Chapter 5: The Storm behind the Smile
Post-war, 1945...
Roger sighed as he plopped down on the floor.
The week so far, has been hectic. But he was glad for the diversion.
The first day that he got to work, or volunteer as Wiley said (since he's not really getting paid for it), he was introduced to the coyote's obsession with details.
"This posters have been driving me crazy. I have arranged them in chronological order. But now, I want it arranged by studio and chronology. The Merry Melodies on the top, Looney Tunes below that, followed by Disney-"
He looked down on his notepad and almost shoved it to Roger's nose, distracted by his own eloquence. The rabbit scanned it as Wiley continued talking.
"-we'll have to take all of 'em down and start all over. I would have used toon speed but human posters get torn easily."
Apparently, that took them the whole day until it got the coyote's satisfaction.
The second and third day consist of organizing Wiley's stupendous book collection and films. Again, the books and the films each had a system that Wiley wanted them organized in. He even opened a box of carpentry tools that could act on their own.
"Treat these tools like you'd treat anybody else." Wiley said, handing Roger a hammer who gave him a friendly smile. "Be nice to them and they'll work for as long as you need them. Toss them carelessly or in anger, and they'll bounce right back at you for being rude."
Roger had made friends with the carpentry tools when they were making some extra shelves. Wiley said it's their nature to be friendly. But they have no use for names or close bonds outside what their nature makes them partial too.
The screws and the screwdrivers have a closer bond than the other tools. The hammer tended to tap the nails like a chastising parent when they dance around too much.
The fourth day contains… the challenge. At least that's what Wiley called it. Roger wondered how they could even organize the mountains of props. That's was still what they are trying to do right now.
"Roger!"
Said rabbit turned around to see Wiley walking over with his eyes on his clipboard.
"Yeah?"
Wiley lifted his eyes to see the rabbit beam an upbeat grin, picking himself from the floor. "We're going to have some people over to help us today." If they're going to get down to the experiments, they would need to clear the space needed as soon as possible.
"Oh okay," Roger said, "who-"
The door of the warehouse opened with a bang. A cat with a big red nose strode across the floor, dragging a pig in a blue dinner jacket and red bowtie.
"Hey Wiley!" Sylester said. He grabbed Roger's hand and joined it with the pig's.
"Porky, Roger. Roger, Porky," the cat introduced, shaking the joined hands.
"It's nee-ni-na-na-nice to meet you, Roger," Porky said in a jerky stutter.
"It's nithe to meet you too," the rabbit replied, pronouncing "nice" as quietly as he could.
The cat leaned slightly to Porky. "Don't mind him. He'th shy becauTHE of hith lisp-uh!" Sylvester said in an audible whisper.
Roger looked at him, confused. "I c-can hear you," he said without vehemence.
"Yeah." Sylvester waited for his comeback.
When Roger only blinked, Sylvester rolled his eyes. "Roger, you don't dittthhect a joke! It diesth!"
"I'm not disthecting-"
"It's a fi-fa-figure of speech, Roger."
"Oh."
The feline then walked past them, shouting. "Wiley! I thought you got rid of his human clothes! He's better off running around naked like us!"
Roger immediately covered himself with his arms. Porky caught his eyes and offered an apologetic smile. Roger smiled back, finding himself relaxing around the pig. "And yeah, I stutter sthometimes," he told Porky with a shrug.
The coyote put his clipboard behind his back and it disappeared. "Well, Roger is more comfortable with clothes and as you know, I don't have any to lend him.
Sylvester looked behind his shoulder to the rabbit. "It's hanging out there, huh?"
Roger was spared from answering when the cat turned around once again. "Alright! We're here for dinner! What's cookin'?" He smacked his lips.
Wiley's forehead wrinkled. "Please don't tell me your selective hearing kicked in again. I asked you two a week ago if you'd like to help before dinner."
"No, you didn't. You asked us if we'd like to have dinner."
Wiley sighed before glancing wryly at Porky. "If you may…"
Porky looked up with a distracted expression. Roger's mouth hanged open when the very air Porky was staring at wavered like a dream. The space suddenly materialized into Wiley, Sylvester and Porky as though looking through a window with hazy edges.
"-would take me forever to get the warehouse cleared. I hate to ask but would you like to come over for a help-over party? I'll be making dinner for your troubles. Just give me a week to sort things out," projected-Wiley said.
"I unda-undeh-understand, Wiley," a sympathetic Porky said. "Right, Sylvester?"
Projected-Sylvester looked up from the middle of making sounds with his armpit against a timer.
"Huh? What?"
The projected-Wiley smirked. "I'll make sushi."
"Okay!"
The very air wavered again and the projection vanished. Porky shook his head like a dog shaking water out of his ears.
"I hate it when you use Porky's flashback on me," the cat said, crossed.
"That's because they're accurate," Wile replied, "and with alarming clarity." He waltzed off from an argument won, his tail swishing.
Sylvester followed him. "Fine. But you owe me sushi tonight!"
"Aren't ye- aren't yi- aren't you coming, Roger?" Porky asked.
Roger rubbed his eyes at where Porky's flashback was. "Can everybody do that?!"
The pig chortled. "I'm an old tee-ta-timer, I guess."
Roger kept silent, trying to imagine himself creating memories for everyone to see. He shook his head. No, he couldn't do that. It's impossible.
"Geez, Wiley! Where do ya get all thisth stuff?" Sylvester asked, looking up to the behemoth piles around them.
"They're old props from Mr. Schlesinger's studio, remember?"
The cat tapped his foot and jumped when a cabinet tried to trap his tail. "Why did you choose to live in a dump again?"
Wiley rolled his eyes. "Let's just start organizing, shall we?"
He gestured the cat and the pig to come closer. "Alright, we'll sort the lighter things first."
The coyote glanced at Roger. "Roger, if you may, can you please stay over here?"
"I don't know how you always talked us into this," Sylvester grumbled as they faced the clutter.
"Charm, wit and stupefying genius," was Wile's proud reply. He each handed them a sharp pin. "Ready?"
In unison, they each position the pointy end near their rear.
Roger cocked his head to the side. What are they-
"YEOW!" The three suddenly ran off with their legs speeding so fast, their lower halves blurred into wheels. Porky seems to be slower but Wiley and Sylvester zoomed.
Together they zipped, snatched a prop and put it in its proper shelf. After that, they position the pin to their rear again and blast off with a shout of pain.
Stupefying genius.
"Hey, Wiley! You know who'd be better at this? Daffy!" Sylvester's voice said. He was moving so fast, he seemed to be leaving his words behind. "OUCH!" he cried as he pricked himself again.
Dust scattered at their heels and through the zooming, Roger could hear Wiley's exasperated voice. "I know but he's not here, is he?"
Up. Right. Down. Left. Left. Roger's head jerked to follow their movements.
"Pity we couldn't zoom in more than a minute," Wiley sighed as he leaned one hand on the wall. His chest rose and fell. He compared the bags to the props before them. "But I think we can finish this."
"Yeah," Sylvester muttered, rubbing his bottom, "Unless the joke wears thin, that isth."
Roger gaped, his hands gesticulating in an attempt to form words. He then dropped his arms. Was he supposed to be able to do that too? It's impossible. He's fast but not that fast.
By mid-afternoon, all of the smaller props were shelved. Roger stood there, feeling rather useless. It didn't feel right when he's already freeloading with Wiley.
"Wiley! I thought you asked us to help! Not make an expedition!" Sylvester whined, looking up from a mountain of props.
"Then think of it as an adventure," Wiley said coolly, dragging a lamp out of the pile.
"Fine. But when I get to the top, I'm going to claim that as Mt. Sylvester!" he cried, producing a flag with his face on it.
"Can't you use your toon speed for thisth?" Roger asked.
Wiley chuckled. "No, Roger. We can't be fast when we're carrying something heavy."
"Why can't you be super strong? You're already super fast."
Sylvester began to howl in laughter but Porky elbowed him –hard.
"We-weh-wa-we could only be strong for three seconds tops. Perfect for bludgeoning," Porky explained. "But for stuff bi-bee-bi-bigger than furniture, we used ACME tractors."
"HEY FELLAS!"
They all looked up to see the cat standing heroically on top of one of the piles, the flag flapping in some unknown wind. Roger stared at him, wondering where the patriotic music was coming from.
Until Wiley took a prop on the bottom of the "mountain".
The giant pile suddenly shook and the part where Sylvester was standing collapsed..
"Oh dear," Porky said, when Sylvester rolled down with the avalanche.
Both pig and rabbit flinched at his every cry of pain as he bounced off several hard objects before landing into an undignified heap before them.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sylvester," Wiley sympathetically said, a mischievous glint on his eyes could be seen from a mile. "I didn't know that would happen."
The cat threw a stool at him. Wile dodged with ease.
Unfortunately, the stool bounced off stove and hit a closet. The closet tittered...
"Uh, Wiley..."
WHAM!
"Wiley!"
"Don't worry," Porky told a worried Roger, "That's how me-ma-most of us are around each other."
"Yeah, Roger," Sylvester said, confused, "We've been trying to make you laugh this whole time." Roger hurried to lift the cabinet off Wiley.
"B-but aren't you two hurt?" Blue eyes surveyed both cat and coyote for bruises and found none.
"I'm okay, Roger!" the coyote dusted himself off, "We could just shake it off, remember?"
Before Roger could respond, Sylvester's red nose blocked his nose. "Yeah! My fall, wasn't it ssssssstttthpectacular?!" Sylvester asked.
Understanding dawned in Roger's eyes as he wiped off Sylvester's spit from himself. Distractedly, he could feel himself nod.
"It…" he turned to Sylvester, "was actually funny."
The cat beamed like Roger just gave him the biggest compliment of the day.
They continued to work after that. He glanced at the other three as they all haul larger props into organized piles. Wiley would sometimes instruct, Sylvester would gripe and Porky would stutter. Wiley would scoff, Sylvester would sass and Porky would placate unless provoked.
One thing he find out, they like hearing others laugh at their jokes.
"A comedian doesn't laugh at his own joke, Roger," Sylvester explained, "That would be like a dog sniffing his own a-"
Porky coughed.
"-behind."
In the widening space, the carpentry tools and construction material were making sections where the storage area will be. Roger glanced at the open blueprint beside him.
A quarter in the warehouse shown was the living quarters. The other quarter was for the library and viewing section. This also includes Wile's giant chalkboard. The quarter that the toon tools were building was the storage area.
Roger looked around. The one they are standing on was going to be the testing site. Whatever, Wiley meant by that-
"Roger!"
He glanced up to see Wiley pushing a cardboard box toward him.
"I think these are gags, but I'm just not sure what. Kindly open them and sort them out too, will you?"
When Wiley left, Roger tried to look for the toon scissors who was always happy to help. He came up empty.
Padding over to the kitchen, Roger looked for something that he can use.
Then he saw it –a knife inside one of the drawers.
Roger took it and turned it over, noting that it doesn't have a face. It almost looked like a knife back at home. Again, there was something different about this toon knife that he couldn't placed with his mom's kitchen knives.
Shrugging, Roger hurried to open box. Working around the slit, all he has to do was-
"OW!"
His yell echoed throughout the warehouse, stopping the activity.
"Whoa, Roger, you okay?" Sylvester asked as they all come closer to the rabbit.
"I cut my finger," Roger replied, showing up his hand. He grimaced as blood ran down fingers and palm. "Ow," he hissed.
"Is that… is that blood?" Wiley asked, his voice sounding small.
"Yeah," Roger popped his finger inside his mouth, oblivious. "Once, my Ma-"
He looked up at the sound of three soft thumps.
"Wiley! Sylvester! P-porky!"
Porky was slumped over an Indian Cigar stand while the two were passed out on the floor.
"Jeepers! What am I going to do? What am I going to do?!" he cried, hopping on one foot to another.
XOXOXOXOXO
Sylvester awoke to the sight of rabbit slapping a sleeping pig.
"Porky, wake up!"
Said pig was resting against the wall. Sylvester looked around, realizing he's also leaning against it. His eyes widened at the sight of Roger's innocently bandaged finger.
"YOU BLED!"
Roger turned around, relieved to find Sylvester conscious.
"Jeepers! Thank goodnessth you're awake!"
"YOU BLED!"
"Ugh, Sylvester, kindly quiet down."
The cat turned around to see Wiley rubbing his temple.
"HE BLED!"
Wiley leaned one hand against the wall, his eyes distracted. Sylvester turned around to Roger again.
"YOU BLE- umph!"
Someone grabbed his mouth, along with his round red nose.
"Roger, I'm going to calm Sylvester down. Do try to wake Porky up," Wiley said. Without further ado, he dragged the cat to the kitchen.
He looked at the shocked Sylvester in the eye. "Yes, he bled. But try to keep it down."
When he was sure the cat has his wits again, he let go of his lower face. Sylvester grabbed the counter and took a deep breath.
"Toons are not supposed to bleed!" Sylvester hissed in a hushed whisper.
"I know. But he did and until I find out why, I suggest this doesn't go out." They both looked out of the window.
"Toon Patrol," Wiley said quietly, the two words that was all the reason why.
XOXOXOXO
"I'm really thorry about t-that," Roger said, shamefaced.
After waking up a pale Porky, he caught Wiley's eye and knew immediately that this is going to stay among them.
"No pre-pra –don't be," Porky said, patting the regretful rabbit on the shoulder.
"We're just not used to seeing blood," Sylvester said, deliberately sitting beside Roger's uninjured hand.
They were all seated in the viewing room in a sofa that came from the props. After they have regrouped, Wiley decided they have done enough work for the day ("Fffffffinally!" Sylvester cried).
A wonderful smell pervaded the room and Wiley entered carrying three plates placed on his upper arms and forearms and a tray on top of his head
"Tada! Bon a petit! And yes, Sylvester, a platter of sushi for you."
The cat let out a whoop and Roger was handed a bowl of ratatouille. He was forever grateful Wile had no qualms that his assistant was a vegetarian.
"Thanksth."
Wiley put his hand behind his back and whipped out a roll of film. "Alright, are everybody-"
"Wowza!" Sylvester suddenly snatched the film from Wiley's hand. "You already got your paws in this?"
Roger looked over his shoulder to see the title labeled on the side: The Three Caballeros.
"Hey! I thaw the poster of that one!" Roger exclaimed. His hands immediately flew to his mouth and he cleared his throat.
Sylvester rolled his eyes at the rabbit's embarrassment for trivial things.
"Anyhoo, I thought you're gonna show him the Merry Melodiesth!"
Wiley made a great show of properly taking the film from Sylvester, eyeing him pointedly. "Well, if Roger's going to be visually stimulated on tooning, we may as well start with the mediocre."
Roger looked around at their sudden reactions. Porky gasped, his twirly tail straightening up. Sylvester made an air-sucking gasp that inflated his chest.
"Ooooohh…" he mimed getting shot at the chest, "through the heart."
Before Roger could ask, Wiley had the film on the reel and the show began.
XOXOXOXO
Porky, Wiley and Sylvester both looked at the rabbit as the film ended. His eyes were twinkling with wonder like the film had just showed him worlds unknown.
"Roger?"
"That… was… FANTASTH-TIC!" Roger leapt into his feet. "Did you see that? When they jumped into the book? When they fly in a magic carpet? When they –when they grow big and small and whipped up those thingamagjigs?"
He spread his hands to the air. "When they float and fly with the stars? When they-"
"When they cavort with all of those chicas?" Sylvester waggled his brows.
"-then when those things danced and they sing in other languages…" Roger ran his hand over his hair, "I've never been anywhere! And that movie," he pointed the screen, "showed me a lot! I think it showed me the world!"
Porky chortled at his fascination.
The rabbit began to gesticulate. "There's Brazil and Mexico and the North Pole and- that was the best film ever! Can we watch it again?"
"That was the first film you've watched," Wiley explained patiently.
Sylvester looked over his shoulder to the coyote. "Ya gotta admit it, Wiley, their latest movie they have is good."
"If you liked art films that seem made by suspiciously stimulated artists," Wiley retorted.
Roger was snapped out of his post-film wonder. "Huh? What?"
Sylvester rolled his eyes. "Nothing. Wiley here reads too much books so he hasth a lot of conspiracy theorissssth."
Wiley "hmmph!" and scowled, folding his arms across his chest.
Porky cleared his throat at the dark storm clouds brewing. "Wi-wee-wa-well, before it's time for us to go, I would like for all of us to get a photo," he said, producing a handheld camera.
"Oh sure!" Sylvester chirped.
In a whirl of black and white, everybody found themselves squished together by Sylvester's lengthened arm and his other mitt holding Porky's camera.
"SSSSSSSStttthay CHEESSSTTHHEE!"
XOXOXOXOXOXO
Roger hummed "The Three Caballeros" happily. He hopped on time with the tune.
"We're the three caballaros, three gay caballeros, they say we are birds of the-"
He suddenly stopped singing at the pensive coyote beside him.
They were cleaning up the dishes after the dinner. Wiley squeezed the sponge, his expression thoughtful.
Roger put away a glass and cleared his throat. "I like Porky, he's nicthe."
Wiley looked up as though being snapped out of his thoughts. He turned to looked at him.
"He seems like a mellow fellow," Roger continued, "He doesn't act crazy –I mean, you're not crazy. Sylvester and Daffy act crazy but they're not crazy… I think. You do too. I m-mean you are normal but sometimes you're not. BUT DON''T WORRY!" He waved his arms around like he's trying to dissipate Wiley's supposedly negative reactions. "I still-"
Wiley smirked at Roger's flustered rambling.
"Roger."
The rabbit immediately shut his trap.
"It's okay to call us crazy. Normal is not a prerequisite for toons."
"Oh," Roger said, sheepish.
Wiley washed the suds off his hands. "Porky, however, can be extreme when driven up the wall. You don't want to get a mellow fellow mad at you."
There was a silence as Roger wiped the counter. Wiley went back inside his own head, trying to make sense of the bloody rabbit fingers inside his head-
"We're not human, are we?"
Wiley looked up to see Roger finding the counter very fascinating.
"We're not," Wiley replied, wondering where this was coming from.
"So what are toons then?"
Wiley mentally shrugged, deciding factuality was the best policy.
"Toons are thoughts manifested."
He was rewarded with Roger's most bamboozled expression yet.
"Huh?"
The coyote sighed. "Toons are artist's thoughts manifested into this existence –the three dimensional world instead of a two dimensional world."
There was an awkward silence when Wiley realized he still sound too technical for the rabbit.
"Toons are made of ink and paint and came up from the paper and live here."
Roger laughed. Wiley stared.
"Jeepers, Wile!" Roger grinned at him. "I know I don't know much about toons but I do know their images are easier to capture by hand."
Wiley continued to stare at him blankly.
"Wile?"
The coyote ran a hand over his head. "Let's watch another film."
XOXOXOXOXO
Roger sat with mouth hanging open.
The credits rolled and Wile turned off the projector, returning the film back to a case labelled "Out of the Inkwell."
Roger blinked, trying to understand what he watched. There was a clown named Koko and an artist, Max Fleischer. The artist drew a clown that moved on a paper. A fly came and the clown grabbed the artist's pen and swung it about, splashing ink on the artist in the process.
The film ended with the artist tipping the clown out of the paper and back into the inkwell to become ink again.
Before Roger could say something, Wiley put in another film called "Alice's Wonderland". She went to a drawing room of a guy that Wile said was Walt Disney. Then she watched artists draw toons on paper where they move on it like they were a part of the flat surface. Then they came out oh-so–casually, watching the artists draw some more.
"We..." his voice sounded strangled, "... are drawings?"
Wile put a hand over his chest. "We, the Drawns, are their thoughts manifested. Grawns are born from Drawns. It took some years before Drawns were made with voices and colors."
Roger looked down on his hands. "We're... ink... and paint..."
It finally made sense now. Why his fur was unlike animal fur. Why toon household objects looked somewhat different than normal. Why Ma and Pa forbids him to open paint thinner.
His parents haven't lied. They simply left it out. On purpose.
Again.
Wile's brows furrowed at Roger's troubled expression.
"Perhaps we should continue with the cleaning," he said, hoping that would distract the rabbit.
XOXOXOXOX
Wiley looked worriedly at the rabbit restlessly working in the corner. He dropped his gaze down on his clipboard again. A long exhale came out of his mouth. Maybe he should have told Roger in another way.
"Do you need firewood? I need to chop firewood," a tersed voice asked.
Wiley looked up to see Roger had materialized beside him. Yellow eyes took note of his wide eyes, the tensed shoulders. "Well, I-"
"Firewood!" he burst out, looking queasy.
Wiley whipped up an axe from behind and pointed him to a thick bundle of logs lying against the wall.
"Thanksth," Roger said, grabbing the axe.
With a swing of an axe, he embedded a log on it and carried the log on a thick prop stump. Making sure that the log was stable, he let the axe loose. The log cracked. With another swing, the log got chopped into two. Picking up a halved log, he made it stood before splitting it. Roger kept his eye on the splintering wood.
Satisfied that Roger was preoccupied, Wiley turned his back. His foot lifted to walk away when a lispy voice spoke.
"When I said goodbye to my Ma and Pa, I never told them; you know. I never told them it's okay because I don't know if it's still okay," Roger said casually.
The log split into two. Roger mechanically picked another one using his axe. This time it only took one hack. Pick halved log and hacked. Log and hacked.
"The day I found out I was adopted, I dry-hurled at the toilet bowl while they bang on the door asking me if I'm okay."
The hacking became more savage. The tremors travel to the stump with each hit. The axe lunged upon the wood. His arms worked expertly at the repetitive motions.
"The last time I saw them, I couldn't even look at them in the eye –how can I?!" he burst out.
He missed the last log and the wedge sank on the stump with force.
Wiley wordlessly gave him a rolling whetting stone from his hammerspace.
"I'm so stupid! I should have known! Everyone's a human and I look like a rabbit on two legs!"
Roger didn't even notice where it came from and just placed the blade against it, peddling the wheel. Sparks began to come out as Roger glared at it, blue eyes reflecting back the sparks.
"Gen'tic defects!" he exclaimed like an oath.
Wiley whipped out a packet of Acme's Forest Grower and tossed a seed on the ground, sprinkling it with water. The little seed shot up into the ceiling into a flourishing tree.
Roger whipped his axe, not questioning why there's a tree inside the warehouse and began to hack it with personal vengeance. His chest began to rise and fall with each swing and bite of metal.
"And this is making me a terrible person! I know I'm acting stupid right now! They loved me, they took care of me! And this is how I'm paying them?!"
Splinters and shreded fiber flew at each whack. But Roger chopped on
"I left them to look for my actual parents who dumped me! Why am I so awful?!"
A toon would have fallen the tree already with that much rage. But Roger's whacks were relentless in their damage.
"BUT. THEY. STILL. SHOULD. HAVE. TOLD. ME. EARLIER!"
Wiley flinched, not from the physical strength displayed. Humans pale in comparison with toons in angry outbursts. Roger was no different. It was the fact that the rabbit had been so subdued the entire week.
"People were always acting like they're afraid of me or something! And I don't even know what I ever did to them! You know what they say to their kids? Stay back! That's the toon!"
Maybe he should have planted a forest. Wiley pity the tree trunk that looked more charred than chopped.
"What did I even do to those them? Is it because I'm less than human to them? But Ma and Pa still have me despite all that and here I am, yelling about them!"
The axe was becoming blunt again and the tree was getting chopped more from brunt bashing than sharp cutting.
"I'm not their son but I'm still terrible at it! I don't even know who I am anymore!"
With a final hack, the axe's wedge sank on the wood.
Roger's hunched figure stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Silence's hand wrapped its stiffling fingers around the room as everything stilled.
Even Wiley couldn't move. Helplessness. With each breath of a second, Roger seemed more and more out of reach. Wiley looked away. Back to him. Away again. Back to the rabbit, raising a finger to speak. Paused. Lower it down as he cast his words aside.
Roger finally spoke.
"If I'm not a human," he wearily lifted a hand at the word. "If I'm not really a rabbit," he brushed a hand to his chest. "If I can't toon... then..."
He looked up, not really sure who he was asking. "Then what am I?"
Wiley stared. Roger's eyes were wide and unblinking as though trying to accumulate the rising water in them.
His hand suddenly grabbed his own ear and pressed it tight over his own eyes. Roger suddenly sat heavily on the ground, ignoring the poor tree beside him.
"I'm sthorry you have to see this," he mumbled, one rabbit ear still over his eyes.
This time, the coyote's snout sank bonelessly along with his tail. His brain had been flying into action, thinking of a thousand and one solutions to the problem before him. But his brain that never failed him before; sputtered and came up with nothing.
He's a problem solver, not a heart-to-heart talker.
Wiley walked closer and with a mighty wrench, picked up the axe. He put it back to his hammerspace. Sweeping the sawdust and woodchips away with his tail, he awkwardly sat cross-legged beside Roger.
"Don't be. I'm glad you let it out of your chest," he quietly said.
A heartbeat. Roger sat unmoved. "I've always suspected you were adopted. No toons live outside ToonTown before," Wiley continued.
Still, Roger said nothing.
Wiley sighed. "Listen, I can't say I know what you're going through right now." He should have expected this sooner or later. Roger threw himself at work, not with a worker's dedication, but like someone running away from something. His thoughts.
He waited for Roger to look at him. "But I can understand anyone would need some time to get used to the fact that they are adopted... and not what they think they were before."
Both were silent for a while. "You thought you were a human for a very long time," Wiley said, almost with wonder.
Roger slump his face on his lap, yanking down his ears. A muffled voice spoke.
"I know. So stupid, right?"
Wiley shrugged. "How would I know, ol' chap? I don't have the imagination to know what your life was like."
Roger sat up, rubbing his arms. "I'm a freak. I don't belong back in Kansasth. I don't belong here in ToonTown."
The coyote's ears lowered. But then they determinedly straightened up.
"You asked, who are you, did you not?"
Roger looked at him with tired eyes.
Yellow eyes studied him before Wile stood up. He wasn't good at feelings, he would admit that. But facts and objective observations were his forte and he'd be damned if he couldn't help Roger with what he got.
"You're Roger Rabbit. A son of a perfectly good couple who loved you despite the alarming difference. A person who was brave enough to venture outside his home when he had never been anywhere else all his life for the sake of truth. My research assistant who says the darnednest things but does honest work for an honest pay –a true farmer's son."
He put his hands on his hips, his eyes, never leaving Roger's.
"Your parents raised you well. If they ever kept it from you, maybe they were afraid you wouldn't see yourself as part of the family. But what do I know?"
He saw Roger winced, as though slapped. Maybe he was right. Maybe not. He put his hand out to Roger and Roger accepted it. Wiley pulled him up, his grip firm and strong.
"To blazes if you're a toon or not. A human or not. You've got a family there... and here."
Roger stared at him.
"You'd be surprised at what consists in a Drawn's family," Wiley explained.
Roger laughed. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding his eyes.
"You know, you're my first friend who isn't a farm animal."
Wiley raised a brow.
Roger continued to speak. "Since the town isn't exactly waving a welcome mat at me, I preferred the company of our farm animals." He scuffed his feet. "They don't talk much but I can relate to them most of the time."
"The last four nights you were here, those weren't the first times it happened, was it?"
Roger looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.
Wiley tugged his ears. "You're not the only one who got sharp hearing, Roger."
Roger looked away, squirmish. "They're like allergiesth, you know. Only t-they happen when sthomething big happens and it's not sneezing. More like heart pounding and-"
"Tingling of the hands and fingers, hyperventilating and mind obsessively panicked? They're called anxiety attacks," Wiley deadpanned. "Suddenly discovering you're adopted with nobody to talk it with must certainly be a stress trigger."
Suddenly feeling naked, Roger rubbed his elbow with his other arm. "It might not be the first time. I've always been a bit anxiousth."
Wiley raised a brow, casting a glance at the grainy smithereens.
Anxiety disorders were surprisingly common. But despite being a super genius, he's not a psychiatrist to diagnose Roger. "Nobody knows what causes it, anyway. Could run in the family, trauma –the war was more than stressful, who knows?"
"Here, take this."
Roger looked down at what Wiley gave him. It was a photograph of them and Wiley and Porky, all mashed up to fit the photo's borders.
"Porky already got them developed and sent to me. That guy does everything properly."
Wiley smiled at him, cool and intellectual. But in those yellow eyes, Roger could see a touch of warmth.
"When you're ready to write to your parents, send them that to let them know you're not alone."
And then and there, Roger felt like something would burst and yet ease at the same time. There's a lot to say and yet nothing to say. He clutched the picture like a lifeline.
"Thanksth, Wiley," he quietly said, those two words resounding what his mind couldn't word with justice.
XOXOXOXOXO
Back to the present…
Roger sighed, looking through the photo album. His finger lingered over a form of scruffy fur and thin frame, the ears and snout poking out angularly.
Telling Jessica of the old days made him faced some questions that he never got an answer.
The rabbit gazed out of the window and instead of seeing the dark night, he saw sad eyes reflected back on the glass.
Have you forgiven me yet, Wiley?
XOXOXOXOXO
Author's Notes: I've always suspected Roger has an anxiety disorder. Anxiety disorders differ from person to person. A lot of people have anxiety disorder but can live normally with counselling and support.
Anxiety attacks or panic disorder are experienced by some people with anxiety disorders caused by triggers. They are episodes of intense panic or fear that the person feels as if they're going to die or lose control. They last from ten to thirty minutes and the physical symptoms make people think they're having a heart attack. After the attack is over, the person worries about having another one where he is in public where help isn't available or can't escape.
I hope that answered your questions of Roger waking up in the middle of the night.
