes staring at the ceiling. Before she spoke, she let out another yawn and closed her eyes.

"Hmm? Jasmine?"

"Huh?"

"You're falling asleep."

"Oh. Mmm."

"You were saying?"

"Whah?"

"Are you asexual?" I asked again.

"Nooo," came her tired reply, and by its tone I'm not sure if it was an actual answer to my question or a meaningless utterance.

"No? Or what?"

"No, I'm not… asexual. I'm not into sex."

"That hardly makes sense."

"It doesn't?" She's trying hard to stay awake, organize her thoughts, and answer me, and I get the distinct sense that she is pondering some other thing in her mind beyond it all. She sighed, then yawned, then took a deep breath.

"If it'll make you happy, listen- I think, if reality were unrealistic, I would have liked guys. There were two I had hopes for. One was a boy from middle school. We hung out a lot and had a lot of fun, but he bullied me too, and then he stopped talking to me, so I don't think he really liked me. His name was Morty."

She paused for a long moment.

"The other guy… never mind."

Another pause.

"Never mind," she repeated.

Long minutes of silence passed. The whoosh of the fan overhead was the only sound.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing would have ever come of it. She made sure of that."

Her voice was cracking, morphing to a whisper.

"Because of her, everything- everything-"

Sniffling.

Her head turned away from me again. Her words came softly and slowly, barely audible.

"If only she… but… I liked him. A lot. His name was… nnmmmh…" her voice trailed off, the name she was about to recite lost in the garble. She sighed again. Her breath became steady.

I was in tears.

Of course. Of course.

You knew all along.

It was unlikely in the first place. You knew the odds from the start. Then you got to know her, and every little hint only reinforced your fears, and now the truth is upon you. It hurts. So much. What brittle little hope you had, now shattered.

If you expected it, why does it hurt so much?

I don't know.

I lifted myself out of the sheet and dragged myself over to her slumbering form.

Her hair clips had fallen out. I took one up in my hand. It was mandarin orange and rounded like an oversized pearl. There was a strand of long hair caught in it. I saw the place where it usually perched upon her head and noted the way the hairs there were especially rigid, sticking straight out from her skull.

Ohhhh!

Ah. Haha. Hahahahaha!

Cowlicks. One on each side.

That's why she keeps the clips. That's funny.

The humor of it gave way to sentimentality.

Jasmine, dear, dearest Jasmine.

I've been waiting so long to see you like this: alone, vulnerable, at rest, at peace, open, honest. I wish it could last. I wish you weren't asleep. I wanted to say so much more, to hear so much more about your life. Even though we've seen each other a dozen times, and talked many more over the phone, I never had this chance to be with you in total privacy. Around others, especially men, you always keep your guard up. At our respective gyms, you ease up a little, but not much. When I call you at your house, your personality is completely subdued, it feels like talking to a stranger. My porcelain mask looks so easily shattered compared to your iron hood. Yet now, at last, it has drooped a little and I can peer inside, and what I've seen has made me shy. So I talk to you like this- silently, wordlessly, without reaching your ears or your heart, and I wonder if there will ever come a day when I can be honest with you.

You probably do not realize how much I already know about you. When you talk about your life, you see me dozing off or staring out to space, but this indifference is only feigned. I am soaking everything in, every little detail, and if sometimes it seems like you have lost my attention, it is only because I am contemplating what you have just told me and what hidden implications there may be. Since the very beginning, you have had me enraptured. No, "enraptured" is too hyperbolic, and not the best way to describe this feeling… Intrigued. Surprised. You are full of little surprises.

Jasmine rolled over in her sleep. Her front was now facing me. I reached out and gently pushed aside a loose bang from her forehead.

Do you remember how we first met? I do. It is still crystal clear to me.

Central Square was overcrowded with tourists and shoppers. The summer sales were on and it was a sore contest amongst all the desperate men and women to see who could cram themselves into the upscale brand stores first. I had just finished purchasing Pokemon supplies and was now pushing my way through the throng of bodies. The Gym Leader Summit was beginning that afternoon, and I wanted to hurry and arrive early in order to see old friends from Sinnoh and Hoenn. I was halfway across the square when a stray glance brought to my attention the enormous clock over The Reach news agency headquarters.

"11:38?"

I had overestimated the time by an hour, I thought it was closer to 1:00. The summit did not start until 2:00. My friends were probably not even at the conference center yet.

The knowledge that I was unnecessarily rushing caused me to pause. I collected my breath and peered around the square. That is when I saw her.

What appeared to be a young adolescent was sitting on the lip of the fountain. She was wearing a pure white sundress and sandals, and had the most curious hairstyle: most of her long, pale-brunette hair was let down, but atop her head was a pair of short, spiky pigtails that stood straight up. In her lap she carried a Magnemite.

'What a cute little girl' I thought to myself. 'I wonder if she is a trainer?'

I approached the young girl, thinking nothing more than to say hello and compliment her Pokemon. Magnemite are somewhat of a rare sight out on the city streets, and hardly the kind of Pokemon to belong to a feminine child. My first guess was that she was carrying the Magnet Pokemon for her father or older brother. As I drew closer, I began noticing her demeanor and expression. Her face was cowed, her shoulders were limp. When she looked up, it was to awkwardly gaze around, as if confused or unsure. She studied the street signs, scowled, and then returned to bowing her head and hugging the Pokemon tight. My initial reaction turned from curiosity to pity.

"Hello there!" I said.

"Huh?"

"Are you lost?" I asked.

She stared at me, starting from my toes and climbing to my face. I in turn got my first clear look at this stranger's face.

She is adorable! Or would be, if she weren't so pitiful looking.

"I'm not sure," she answered at last.

"Sure of…?"

"I know where I am, but I don't know where I'm trying to get to."

"Ah, that's the problem. I know my way around this city quite well, I can give you directions. Where are you trying to go?"

"To the Gym Leader Summit, but I don't know what the building is called."

Imagine my surprise upon hearing her destination.

"Oh? What a coincidence! I am on my way to the Summit right now. It is being held at the Celadon Masters Convention Center, next to the Game Corner." I told her the directions.

"Thank you."

I started walking off, when a thought crossed my mind, I paused, and turned back to her. She was already looking relieved and preparing herself to set off.

"By chance, is one of your parents a Gym Leader?"

"What? Oh no no!" She shook her head, embarrassed. "No, I'm a Gym Leader," she said.

Now imagine my surprise at hearing THAT!

"You?!" I uttered.

My initial assessment of this poor child was ripped to shreds. How could such an innocent, scrawny, child-like thing hold the prestigious title of Gym Leader? It made no sense!

"You are a Gym Leader?" I repeated.

"Yeah. Well, Acting Gym Leader, technically, but there's not much difference. Here's my badge." She pulled out an octagon-shaped piece of metal and handed it to me. Indeed, the Pokemon League holographic seal could be found on the backside. It had the little bronze Pokeball symbol that confirmed the badge belonged to a Gym Leader.

I gawked at it, and then her.

I do believe I have underestimated this little girl.

"You said 'Acting' Gym Leader? I hope I am not going out on too much of a limb here, but you do not appear to be of age. May I ask how old you are?"

"Fifteen."

Only two years younger than me! The same age as my little brother! I've been fooled! She looks so much younger than her given age.

"Well, it just so happens, I am an Acting Gym Leader as well! And I am going to Summit too, so… would you like to walk there together?"

"Okay," she said.

"My name is Erika Hikami. What is yours?"

"Jasmine."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jasmine." I extended my hand. She took it, and I lifted her to a stand.

There was nothing overly cute or dramatic about it. Perhaps coincidental. There is no telling if I would have picked you out from the crowd of trainers at the summit itself. To find you alone at the fountain-side was a chance of fate, one that turned out to be one of good fortune. I was drawn in by your apparent vulnerability and meekness; I was surprised by your position and strength. Likewise every meeting since, I have been amazed by your hidden depths, and dumbfounded at my own continual ability to underestimate you.

That meeting was August of last year. Since then, how many times have we met?

I visited Olivine twice, and you visited Celadon three times, including your first and current visits. We rendezvoused six other times, at various Pokemon Trainer functions throughout Kanto and Johto. Then there was spring break a couple months ago, the weeklong vacation in the Sevii Islands we enjoyed together. All totaled, twelve times we have met in person. Each time felt more precious than the last. Talking with you was endlessly entertaining. For each question, you always seemed defiant and overeager in attempting to answer, like you wanted to surprise me. Often, you succeeded. Trying to get to know you was like solving a rubiks cube within a rubiks cube within a rubiks cube. With each nudge, question, answer, experience, memory, I tinkered with the lock of your personality, and eventually heard the click and unlocked some new fact about your personality or history- only for it to reveal another puzzle waiting to be solved. It was a challenge, one I enjoyed. With each visit, I grew to understand you a little bit better. With each departure, I was left alone to process what I had learned. Slowly, the blank space of your character was filled in with bits of knowledge: experiences we shared, facts, opinions, feelings. Some were quite random, others were illuminating, and some cut right to the heart:

You don't have a favorite color. A good color to you is one that fits whatever it is coloring- food should be brown, cars should be silver, flowers should be purple, dresses should be white, the sky should be grey, and so forth.

Your favorite season is autumn. Your ideal weather is chilly, 50 degrees, with a clouded sky and strong breeze, but rainless.

You are struggling in school. Your grades are kept afloat because you are good at test-taking, but you procrastinate on doing homework and can't get along with your classmates on group projects.

If your lifestyle was a flavor, it would taste like vanilla. Plain and simple was your ethos, everything from your fashion to your food, your work ethic to your battling style was ordinary, modest, ascetic, straight-forward, efficient, rote, material. I have never seen you wear makeup or jewelry. You are extremely picky about what you order to eat, but when you are done your plate is picked clean, nothing wasted. Your gym has no mazes, no traps, no puzzles, merely walk in and get right to battling.

I don't recall you cursing too much, and in the off-chance we hear a dirty word from your mouth, you feel embarrassed and guilty about it.

Your Pokemon obey you without question. I have never seen such expediency between order and execution, at least not in person. Your skill in that area matches a world-class professional. What that shows me is how intimately trusting your Pokemon are towards you. It makes sense. When offered the chance to go off sight-seeing, or to a party, or a theme park, or clubbing, or sleeping in, or literally any other activity, your overwhelming preference is to spend it with your Pokemon instead. I have to drag you to social events, kicking and moaning sometimes, and even then you grouse and count the minutes until you can rejoin your pets. Maybe it is just me, but I find it odd how much love and friendship you have for them, on account of the kind of species they are: a pair of animated magnets, a rock snake, a literal rock, and a living Pokeball- they do not seem like the kind of Pokemon that one could develop a deep and meaningful relationship with. There is your Ampharos; I suppose he is dearest to you. You talk about him quite a lot. I only met him once, though, and it was brief. Compared to your other Pokemon, he seemed quite animated and personable.

Your vehemence for the male sex is legendary. "Boys are dirty perverts." "Men cause all the problems in the world." "Sluts or prudes, there's no middle ground in their minds." "Why do they keep hitting on me, even after I say no? Mankeys and Slowpokes, all of them!" "I hate boys! Don't talk to me about boyfriends!" "I'm on a countdown to menopause! Then I'll be so ugly no guy will ever bother me again!" –a sampling of your diatribe on the subject. Many times I have witnessed outright unfair and prejudiced behavior from you towards males: the men's restroom in your gym is left to desecration, while the women's is immaculately kept. When lining up challengers, all the boys are sent to the back of the line. An enterprising touch, even an innocent gesture devoid of lust, is met with violent retribution (as Brock can attest). No one will call you out on your misdeeds, because you are cute and small and judged to be harmless. That does not stop people from talking behind your back, or passively shunning you, or privately vilifying you. I myself would have stepped in long ago and told you to back down, but certain things have staid me. Mainly, I am afraid of hurting your feelings, knowing something I can't comprehend is driving these sexist actions of yours.

You are difficult to handle sometimes. Far too stubborn. Anti-social. Blunt. Obtuse. Pessimistic. Yet, I do not think these traits overwhelm the good in you. It just makes it harder to get to know you. You are like a castle with two sets of walls. The first wall is tall, without feature, clean but boring. This is your façade of respectability. This is the quiet, shy, courteous girl that the whole world assumes on first acquittal. Entering through the gate, however, will show another face- the wall of iron: rough, abrasive, with spikes and barbed wire sticking out at hostile angles. Your polite exterior is a veil to assure others of your rightness, while dissuading the curious from peering beyond and running afoul of the iron gauntlet of bitterness, criticalness, and pride. Behind that second wall, however, is the keep: your true self. What little I have managed to glimpse of this bastion reveals to me a much kinder, a much more sentimental little girl than anyone suspects. I understand that the outer wall is to protect others from yourself, and the inner wall is to protect yourself from others. This double-sided defense is quite effective in its purpose, but sadly, too effective- you have shut yourself off from many good social opportunities because of it. I think the world would be a happier place if it saw and recognized your better self.

I remember at the last day of the summit, a little girl lost their Natu. My inclination was to fetch a member of the security staff to help her, but you took it upon yourself to help the girl. After thirty minutes it became apparent why the Natu had gone missing- the girl was a complete brat: throwing a hissy fit, arguing with you and I, insisting we search unlikely or absurd places, stopping mid-search to wait in line for ice cream, loudly berating us for our lack of success. The Pokemon had probably run away from its temperamental master. Her lack of manners did not dissuade you at all. You badgered and lectured the little girl, patiently explaining to her each fault in her logic, and trooped on through the harassment until we found the little bird hiding in a giant abstract sculpture.

When you agreed to help me build a flower garden for Cerulean's Pokecenter, you had no clue the disaster that awaited us. The truck bearing the fertilizer was carelessly driven. Opening the backdoor, we found the bags of mulch torn and scattered, the contents coating the entire interior. Worse, we discovered the mulch was made of composted Pokemon manure. The stench was palpable from across the street. I insisted that you should back out and let myself and the Machoke laborers deal with the mess. You would have none of it. I had gloves and a long-sleeved shirt. You had neither and wanted neither, on account of the heat. In your stubborn willingness to help, you bravely stuck your arms into the (literal) crap and hauled it off, one armful at a time. I knew you hated it, despised the smell and stickiness and the gross violation of sanitization involved, but you did it anyways. "I'm not going to diddle my feet while you and the Pokemon do all the work. Just let me have the first shower when we're done, okay?"

I selfishly asked you over during cram-week, to keep me company while I studied for my final exams. I thought you would be bored out of your mind and want to leave. Instead, you stayed with me the whole time, taking care of chores and preparing snacks and coffee for me. You picked up the textbooks and, despite the subject matter being two grades above you, quickly grasped the material in order to help tutor me. I remember the crude manga you put together to explain the Tendo Period of Nihon Unification, how Satoshi Tajiri ventured to each region and persuaded its political leadership to join his alliance. You drew Satoshi with a perpetual smiley face and tongue hanging out, and each daimyo was represented by a brutish, scary Pokemon creature (I think they were Pokemon; your art skills are… err…. scary, to say the least). Your attempt at playing mangaka was… cute, your humor was certainly funny, and in the end it worked; months later I still have Tajiri's diplomatic exploits memorized, an academic achievement on my part.

You have borne all of my selfish requests with much complaining, but never hesitation. So many people listen to your words and take them at face value. They hear your complaining and grumbling and think it means you despise others and begrudge the effort to help them. They ignore your actions. They have no perspective. What kind of young woman would tirelessly hurl herself at others' problems if she hated them so much? We humans have become too enamored with those who can charm and woo us with words, and fail to take note of their broken promises and hypocrisy. Genuine care is overlooked, or denounced, when offered in the grumpy trappings of someone like you, Jasmine. It is not fair. Beneath the shyness, beneath the bitterness, is a young woman who deeply cares, but just has difficulty showing it. Yet you still try, in what ways you can, to show everyone who you really are. And the two ways you do that so well are by helping, and by teaching.

You have taught me so many things.

Little things. How to operate my computer. How to throw a Pokeball correctly. Training a Pokemon to use a new move by subtly increasing the difficulty of repetitions. The recipe for cooking stroganoff. Lyrics to little known songs and superstitious rituals popular in Johto middle schools. The intricacies of sports rivalries and the prominent trainers within your city. It is a fascinating pleasure to have a constant friend from a different region. It has given me an appreciation for the cultural variety within our nation, and makes me curious about the wider world.

Then there are the important things, the lifelong lessons that I want to take to heart and never forget. These are things you have shown me, not in words, but by your actions:

You taught me to find something to care about, and devote my heart and soul to it. For you that would be Pokemon. For me it would be my horticulture hobby and... *sigh*. When you hold something so important that you'd sacrifice everything for it, it becomes a justification for enduring the mounting abuse and striving onwards. The suffering is given purpose. It becomes bearable.

You taught me that loving myself and taking pride in myself, selfish as it may seem, is okay. When the world batters you, it is not sinful to hold yourself in higher esteem and spite those who wish to denigrate you. Sometimes pride and stubbornness is wrong, a way to raise yourself at the expense of others. But other times pride is necessary to defend against the incessant barrage of insults and pejoratives levelled against you. As father says, society is not understanding, society will not hesitate to crush an individual who goes against the common flow. Your example is the rock in the river, defiant and immovable. I cannot aspire to such fortitude. I will become the willow brush instead: soft, flexible, bending, letting the currents of societal pressure push me about and wash around me, but like you, my roots will not budge.

You taught me how to care. For myself, for others, for the things we hold dear.

You taught me how to protect that which I cared for. You taught me how to think logically in the heat of the moment. Your advice in Pokemon battles has been invaluable. Your demonstrations are incredible teaching experiences. Vanquishing Petrel with a single Pokemon was a shining example of your genius and your training methods. A Steelix? My goodness, I did not know you had evolved your Onix. To command such a mighty beast is a testament to your capabilities as a trainer. I wish I could stand before such a terrifying monster and not flinch, let alone ride its head and brashly demand its obedience!

Because of your example, I am strong. Because of my desire to emulate your strength, I have endured, and I think, one day, I will make it to that place where I can stand tall and no longer fear anyone or anything.

"Mmm." Jasmine mumbled in her sleep. The sound of her voice, however muted, stirred my heart. A pang welled up within me, urging me to speak out loud to her.

"Jasmine, I…" I whispered.

The words won't come. Even like this, with you asleep, I cannot voice them aloud. It is the fear, the burden I have lived under my whole life.

Fear of judgment. Fear of reprisal. Fear of being shunned and cast out. Fear of losing those who I care for and care for me, because of our prejudices. So I keep everything secret, hidden away. That protects my feelings, and the sensibilities of others, and safeguards our relationship. Of course living like that is tortuous in so many ways.

What you have shown me is how to endure that torture.

No. Not just that.

You have given me a reason to endure that torture.

I do not know what I have done to deserve your friendship. I have only lied to you, kept you at a distance. In all my efforts to pry into your private affairs, I have never divulged anything of myself. You never resented that. You dislike my nosy inquiries, but never enough to reproach me, and not near enough to abandon me as a friend. You never retaliated by interrogating me or attempting to pick at my inner soul. For that I am relieved, but also a little hurt- do you not care to know? But I think about it, and I see that it is not that you do not care, but you see my reticence and respect my privacy.

For all the things that you do for me, for who you are to me, the companionship you've given to me, what have I done for you? Nothing, I fear. Money. I buy you things. I give you trite advice that anyone could offer you. I can't make you smile, I can't give you happiness.

If you knew my secrets- my past, my relationships, my offenses- what would you think of me? Nothing kind, I am sure of it! How could I hope for your forgiveness if I told you what I did to the Oddish? You think I'm their caretaker- I was their butcher! The one who maimed them! There were many options to save them but I took the most cowardly.

Even my friendship with you is based on a one-sided farce. If you knew the real reason, the sun rising tomorrow is less sure than the inevitability of you ending our friendship. Everything I have gleaned about you points to that end. More so than all the pressures of society, this one burden is the hardest to bear. The lessons I have learned from you to endure these hardships come to naught when it is you I confront. You are the one person whose hatred I could not bear.

I am weak. I am ashamed to say this, but I am comfortable being weak. When one is weak and hides their shame, they appears harmless. The strong may boss them around and take what they want, but so long as the weak acquiesce, they are left unharmed, and sometimes even earn the coddling of the strong. The true shame of this is that it is selfish. I give up my right to affect the world in order to protect myself. I yield up happiness for peace, pride for stability, possession for attention. It was justifiable so long as it only affected myself. Now, though, I have someone to care for, and the need and desire to help her. I cannot help her, however, if I remain compliant and stand for nothing, if I continue to wallow in helplessness.

My weakness is that I am a coward. This weakness is one I must overcome.

The night was warm, the air conditioning was absent. Jasmine pitched about in her sleep, removing half the comforter from her body. She was in a loose nightgown I had loaned her. The thin fabric fell smoothly over her body, revealing every curve (or lack thereof). Except for Jasmine's tossing, the room was silent and still, as was the rest of the house.

Oh yes, this house…

I have learned many things growing up in this house: how to garden, how to distill aromas from flowers, how to cultivate fruits and vegetables, how to cook wholesome meals and present them to guests. How to behave and please visitors, and how to respect those of authority. Plentiful examples of how to show disdain and mockery for those beneath oneself. How to excel in school and work. How to run a business, and how to navigate bureaucracies. How to draw, how to play music, how to sing, and how to decorate. So many things to learn, and whether they were good to learn or painful, my parents were always good teachers. Yet the one thing they never taught me was how to make friends.

What are friends? People who treat you nicely because you buy gifts for them, or promote them to a higher-paying position, or loan them money. I am ashamed of our wealth, and the barriers it creates between us and others. Not only is it the banality of a relationship based on money, but the assumption of the one-way exchange: we never take, we never receive, we always give, we always grant, because to my family, it is supremely important to be in the position of power. We thrive on ego buoyed by the purchased gratitude of "friends".

If that is all our friendship is, my shame is complete. I do not want the gap between our families' means to be a gap between our feelings, Jasmine. You offer me things of no monetary value, but what price could one possibly put on things like- jumping into a dirty pond to help me over rocks? Playing hide and seek in the gym garden? Fixing a technical glitch in my computer program? Amusing me by organizing a Pokemon theater? Fielding a barrage of insulting questions in order to appease my parents? Defying the law to save my Pokemon? Comforting me in my deepest depression? These things are priceless.

And I can only give you things, clothes and snacks. It is an unfair exchange.

How do I make up the difference? These little things are not trivial, not in their reception and I realize not in their offering. It takes will, care, and motivation to do these things for me. It is a burden on you. I do not know why you shoulder that burden, but I am grateful. I want to help. I want to find a way to sustain that spirit of yours that is so brave and selfless and giving. How can I make you happy? Your little moments of happiness sustain me, how can I make them last?

It is obvious you are hiding something, a darkness in your heart that is as deep and painful as could be. Tonight my efforts revealed just a little. Enough for my own purposes, but not enough to help me understand you. I once thought your troubles might have something to do with romance. Of all subjects, of all issues, that seems to be your chief antipathy. I'm not quite sure of the reason for this. The little hints and bits of pieces you have confided to me paint a confusing picture. I know you have been on the wrong side of men's obsessive crushes. Some boys have bullied you before. I understand that. Yet, even when presented with more upstanding individuals of their sex, you have shown them nothing but disdain. Gary was categorically rejected merely because of his gender, as far as I can tell. This disdain is not limited to the arena of romance, but all ills in all areas are to be blamed on the existence of men, according to you. What is there to explain this misandry? Something in your past? Something that is going on in your family? A relationship gone wrong? Is it plain sexism? I cannot tell, and not knowing the answer has dearly vexed me.

After hearing what you have told me tonight, though, I am less sure than ever.

'Because of her, everything- everything-'

'If only she… but… I liked him. A lot.'

Who is she?

Who is he?

What happened?

I can guess, but that is all: I do not know the truth and feel unable to pry it from you, and working on assumptions feels dangerous.

Yet…

There is something there, lurking in the darkest recess of your heart. Something beyond your hatred of men, something past your troubled relationship with your mother and father, something more narrow than the oppression of society upon your soul. I would never have suspected it, never would have thought it more than residual damage from some incident between you and a boy, except for that one crisis over Spring Break.

We were together, at last, for a whole week! Glorious! And the location could not be better! The beaches of the Sevii Islands beckoned with their golden sands and endless horizons. We were joined by our fellow Gym Leaders, Whitney and Misty. It was a time for play, for joy, and for cheer! Girl's Beach Party! Surely, with nary a male in sight, Jasmine must feel free to loosen up and have fun.

Yet, the shy girl did not seem to be enjoying herself.

I chalked up her quiet mood to boredom. After all, she lived by the sea, this was nothing new or exciting to her. It was quite hot too, with the sun bearing down on us with nary a cloud for cover. Still, she seemed aware of the significance of being on vacation with friends and tried not to be a total recluse.

"Come out! Swim in the water!" I urged.

"Nnn." She shook her head.

"What is wrong? You've been grumpy all morning long."

"It's nothing."

"Come on in! The water feels good, it will cheer you up!"

"No it won't."

"Oh come come! I'll feel guilty if you sit there alone while we're having fun."

She sighed and reluctantly waded out into the ocean.

We were frolicking in the salt water, catching and riding the waves for about half an hour, before I noticed an absence.

"Where is Jasmine?" I asked Misty.

She shook her head.

"On the beach?"

"Did she go back?"

"I don't know."

"I just saw her."

We three girls came together and conferred for a minute.

Whitney was facing out to sea as we talked. She suddenly lit up.

"Ahhh! There she is!"

"Where?"

"There! Oh my god, she's far out!"

My chest was gripped by a chill far colder than the water.

Jasmine's white one-piece could be seen bobbing in the waves, a hundred yards from shore. She was not moving.

"Oh god," Whitney cried.

I cried with her, silently, choking up with fear.

"Ah!" This was Misty. She was observing Jasmine and the waves around her.

"Get out of the water."

"Huh?"

"You got to get out of the water, NOW!"

We hesitated, so Misty slapped us and pushed us towards shore.

"It's a riptide! Jasmine's caught in a riptide! Go! Now!"

Whitney and I swam in a panic towards the safety of the sand. Behind us, Misty's whistle pierced the air. Her Starmie and Seaking returned from their play. She climbed atop the Pokemon and powered out to the open ocean.

I could do nothing but watch and pray.

For six minutes I did so. Every now and then a break in the waves revealed two tiny dots of color amidst the turquoise sea.

My heart quivered when I realized the dots were growing bigger.

"She's alive!" Misty called out.

Jasmine was laid on the sand.

Misty told us to stand back. She had to restrain me from leaping on her.

"CPR!"

"No. She's weak but she didn't swallow much water. Give her room. Come on Erika, back off!"

It was many long minutes of sputtered, weak, and feeble coughing that ensued. At last, Jasmine rolled over onto her side and began breathing normally.

"Jasmine are you alright? Are you hurting?"

"Eh," she murmured. "I guess," were her first words.

Later on, we took her to the beach house and set her to rest on the couch. She was shaking violently so I piled all the blankets and pillows in the house on top of her. When she was snuggled in I patted her down and took a seat beside her.

"A riptide?" she asked.

"Yes. You were carried out to sea."

"Oh."

"Do you remember anything?"

"No."

"I was so scared!"

"Eh," she shrugged.

"You could have drowned," I insisted, irritated by her apathy.

She averted her eyes, staring out the window.

"So?" she answered.

"So?! You could have died! You would be dead, and we would all be grieving!"

"Nnn."

She rolled over, turning away from me and digging deeper into the cushions.

"So what if I died? I'm not wanted here."

"I'm not wanted here."

Those words haunt me.

I do not believe it was the shock of the crisis that elicited those hurtful words. There was something vague in your spirit that I had not managed to pin down until that moment. Those words were illuminating, they summed up with crystal clarity all of the troubled behavior I had witnessed out of you. Everything you have suffered, your dark secret you do not want me or anyone else to know, all distilled down to a single sentence.

"I'm not wanted here."

Of course you are wanted here! I want you here, in my room, in my life, beside me, my dearest friend! How could you say such a thing?! It boggled me, and pained me, and most of all it scared me.

For now I know that whatever haunts you, is dark enough to make you not care about your own survival. That truly terrifies me.

You do not know your own worth.

You have no idea how much you mean to me, and so many others. I said that society underestimates you, but after that night, I have also come to think you underestimate yourself. So it falls on me, as the person who heard you utter those terrifying, utterly honest words- "I'm not wanted here"- to find out what they mean, and to try to help you. Maybe tomorrow night, or another evening during your stay, or further into the future, but sometime, I hope to draw out that darkness and banish it.

I hope I can do it. I pray for it. I pray to all the deities I know that I am able to help ease your sorrow without hurting you in the process. I have doubts about what I am doing, but I will try to overcome them and forge ahead. My hope is that I will be strong enough and wise enough to do so, and that I am not too far gone because of my actions for you to accept my help.

How do I apologize for everything? How do I make it all up? What can I do for you, Jasmine, to be for you what you are for me? How can I be brave like you? How do I find the courage to stand up to the mayor and the Rockets when I cannot even bring myself to tell you these fretful feelings? How do I live freely and openly when I cannot even share my secrets with my best friend?

Will I ever reach that place where I belong?

For so long I have suffered in silence. Not being able to reveal my true self to anyone, for the simple fear of being hurt and ostracized. I once wished I was not this way, that I could be like everyone else. I tried very hard to fit in. I debased myself to the point that when Evan asked me to join him upstairs during the prom after-party, and full-knowing what his intentions were, I agreed anyways. What little self-worth I had hung on to for my teenaged life was ripped from me after that night. Since then I have survived by clinging to the ego of pleasing others, while inwardly weeping at the unfairness of it all. My desire to change who I am to appease the rest and assuage my soul grew and grew, even as my emotional ability to do so become more and more impossible. I was in despair.

Meeting you changed that.

Being with you awakened me to the injustice of it all, and the hope that something more could be achieved. It gave me the desire to be myself and for society to change for me- even if I could not make that desire a reality.

Yet, if society's prejudice could wreck this kind of havoc on my spirit, if mother and father's prejudice could nearly crush me, I am terribly afraid of what would happen if I found that same prejudice in you.

So I keep silent, forever unable to share these feelings.

My chest is aching. A Golem is weighing down upon my heart. A Gengar is lurking about the shadows of my mind.

I bit down a cry, choking it off.

I reached out, resting my fingertips on Jasmine's chest. I brushed along the nightgown, reaching her neck, and then cheek, stroking it. She felt my touch, judging by the slight rise of her form, but she did not wake up. My gaze wandered over her body.

Immaculate.

Blessed, really. To have such an exquisite figure, and yet need so little care to maintain it. You have the body of a gracefully sculpted blade. The tiniest imperfections, a bump here, a scar there, tiny and barely noticeable, just enough to give a reminder of your humanity. Otherwise, a sleek and beautiful ballerina-like figure. Some may mistake it for that of a child, but only because you are short and your breasts are small. That is not fair, though. You did not choose your appearance. Nor is there anything childish in your intellect or your ability to navigate the horrors of the modern world. Rather, I would say your attractiveness derives from an appeal to innocence that so many of us have lost as we transitioned to adulthood. A reminder of a time when we were untainted.

You are beautiful, my dear. So beautiful.

I found myself being drawn down. My hair hung down around my face. It brushed against her cheek and brow.

Your face is the most beautiful of all.

Maybe it is your expressions. When you look sad or worried, I think it looks touching. When you scrunch up your nose and brow in anger, I think it is cute. When you light up in joy, it tickles my humor in a way no comedian or frolicking Pokemon could.

Your soft, thin lips, slightly parted, lay invitingly right before me.

I blinked. I breathed.

When did I start holding my breath? When had I gotten this close? Her lips were mere inches from mine.

It hit me, full force, very suddenly, the truth laid bare to my mind and soul.

The urge to close the gap welled up inside of me. It impinged upon my cerebrum, it took fire in my muscles, urging, wildly demanding closure. I leaned in so close I could feel her breath.

No!

I mustn't!

Why not? These feelings are there, they are real!

I can't!

You can! You can have her! You must try! You must risk it!

I cannot!

Why?!

Because I am coward!

Because I do not do things for my own sake!

Because I suffer and sacrifice for others' prejudice!

Because I would rather have this friendship than risk losing her completely!

Because she means that much to me!

I cannot!

I lifted my head and drew away. Not fast enough though. One, two, a pair of wet drops fell and shattered upon the bridge of her nose. She wrinkled her nose. Then looking very closely, what I saw broke my heart.

Oh Jasmine. Please forgive me. I do not know how to tell you this.

When you suffer I suffer. When I see your face with my tears upon it and it looks so utterly natural, it makes me realize how accustomed I have become with your unhappy countenance. I wish I could make you happy. I want to make you happy. I want to give you a reason to live- because…

Because of everything you have done for me, the things you know about, the things you do not know about.

Because of what you mean to me, the infinite joys you have brought me, the little touches of care, the meaningful lessons, the companionship I could not bear to live without.

Because of the primal forces of nature that propel me towards you, the beauty I am inexplicably drawn to…

Because of how much I care for you.

"Because…" I said, and then choked, my voice lost in emotion, unable to say the words I so desperately wished to tell her…

…because I love you.

The End