Disclaimer: Pokemon and its respective characters do not belong to me.
Chapter Two - Lady Fates and the Desperate Man
Blain lives in a remote house on the Cinnabar Island. If you do not know where to look, finding his home may take you hours. But being one of the few people who have visited him many times before, it only takes me half an hour to get from the dock to his house. As you can probably guess from the previous statement, I am rather proud of that fact.
The volcano has done much good to the island. Not only did it made Cinnabar one of the most famous tourist attraction, but it gives the island the riches soil in the Kanto region. The fertile soil gives birth to abundance of vegetation, with that, many exotic pokémon. Everywhere you look you see life and its miracles. The grass covered volcano, the fields of wild flowers, the birds filled blue sky, the calm ocean, everything is beautiful, and everything is one in serenity.
Here I met Blaine for the first time, truly met, not just as an obstacle I must defeat to move forward. The Viridian Gym was still under its former leadership then and I was still a relatively new researcher trying to make my own living by doing freelance research. I came to Cinnabar Island for some commissioned research on volcanic pokémon. Blaine was hiking with his fire pokémon on this grassy terrain. I recognized him as the riddle loving gym leader. He also recognized me, but surprisingly, not as the son of my father, Professor Oak's grandson, or Ash Ketchum's rival. Instead, he recognized me as the kid who had beaten him years ago.
His words triggered a sudden epiphany. The blinds lifted. I could finally see.
Human beings have a talent of adjusting, we can get used to anything given time, even things that we know are wrong. We desensitize ourselves; rationalize the flaws in our life as unavoidable. Each day we will our mind to see the problems less as eye throbbing blemishes but more like hopeless inevitabilities, until one day we simply cease to see the problems at all. We learn to make do with however little we have, we have to, that is the only way we can survive.
Being accustomed to having my identity linked to my father, to my grandfather, to Ash, blinded me from the absurdity, the ridiculousness of existing only in comparison to someone else. It was not until that moment, when someone finally acknowledge me as my own person did I realize something was amiss.
In the end, no one can yearn for something they have forgotten.
I am not superstitious. I do not believe in folk tales, that ladders and black cats can bring bad luck. I don't believe in the zodiac, the stars, or the palm readers. What I do believe in is the power of fate; the fact that life in so many ways is set in stone before I was born. Yet, do not be mistaken, I am no existentialist, I believe we still have power over our destinies. Only, unlike my grandfather, I also believe that our potential limits our future. The dealer, be it the Fates or God, dealt the cards, and the players, human beings, must make the best of the given hand.
I have inherited this piece of philosophy from my parents. I can only vaguely remember what they look like or their voice but I know, mostly from people who knew them longer, all about their accomplishments. My mother was a world famous musician especially skilled in piano and violin, a devoted Christian, people told me. My father, following my great grandfather's footsteps, was once a successful politician in the Kanto region. He had been, more than once, quoted for attributing his success to "chanced circumstances."
When I was young, it baffled me how people can live for so many years without acknowledging fate. I used to wonder how a wise man like my grandfather can miss something so blatantly obvious. But since then I have realized the most blessed are often also to most faithless. When hard work leads invariably to positive results who would believe in anything but their own abilities? Consecutive triumphs do not make men humble.
For example: Ash Ketchum. For him, efforts always pay off.
Sometimes, I am jealous of his successes: his ability to remain the pokémon master for the last ten years, his innate talent to bond with others, his natural charisma that wins people and pokémon over. I envy the respect others hold for him, his good reputation, and most of all I envy the praises showered on him daily from everyone, especially from grandfather. Ash effortlessly takes all the right steps, makes all the right moves, and says all the right words -- I resent him.
And in turn, I resent myself.
After all, a person would only loath a man for his good fortunes because – and only because – of desperation.
I signed. Combing my hair with my fingers I halfheartedly recited my well rehearsed verse. "I, Gary Oak, the gym leader of the Viridian City Gym, accept your challenge."
Seven years ago, I took over the Viridian Gym. The former leader mysteriously disappeared there years before, and the league was having trouble finding a suitable replacement. Three main reasons contributed to their difficulties: firstly, there were many negative rumors surrounding the gym because of the former leader; secondly, new league policies made job qualification extremely hard to meet; thirdly, gym leading is a rather tedious occupation. I was the thirtieth person to be offered the job, by then the need to end the search could be summarize by "desperation."
"This will be a one on one battle. As such, you are free to choose any one of the pokémon in your team of six."
I was desperate for money. Freelance researching did not pay well enough to cover the scarcity of assignments. Meanwhile, my pride did not let me break my vow to live on my own income after a certain episode with my grandfather. In truth, I would have taken any job happily, let alone a fairly well paid job like gym leading. Yet, try as I may, I could not pass up the chance to exploit the league's desperation. In the end, I acted unwilling and named conditions that, in mild terms – were rather ambitious – and in more accurate terms – were ridiculously advantageous.
"Your award, should you win, is the Earthbadge. There's no time limit. Do you accept these terms?"
I hardly expected the league to agree without some compromises. But apparently, I underestimated on the league's desperation. With the simple promises of secrecy concerning the additional conditions and remaining the gym leader for a minimum of ten years, the league signed my contract with all my demands.
My contract bestowed me flexibility unheard of in gym leading history, including the freedom to not specialize in any types of pokémon. Best of all, I can earn full time wages for working part time while enjoying the usual housing benefits and annual wage increase.
"I accept."
I typically stay and stay away from the Viridian Gym in three months rotations. During my away months, I am excused from all gym responsibilities. This month happened to be one of these months.
"Let us proceed."
So how exactly did I manage to land myself in a league battle? Right. Because kids these days do not understand the concept of holiday; because he would not leave me alone until I humor him with a battle; because I cannot tolerate being stalked by a kid with an ego big enough to satisfy a full grown lion.
I unclipped one of my pokeball from my belt but before I could do more, the boy twisted his base ball cap and called out his pokémon – a Tentacrule. By appearance, I judged the squid to be about level twenty-eight.
In a pokémon battle, drawing first handicaps a trainer since the opponent can then choose their pokémon according to type benefits. With this in mind, the league wrote gym leader guideline #254 that states: gym leader should let the challenger the advantage of being second to pick their pokémon. This boy is either overly confident or overtly stupid.
On second though, had the boy took time to read the trainer guidebook, he would know all my pokémon are above level fifty. This being said, the boy must be just plain stupid.
"Time for a stretch, Umbreon."
The said black monster stood majestically beside me when the routine flash subsided. He nodded at me once in acknowledgement before turning away to survey his surroundings. When he spotted his opponent he turned to me. He is weak, he commented telepathically, his tone grim, I will hurt him even if I control my power.
My morality shamefully pales against my Umbreon, the most sensitive and intelligent of all my pokémon. I eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. I know, I replied silently, understanding he could read my thoughts, but his trainer would not shut up until I give him a battle.
And you with your benevolent, kindly natures decided to generously bestow him his wish? He inquired derisively.
I try my best. A lop-sided smile plastered on my face. If it is any consolation, know that monster is at least half as inappropriately proud as his trainer.
I take special comfort in knowing the foolishness of my fellow kind, he drawled as he turned, his jaw turned up into what I knew must be a smirk.
I have made it a custom of mine to add a bit of acting whenever I encounter a particularly weak challenger. Common courtesy really, many gym leaders provide this extra service partly because that makes an otherwise overpowered battle slightly more interesting and the lost slightly less humiliating for the loser.
I contemplated on whether I should exert such effort. Because this time, animosity replaces the impartiality that I usually feel toward most trainers. In honest truth, I cannot stand him ever since he first demanded a battle with me. Something in his countenance, something in the way he spoke, the way he threw his pokeball irritated me. Something about him was so unmistakably… Ash.
Suspicion triggered, I could not help but ask, "Before we begin, tell me, why are you on this journey?"
He blinked and for some time said nothing, no doubt my question surprised him. "Because I want to be a Pokémon Master like…" cheeks coloured he whispered the sacred name, "Ash Ketchum."
That explained the likeness and my irritation.
I decided to end the battle as quickly as I could. "Umbreon, use faint attack." A perfunctory command, Umbreon expertly did as I asked. The Tentacrule fainted after two continuous attacks.
The battle ended. I turned around and walked away. A side glace told me the boy collapsed in a self-pitying heap, crying, quite unbecoming for a boy. I would not falter in my steps. The boy would get over this defeat soon enough. I would not pity. No one wishes for pity. I would not feel sorry. On a balance, our faults weigh equal. Perchance I should have chosen a battling style less brutal, perhaps, but then he should not have challenged me in the first place. I should not feel guilty – no more than he should feel surprise bout his lost. Did not he put himself in this predicament? He deserved no sympathy. No, none at all.
Behind me, Umbreon followed, but his steps became hesitant and eventually came to a stop. Gary.
He needs to learn, Umbreon, I thought looking straight ahead, never more sure of myself than at that moment, kindness does not teach a person humility.
But at the expense of a life? Umbreon ghostly voice echoed wisdom in my head.
In my stubbornness I tried to resist. No one will die.
Think again.
Perplexed, my pride gave way to curiosity. I looked back.
In the same position, the boy cried, dejected, disappointed, and undignified. At the same spot, the Tentacruel lay, unconscious on the ground, completely forgotten, and bleeding profoundly.
The Tentacruel was about to bleed to death because of his trainer's incompetence.
My legs lead me to the fallen pokémon without my consent. My hands searched through my backpack for a revive potion I picked up in the mainland before a any coherent object could form. Finding the small flask, I roughly forced the dark liquid down the squid's throat. For a moment, the boy looked at me stupidly, then he got his priorities straight and snapped out of self-pity. Half-crawled and half-hobbled, he moved to his still gravely injured Tentacruel's side to administer a hyper potion.
"A typical Tentacruel has four litres of blood in its body," I informed the boy, my voice as frank and dry as one of my science texts at home.
He refused to look at me, abashed, undoubtedly understood the full implications of my words. Instead, he patted his pokémon, "Thank you," he muttered, to the Tentacruel or to me I could not say.
If there is one thing I love about Cinnabar Island it is the pubs. They sell the biggest variety of alcoholic drinks in Kanto. Bourbon, rum, scotch, vodka, cordials, gin, tequila, cocktail, sake, brandy, Chinese rice wine, assorted grape wine… you name it, they sell it. At the moment I am drinking Cinnabar Blaster, a unique house blend sold only in the local bars. Issue 340 of Kanto Life did not name Cinnabar Blaster as the best excuse to get wasted for no reasons.
"You keep at it and one day your liver will fail," Blaine warned as he looked on wearily.
I raised a wry eyebrow. "And that would matter because…?" I inquired as I gazed at the clear liquid in my glass. "That would be one step, however small, toward solving world's overpopulation." I took a gulp in demonstration. The liquor burned satisfyingly down my throat.
"Gary –"
"I know. Life is precious and I should not be wasting my life away like this. That – was – a – joke," I quickly explained before Blaine could give me one of his droning fatherly speeches. A lecture was the last thing I needed at the moment. "This is Cinnabar Island, for heaven's sake! You can't possibly expect me to not drink here!"
Blaine gave a disapproving frown. "I am not saying you can't drink," he motioned at the empty glasses beside me, "I am saying you need to know when to stop."
My glowered testily. "I know my limit, Blaine."
He gave me a long look but refrained from making further comments on my alcohol consumption. For some time we drank in silence, or more accurately, I drank and he watched in silence. Eventually, Blaine spoke again, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I am fine."
"You are not." Blaine snorted, "Last time I saw you drink so much was when that researcher chick… Dorcas? Or was it Dora…dumped you."
I flinched, recovered, and glowered. "Her name was Donna," I snarled, unsuccessful in hiding my bitterness. Ah, sweet deceitful Donna with all her fake but pretty smiles: an unfaithful bitch. "And for the last time, Blaine, it was a mutual break up." But that did not make the breakup any less agonizing.
"Mutual my ass Gary," Blaine replied with a knowing smirk, "You caught her with that lab assistant."
"I was on my way to breaking up with her when I found her…" I faltered in my defense, trying in vain to keep myself from recalling too much about the scene. In an effort to wash away unpleasant images, I drained the rest of my Cinnabar Blaster in one swig and slammed the empty mug loudly onto the counter. At the corner of my eyes I saw Blaine smirk in triumph. Of all the ways he could have made his point, he just had to bring her up. This must be his revenge for my earlier snub.
I willed myself to forget.
A sense of detachment came over me as the memories faded back into my subconscious. My anger eased. My bitterness subsided. I calmed down. With my newly cleared mind I added as a logical afterthought, half to convince Blaine, half to convince myself, "It was all for the better, I might have felt guilty otherwise."
"I have never liked her," Blaine mused, "I told you."
I chuckled darkly. "You have never liked any of my girlfriends." That was no exaggeration. He really hated every girl I dated, "Whenever I ask you why you justify with your 'sixth-sense.'"
"And my intuitions are always right."
Of course they were. He was always right and I was always wrong… But so what? I never liked riddles. "Drop your charades, Blaine." I waved for another drink.
"I heard about your grandfather."
"Oh?" I coolly inquired, as nonchalant as I could afford when genuinely surprised. My mind instantly recalled the marriage and sparked momentary panic. Then, I remembered Blaine had no means of knowing about the wedding.
"You know exactly what I am talking about."
Right?
Inwardly, I cringed at the possibility. Outwardly, I shrugged and managed to keep an unreadable face. "No, please enlighten me."
Blaine took in a deep breath, a habitual act of irritation or frustration. "Your grandfather," he drawled eventually, an arguably evil glint in his eyes, "remarried."
I almost spitted out my mouthful of Cinnabar Blaster, and when I tried to swallow, after much effort, I chocked. Why – or more importantly – how did he know? My features darkened against my wishes, "Who told you?"
"I have my source."
Who? Blaine never saw my grandfather or Ms. Ketchum in person, so I could starch them out of the suspect list. May saw him once when she came to visit me at a gym leader conference a years ago, they shook hands and agreed I have antisocial tendencies – the nerve – but really they are acquaintances at best. I supposed Brock could theoretically tell Blaine, but they did not talk even when they sat next to each other last league dinner. That leaves… My brows knitted tightly together into a deep frown. "Don't tell me Ash Ketchum told you?"
"Of course not," he proclaimed self righteously and clucked his accusing tongue, "Why would Ash talk to me about something so personal?"
"Who then? Other than his two friends, and my sister, no one other than me should know…" I put my face into my hand, feeling so full I could not distinguish exactly what I was feeling. Anger? Frustration? Desperation? Hopelessness? Betrayal? Bitterness? All at once? "Heck! I didn't even know about that until the day before they got married!" I looked up just quick enough to catch a fleeting expression on his face. "You already know that, don't you?" Blaine nodded sheepishly. I groaned. "What else did your informer said to you?"
"No much," he dismissed in a tone that hinted the opposite. "Just that you made a scene and left before the wedding."
"Could you expect me to rejoice in their absurd marriage?"
"Absurd because of the pairing, your inability to catch on to the changes in your own family, or simply because of Ash?"
Provocative words, challenging words. At an insomnia-plagued night a few months later I would discover the origin of the catharsis that followed. I would realize my anger dated much earlier than my grandfather's wedding, that my grandfather and even Ash simply added pressure to bottle enclosed long ago. In retrospect, everything became as translucent as distilled water. But all that would be in the future, much later.
The gut reaction to those words was much more passionate and much less rational.
"Everything!" I snapped, "My grandfather is going seventy! Whether you look at their age differences or just his age, the pairing is still preposterous! And I am not even considering how suspiciously advantageous this marriage is for Ms. Ketchum. But really, that is not a problem. I don't belief in social class. You know I don't. But I am angry at them for not telling me earlier. It is totally illogical that I should hear about my grandfather's, my only blood-related elder in the world, wedding after Ash's friends! God damn it! Aren't I a part of his family? I exist! Even if he likes Ash better than me! Even if he wishes Ash is his grandson instead of me!"
"Gary calm –"
"I hate Ash!" I could not stop. Alcohol made words come so easily and made me care too little to stop, "I hate the sound of his name! I hate his little smile! I hate how he wins people over! I hate how he gets my grandfather's attention! I hate him! And now by law he is my uncle! My uncle! A person a year younger than me is my uncle! How ludicrous is that?" I chuckled and could not stop until I finished another shot of hard liquor.
The, as suddenly as it came, my energy left. My eyes unfocused from Blaine and focused somewhere beyond him, my eyebrows relaxed, my speech slowed, my voice lowered, "I am a shadow, Blaine, don't you see? A shadow of the Pokémon Master Ash Ketchum, the popular winner; a shadow of the world renounced Professor Oak, the famous researcher; a shadow of my father, the brilliant politician…"
A weighty pause, followed by a miserable but solemn afterthought, "I should have never been born."
"Listen, Gary---" He tried lamely, but I cut him off.
"If Lady Fates exist, they would probably tell you that Gary Oak is destined to be second in anything that matters. It is okay, Blaine, I have came to accept that," the side of my lips curled into an ironic smile. "I suppose they would also tell you that Gary Oak will die alone, friendless, and miserable inthe back alley of some wretched city…."
"You are drunk, Gary."
"Oh yes, fucking drunk with life."
"Gary--"
"Leave me alone, Blaine. Just let me drown in my own misery…" I slurred. The Cinnabar Blaster finally began to take effect but not quick enough.
I called for another round.
Time eluded me. Reality eluded me as well. When you are drunk nothing seems solid enough to be real. The rest of the night passed by in broken images, a slideshow coupled with fragmented noises, disconnected, senseless.
A flash of Blaine's worried face. "… called expectation, if he does not care for you your grandfather…" An image of disarrayed empty glasses of different shapes and sizes. "… sister cried for two hours straight, she was very sad…" The pub was empty. "… you have always liked that woman. Why are you so against your grandfather…" The pub was full. "… listening, Gary, stop drinking…" To my left a few working men, construction workers, drank. "… heard Steve was layoff…" A hefty sigh. "I have a guest at my house…" Behind me, a slutty woman laughed. "… a joker you are, Tony…" The sound of a passionate kiss. "… some trouble with her sister or something…" To my left a group of friends talked. "…to marry, best of luck with you and Lizzy…" A phone rang. "…she is coming…" Next to Blaine, a gruff man tried to pick up a girl. "… what's a pretty thing like you…"
Enough was enough. In a moment of clarity I stood up and waved for the bill.
"Hey where are you going?"
I said nothing, scared of what may come out of my mouth if I speak. I looked down at my bill. With some effort I forced my impaired eyes to read: $149.99. I sluggishly slapped two one hundred dollar bills on the counter. "Paid for you," I directed a tired glance at Blaine.
"Gary wait!"
I ignored him and stubbornly wobbled toward the exit. The world spun around me. I vaguely registered the ringing of the door chime. The front door swung open.
"Blaine, there you are!"
And not so vaguely I crashed into her.
I took two sluggish steps back and looked up. My drunken mind instantly mesmerized by the ever changing emotion on her face as she pushed herself up off the floor: anger, then surprise, then resentment, then finally – disgust. Of all the people I could crash in to it has to be her.
My brain, despite intoxication, made connections. She was the source Blaine talked about. I realized. Who else could rat out the news if it not Ash? Blaine had always liked her. He likes telling riddles and she likes solving them. I wondered what else she said to Blaine. 'Made a scene' was such a censored answer.
I felt like barfing. The thought of running to the washroom momentarily crossed my mind. But I ignored it. Who cares anyway? Who cares if piss drunk me barf right in front of her? Wouldn't that give her a better reason to be disgusted?
I threw up right in front of Misty Waterflower.
Something about the situation seemed morbidly funny, sadistically hilarious. I laughed but my laughter came out as a terrible croak. I pushed unsteadily passed her, shell shocked may I add, in spite of my dimming vision and the still swirling surrounding. I almost made it to the door before I tripped. The door bell chimed from the vibration of my ungraceful fall.
I could hazily hear Blaine called my name and swore.
Then everything went blissfully black.
Chapter Two Ends
Took me a while to update because I wanted to make Gary a more realistic person than I had him down originally. Hopefully it will take me less time to get the next chapter out.
Reviews are always welcome.
