Chapter 1: Happy Birthday, Son

"They're your parents."

It was supposed to be a question but it came out as a statement.

"Yup," Roger replied as they sat side by side, looking at his family picture.

Jessica stared at the happiness simply radiating from the father, the mother and the child. She simply had no qualms of being a Drawn, but she still felt a stab of jealousy in looking at the picture.

Roger's voice cut through her thoughts. "Go on, say it."

"Hmm?" Jessica's hair swept across her cheek. She tucked it again behind her ear as she looked at him.

The rabbit good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "The 'I-think-I-sthee-a-family-resemblance joke' or sthomething along that line."

She blinked her emerald eyes. "Roger, why would I say that? You don't look like your father and your mother is very beautiful."

"Oooooww!"Roger clasped an imaginary dagger on his chest. He put his hands on his hips; leaning forward with narrowed eyes but with lips quirked into a playful grin. "I knew there wasth a comedienne hiding behind the diva!"

Jessica's cool smile contrasted with the sudden rush of flush that coursed through her. Rarely was she praised on her humor.

Meanwhile, Roger had carefully placed the picture frame back on the coffee table and was looking at it with a thoughtful expression.

She shook her head, trying to get her pulse back to normal. Her smile won't go away though. He didn't usually smile so… daringly.

"Well, I do look a bit different from my parents."

Jessica raised a brow.

"Alright, a lot," Roger said, opening a can of coke and giving it to her.

She took the can. "At least they didn't have to tell you you were adopted. It's right there."

"Actually…"

XOXOXOXOXOXO

Post-war, 1945

He should have known he was adopted.

Roger sighed as he looked out of the train window. Trees, farms, cows whizzed by faster than churning butter. The next moment, there was nothing but fields and the sky. They all blurred to him in a pattern of blue and brown that his eyes weren't seeing at all.

It had been his 18th birthday when they told him. After the candles were blown, after the gifts were unwrapped, they dropped the bomb on him. Well, they didn't, actually. They were a bit distracted during the cozy little party they gave him. Roger guessed it was because they were worried about him moving out. Ma kept wringing her hands when she thought he wasn't looking. Pa had some tightness in the corners of his mouth that he kept hiding unsuccessfully with enthusiasm.

The train jolted, snapping him out of his reverie. He shook his head, looked around and remembered why he was on the train in the first place.

He wanted to tell them that he wasn't planning to move out. He wanted to stay and help in the farm. Ma had been a nervous wreck during the war, having her brothers drafted.

During those months, she kept singing happy songs. But they weren't sung happily. They were sung quietly like prayers to ward off demons of fear.

Now that the war was over, people were trying to move on and so were they. But before he could tell them that, Pa took a deep breath and said, "Son, there's something we have to tell you."

His eyes stayed fixed somewhere on the horizon. Pa's baritone kept rambling inside his head, the conversation repeating over and over again.

"Son, we just wanted to tell you," he ran his hand over his salt-and-paper hair. "W-we love you. A lot. You've made us both proud. But you need to know."

"Remember that we'll always love you, honey!" Ma had said. Roger cocked an ear at the tinge of pleading in her voice. He beamed at her reassuringly.

"I know, Ma! I'll always love you two!... too? Love you two, too? Two-too?"

Ma's face suddenly scrunched up like she's trying not to cry. Roger got a sinking feeling that he had just made her feel worse. Pa kept running his hand over his hair so much it started sticking out in the back.

"Your Ma and I think you're old enough to know, son. Lord knows we've kept it from you for so long. You've never asked and we just went with it. How did you grow up so fast, Roger? It seems like only yesterday when you were running around with armfuls of daisies. You used to carry around your teddy bear and asking why it isn't called 'beddy bear'. Then there was your first winter walk and you were enjoying the cold so much you took off your clothes and-"

"Pa! What are you going to tell me?"

Snapped out of his rambling, his father just blurted it out.

"You're adopted, Roger."

A slap was heard inside the carriage of the train and Roger slowly dragged his hand down from his face.

He had been such a fool.

Roger stared at them. "What?"

Pa fixed him a steady gaze and Roger felt his hurt, it had to be real. "We're not your real parents."

"But we still love you and we always will," Ma said hurriedly, as though she's afraid that he's going to run or yell or ignite or something.

They can't be telling him this. They must be joking. He looked at them from across the table. They seem to be holding each other for support and both were looking at him expectantly.

He looked back with the same expectations, waiting for them to say "Surprise! Haha! We're just joking son! Got you, didnt we?"

But his parents were never the type to prank, much less, his stern father.

The world suddenly became smaller as realization swallowed him.

"Roger?" his mother ventured.

He can hardly hear her. His head buzzed like a firecracker just exploded too near his ears. He's not in there in the kitchen with his parents. He's Alice and he's falling down the rabbit hole. They're saying something but they sound far away. He can't be adopted. He had lived with them his entire life. There must be some kind of a mistake. They can't be serious. His throat let out a spasm that could have been a choke or a chuckle.

"Roger, honey. Say something, please!"

Roger jerked and looked at them as though realizing they were there. Vaguely, he could feel his mother's hands clutching his.

"Wha..?"

"Listen, Roger," her voice amazingly calm. "This doesn't change anything at all. We're still your parents. You're still our son," his mother said, gripping his hands tighter across the table.

It doesn't?

Roger looked down on their hands. Pale hands of flesh and skin gripping hands of white fur. Something was crumbling down. The world was crumbling down. Everything he knew was crumbling down. He should have known. He should have known.

He wordlessly slipped from his chair. The world, for some reason, was spinning. Both of his parents rose from their chairs, lines creasing their faces. Their mouths were moving but he can hardly hear them. He backed away from them with feet that are too big. His parents' feet are small and shoed. Unconsciously, he grabbed his ears. Ears. His ears are too long. They're not his Ma or Pa's ears. His mouth began to move but his throat felt obstructed.

"Who?..." he croaked, "Where?... How?"

His mother rushed at his side and knelt beside him. She had to. Roger never grew above 4 feet if you include his ears. Unlike them who looked so tall.

"We don't know, honey. We just found you."

She was leaving something out. He knew his mother too well.

"Where?"

"On our doorstep."

A sting went through him from those strangers –no, his real parents who just left him.

Roger shook his head. His gaze fixed not on the horizon anymore but on his hand. It was like any other hand except for the fur. He scowled at it.

He should have known he was adopted. The truth never had to stare at him in the face because it was blindingly obvious. He remembered asking Ma as a little boy why he looked so different.

Boing! "Mama!"

Boing! "Mama!"

Boing! "Mama!"

Every bounce of his feet sent him nearly up to her eye-level as he called for her attention in midair. He can see the amused quirk of her lips as she glanced up in the middle of preparing dinner.

"Yes, Roger darling?" Ma asked, giving him a glance while he perpetually bounced at her side.

Boing! He hangs in midair. "Why am I hairy?"

Boing! He appears again, stretching his ears to full length. "Why do I have long ears?"

Boing! He was now holding out his feet. "Why are my feet big?"

His mother finally caught him in midbounce and with a huge smile, she spoke.

"Because you were born that way!"

And he never asked again.

His ears flop over and Roger looked up, staring at them. Later on, he just thought he's got a few defects. They have a neighbor with a lazy eye. A shop keeper with one leg shorter than the other. Even a mechanic with extra toes on both feet. So what if he had long ears? Plus, their surname is Rabbit, it just made sense.

To him, anyway.

He looked around and the less ruder people turned their gaze away. The conductor had taken one look at him and pointed him to the rail cars for coloreds. Even to the segregated, he must have looked strange. No wonder the townspeople were wary of him. They kept looking at him like he was about to do something awful.

A sleepless night and a restless day after, Roger finally spoke at the dinner table.

"I'm going to find my bi'logical parents."

Ma and Pa both looked up but Roger avoided looking at his mother. He won't be able to bear the look on her face.

"But I'm going to need your help," he continued, "Do you know where I can find them?"

They both looked at each other and Roger gripped his spoon tighter. It was the look of a silent conversation. What else were they keeping from him?

His father finally looked at him. "We have an idea, son. But there is something we have to tell you."

Not again.

"Roger, do you know why you looked different?"

"Because you're not my real parents," he said dully. He regretted it the moment the words left of his mouth. He felt, rather than saw, his mother flinched.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shamefaced.

His father ignored it. "Why you looked so different from everyone else?"

Roger shrugged. Does it matter?

Pa rose from the table, wiping with his napkin. "Come to the living room, Roger."

Roger finally resorted to putting a scarf over his mouth and nose, pulling up the collar of his coat. He jammed his hands inside his gloves. His newsboy cap still exposed too much so he put a scarf underneath like earflaps. His ears can be mistaken for earflaps themselves. But for some reason, his fur cannot be mistaken for animal pelt. People would notice.

His ears felt cramp and begging to move inside his cap. But he's getting tired of the stares already. More people came inside the carriage. He looked down on his large floppy feet. Too bad he can't do anything about them.

"You're a toon, Roger."

He had heard about that. People muttered the word when they thought they couldn't hear him. Wasn't it obvious his long ears weren't just for decorations? Around them were magazines, newly bought. Pa flipped page after page with Roger beside them.

"You're different from us. Very different." His pipe clacked against his teeth. "Problem is, I can't explain how different."

His fingers stopped at a picture of what looks like three birds dancing with a girl in a strange dress. His father gave the three birds a tap. Beneath the picture, the words The Three Caballeros were smacked in the middle.

"They're toons just like you."

Roger stared hard at them, trying to understand. "But they look like birds."

"Not just any birds," Pa said. "Here's another one."

He tapped his pipe on a photo of a two-feet tall toon shaking a man's hand.

Roger's head tilted to the side. "He looks like a mouse," he said, staring at the toon's round large ears. A pattern was beginning to set. He lifted the page back to the Caballeros and back to the mouse. For a moment, he stole a glance at himself.

He looked back at the pictures. "I look like a rabbit. He looks like a mouse. They're birds." He looked up to his parents, quizzically. "So toons are people who look like animals?"

Should he feel something from the comparison?

"Not really," Pa answered, frowning at his words.

Another page showed a marquee bearing the word "Popeye." The picture caught the midst of activity but in the center is a large burly man with a barreled chest. His body was so big; his head looks small in comparison. Beside him was a sailor with forearms and fists that look swollen.

This time, Roger's eyes widened. "They look different."

Pa slid a photo still of the three birds and the girl on the coffee table. He then placed a painted poster of their movie.

"Noticed how the girl looked different in the movie poster? Toons look the same in both photos and paintings. They're just easier to capture their image."

Roger stared at the toons. Were toons like a different race? Like Negros or Germans or Japanese?

"So toons can look like animals or hu-"

He stopped, his eyes widening. His insides froze as the realization crashed on him like a sledgehammer on ice. Somewhere in the haze, he heard Pa's concerned voice.

"Roger?"

He whipped his head towards his father and he saw him flinch. From what? The shock radiating from him? The hint of betrayal or was it accusation in his face?

"Are they human?"

Silence.

"Am I human?" he demanded. He never expected he'd talked to any of them this way. Is this why Pa said it's hard for him to explain? Son, you're not human?

He suddenly felt his stomach roil. The room began to spin. He wanted to vomit. It all made sense now. He's not hairy. It's fur. His ears are not too long. They're just right. His feet aren't abnormal. They're perfect. They're perfect for an actual-

"Roger!"

A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and he snapped back to reality. He blinked and found himself staring at his mother's chestnut eyes. She had been sitting there quietly as Roger and Pa talked.

"Toons are people too. Don't you ever forget that." Sweet, gentle Ma was now giving him her iron glare that leaves no place for an argument.

The train whistled, shaking him out of his mother's clear eyes. His stop. It was late. How long had he been staring at the window? He didn't even noticed the sun go down, much less noticed that dinner time had passed.

He grabbed his rucksack and ambled out of the train, coughing from the steam.

Her face transforms into a smile. Roger stood, transfixed, as unshed tears, sadness and the love that was always there made her eyes twinkle like stars; it almost broke his heart. Her fingers slowly unclasp his shoulders as though she's letting him go in more ways than one.

"If you want to find your real parents, your best luck is ToonTown."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Author's Notes: According to Wiki, the prequel they were planning was Roger being adopted in a parody of Superman, grows up in Kansas and finds out he's a toon by 18 years old. He then looks for his mother in Toontown. The movie was supposed to happen during World War 2.

This story follows the same vein only it happens a few months after the war. In here, he hasn't met Jessica yet because I think Roger has a lot more to become first. For some reason, something's pushing me to write this –since last year! Be prepared for the ride, boys and girls.

Photo still of the Three Caballeros: media. liveauctiongroup i/8886 /10148512_2. jpg?v=8CD7D0ADCE55530

Painted movie poster of the Three Caballeros: www. dominiquebesson photos_gm/ trois-caballeros-belge. jpg

P.S.: Eeyup, Roger in here is a Mama's boy. Whenever I try to imagine Roger as somebody's child, I can't imagine him being an eldest. Sure he takes care of Baby Herman in their show. But he doesn't strike me as the type who grows up having the responsibility of raising a kid while being a kid himself. Nor does he strike me as the baby of the family. He could be a middle child but let's stick with him being the only child in here. How about you? What do you think?