Mother and Father did not approve of Grandfather. They never spoke it out loud, but I knew. I could tell from their faces whenever I asked to visit him.
My grandfather lived in a small house near the beachside. A Sunyshore native, he met my late grandmother around his early twenties and refused to remarry ever since.
My grandmother passed away from a chronic illness before I was born. According to Grandfather, they spent hours in her hospital room discussing possible names for the new baby. Ultimately, Grandfather bestowed mine; it was a name his wife had smiled warmly upon, one inspired by her love of sunshine.
I cherished my grandfather. In fact, I was absolutely ecstatic when I finally obtained permission to visit him one balmy day.
Upon seeing me, Grandfather broke into a grin. "If it isn't my little engineer!" he boomed. "Little Engineer" was his nickname for me since I had a penchant with machinery. I wasn't the best, but I liked to be able to fix things. Made them better.
"You brought guests," he noted to the Pokemon behind me.
"They followed me." The Zubat was chasing after its primary food source while that Murkrow came solely out of spite. "Will that be okay?"
"Of course! My grandson's friends are always welcomed here."
Grandfather's house was humble yet well-lived in. Well-cared for. His bookshelves were filled with a wonderfully random assortment of relics ranging from naval memorabilia to outdated refrigerator manuals.
The distant past lived on the mantelpiece: my grandparents' wedding picture; a portrait of Grandfather and his biggest haul; Grandmother when she was young, painting the newly-purchased house a sunny yellow hue.
The newest addition to their memories sat in the center: a picture of a toddler sitting on his faded rug, a toy wrench in his hands and a stupid grin on his ugly face.
"That's me," I said to the nosy Pokemon. As if they cared.
"What are you holding? My daughter actually bought you a toy?"
I proudly showed him my robot. "Grandfather, meet Rotom."
"You named your toy after 'motor' spelled backwards?"
While I cringed in embarrassment, Rotom sheepishly rose from its shell. It regarded Grandfather with bubbly curiosity, but it remained close to my side. Sparkly prick was indeed shy around strangers.
"I've never seen that Pokemon before!" Grandfather exclaimed.
"Rotom is a Pokemon?"
"Maybe. I'm not an expert like Professor Rowan, but I'm certain that you've discovered a Pokemon that had never been seen before! Good job, son!"
His calloused hand on my head brought color surging to my face. Oh, how he spoiled me. I craved his praise like I needed my acetaminophen tablets.
While Grandfather showed me to the things that needed fixing in his old house, I brought up a question that had been plaguing my mind as of late.
"Grandfather, how is your heart? Given your condition, I assume you've been eating well?"
Blinking rapidly, Grandfather responded, "W-Well, I'm still kicking. The doctor said I shouldn't engage in strenuous exercise or activities that put a strain on the heart… But how…?"
"I'm your grandson. We're family, and family look out for each other."
He seemed quite taken back at my explanation. "Oh. Now I feel guilty. What about you? I haven't seen you since you left the hospital."
"I'm fine," I said sharply. The mere mention of that horrid place sent ice into my heart. "Actually, I've had the pleasure of meeting a new fri—acquaintance. Her name is Cynthia."
Grandfather's head instantly snapped back. I did not like the smile on his face.
"W-We're just strangers," I protested. "She keeps badgering me well after I told her off."
"What's she like?"
What were you like? "Well… She's very energetic. Loud. Passionate. She loves Pokemon, and her dream is to become a Pokemon Trainer."
Grandfather snickered. "Instead of commenting on her looks, you referred to the positive aspects of her personality… I know that feeling. Anything else you find endearing about Cynthia?"
"Why, yes. When she smiles—"
AH! I caught myself just in time. While Grandfather gawked at me with his scary grin, I pretended to perform intensive surgery on my toy robot, my heart pounding and hands quaking too much to even grasp the hex key.
"All right, I'll stop," he finally said. "For now. Incidentally, have you ever wanted to be a Pokemon Trainer like your friend? Professor Rowan will be more than happy to train a great mind like you as his assistant!"
Me and you as Pokemon Trainers… that sounded… nice. I didn't mind the company of Pokemon. I didn't mind leaving the confines of Sunyshore to meet a breadth of new people, places, and things. I could grow as a person. I could discover myself.
If I was someone else, I could have a future like you, Cynthia. But I wasn't. "I have to go to college and head Father's company," I told Grandfather. My path was determined on the day I was born.
At that mention of Father, Grandfather's mirth collapsed. "No, what is your dream? What do you want to do?"
His question confused me. Was he not satisfied with my answer?
"How are your parents treating you?" he said.
"They treat me well." Again, I had the inkling that Grandfather was expecting something else. "Mother provides the funds for me to access food. I have room to study in and a bed to sleep at night—"
"Why are you wearing a coat when it's sweltering outside?"
Oh yes. I was so used to wearing one that I simply forgot. Hence, I shed off my coat and set it aside. "Oh, Father recently secured a contract with—"
Grandfather stood up abruptly. "Why are you wearing bandages?"
Such strange inquiries. Nonetheless, I casually explained that this serrated wound on my wrists marked the entry point for the Zubat's fangs when it fed. These bruises I sustained from falling off trees while I chased after that thieving Murkrow. The others were from the older children. These bluish bumps were remnants of those poisonous spiders' pincers. Oh, and these burns were from Rotom's antics…
Grandfather was silent when I finished the tour. His eyes swept me down from head to toe, whatever emotions boiling behind them barely contained. Eventually the silence stretched so long that I began to wonder if I'd disappointed him somehow.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Frighteningly so. "Have your parents gotten you medical attention?"
"They're busy people," I said. "I don't want to inconvenience them. Besides, flesh wounds will go away eventually."
Before I rolled my sleeves down, Grandfather grabbed my arm. His sudden touch caused me to automatically flinch—and when he saw that, his face broke into disbelief.
"Answer me truthfully," he rumbled. "Do you feel unsafe in that household?"
At first, I met his question with confusion… until the implications sank in. My initial response was shock—shock that Grandfather would even suggest such a thing. Then anger. Anger that this senile old man would dare accuse my parents of such sordid things.
"Mother and Father have never laid a hand on me!" I barked. "They're my family! I did this to myself!"
"They have more important things to care about than their own son!" he boomed back. "Why are you hiding your injuries? Why are you pretending that everything is normal?!"
"Because they are! Things are normal! I'm normal! I will not stand here listening to your defamation of Mother and Father's good characters! You aren't even around! You don't know anything, so silence with your baseless ASSUMPTIONS!"
As soon as that last word slipped from my lips, I froze. And I slapped my hands over my mouth. What did I just do? I just… I just snapped at my grandfather… I just accused my grandfather of slander.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted, backing away. "I-I'm so sorry. Please don't punish me…"
Grandfather had raised his hand. In my sheer panic, I tripped over my toy robot. The Pokemon were pulled from whatever was occupying their attentions and were now staring at me like an engrossed audience.
"I didn't mean it!" I cried. "I-It just came out—NO! I-I mean, I didn't… Grandfather, please don't…"
But Grandfather was the one who seemed more horrified than I. "It's okay," he said slowly, firmly. He was approaching me with his hands raised, eye contact maintained. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're right in that I should've been around more…"
Then the color drained from his skin. That was when I rubbed my eyes… and pulled back sleeves drenched with blood. There was blood on my shirt. Blood dripping down the faded carpet.
A distant memory came into mind: a memory of my mother witnessing my defect for the first time. Her instantly calling my father, who too regarded me like I was a failed experiment in a test tube. Them demanding me to stay in my room until a licensed health professional arrived. A thorough examination was conducted. The cause was not biological nor neurological. No one knew what was wrong with me. Not even myself.
I left my memories to find Grandfather gently dabbing a wet cloth against my blood-smeared cheeks. He treated me so tenderly as if I would shatter at the slightest touch. I hated it.
"The rumors aren't rumors," I muttered with a gallows laugh. "I'm a freak who cries tears of blood. A bad omen…"
"Don't ever call yourself that," Grandfather snapped.
"But it's true."
He gave me a long, pained look. "Come now, your Pokemon are worried about you. Try to cheer up, son. Can I get you anything?"
Clutching a rumbling Rotom to my bosom, I pondered. A slight headache had reemerged along with a building pressure in my chest. "May I have some acetaminophen tablets?"
Again, Grandfather fixed me with that unsettling look that remained well after he emptied one white tablet into my palm. I waited for more. His frown deepened.
"Children your age should be playing with toys," he grumbled. "Children your age shouldn't be talking like a law student. 'May I have some acetaminophen tablets?' Who on earth lets their child learn to say things like that… This has gone too far…"
Then out of the blue, Grandfather wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly as if I'd disappear in the blink of an eye. He said nothing as he clutched me, leaving me in a state of mild bewilderment.
Yet as the seconds trickled by, I began to appreciate his embrace. This warmth… it felt nice. I felt content. I felt… safe.
"I'm the one who's sorry," he murmured. "For not being there for my family… for not teaching my grandson how to be kinder to himself… It's a miracle if you'll ever forgive me—"
"Of course I will," I said to his ridiculous apology. "We're family. And family will always be there for each other."