It's Hard to Explain

by Sarah the What

Jack is a boy suffering from memory loss who would be willing to do anything to remember his past. Hiccup is his new friend who would be willing to do anything to forget his. During their many adventures involving dangerous bikes, cute girls, and protective parents, both boys learn through each other that they can't continue living their lives in the past.

3. Had About Enough of Today

Yeah, only one narrative for each boy today.

The next update may be some time away. I still have loads of planning for this story to do (got the beginning and the end all planned and some middle stuff, but nothing really official), so that's what I'm going to be working on for awhile instead of actually writing. Don't think this means months before the next update. Maybe just expect another update next Wednesday, at the latest.

Thanks for reviews and stuff, guys! I really appreciate it!

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For the rest of the following week after moving into the new house, things seemed to fall into a rather simple and comfortable routine.

I've learned that I like sleeping in; not too late, mind you, but late enough for my parents to have already departed to this place called "work" when I finally make my way downstairs for breakfast. Emma is usually already up and wide awake, finishing up her colorful breakfast of Lucky Charms and orange juice while I slump through the threshold. Either she points to a bowl of cereal or slab of toast sitting next to her at the breakfast table, having gone out of her way to make for me, or she start's going on and on about the day's plans as I wobble around the kitchen, nearly missing the glass as I attempt to pour milk into it.

After finishing up our breakfasts, she helps me with cleaning our dishes, often resulting to at least one water-splashing war - in which I usually win - and then she guides me upstairs to get ready for the day. I ask her why we do this, considering we're not planning on leaving the house, and she tells me that it's not good to wear your pajamas all day, since it'll make you want to be lazy and get nothing done, which I understand. Although, at the same time, being lazy and doing nothing in my pajamas all day doesn't sounds so unappealing to me. Nevertheless though, I do as she says, since she won't let me leave my room if I'm not wearing something other than my flannels.

In the mornings, if it's not too hot out, we normally venture outside into our cozy, green backyard to play games. The competitions we have between each other during these odd children games Emma refers to as "Tag" and "Hide and Seek" don't often last long, seeing as the heat exhausts us rather quickly, but we're always laughing, bright smiles on our sweaty faces as we scurry into the house to get drinks.

She teaches me how to make homemade lemonade, which has to be one of the best things I've ever tasted, despite the fact that I can't remember a lot of food or drink's tastes. After filling our plastic cups to the rim, we store the pitcher in the fridge and make our ways back outside to read in the hammock our father put up for us under this huge oak tree. Emma often makes me read, telling me it'll help me with learning new words, and I don't mind this; I've discovered that I actually enjoy reading a lot more than I expected I would. Sometimes though, I ask her to read, since I enjoy hearing the words come from someone else's mouth every once and awhile.

A couple times, when I'm the one reading the books she brings out to enjoy, Emma falls asleep next to me, her small head resting on my shoulder, brown hair running over me. Occasionally, I'll continue to read on, sometimes out loud, other times in my head, but there are times when I stop and watch her. There's just something about the way her small chest raises and falls, the way her eyelashes quiver in the gentle breeze surrounding us, that makes me feel really… well, really happy. I feel like, if I didn't have this blessed little girl around to escort me through this unfamiliar and strange world, I'd be utterly lost and confused. My parents seem to be too busy adapting to this new life we have in order to have time to help me get back up to speed with things, and asking friends for help is out of the question, seeing as, well, I don't have any friends. Emma just makes every object and idea, no matter how difficult it may seem to grasp, so easy to understand.

After a while, I carry her small body inside to lay her on the couch to sleep, getting her out of the dreadful heat. She never naps long though. It's usually when I'm making an attempt to make lunch for the two of us when she wakes from her light slumber to help me out and join me once we've finished.

Once our bellies are full and the dishes have been scrubbed clean, we pull out different "board games" as Emma as told me to call them, which make sense to me, seeing as they're exactly that: a game on a board. These games vary from day to day, going from guessing games such as Clue and Battleship, to games purely focused on strategy, like checkers and Sorry!. We're pretty consistent with playing one board game however, and that one's called Scrabble. We play it a lot because Emma tells me it's all about words, which is something I'm obviously working on mastering. At first, it was frustrating beyond belief, since my vocabulary only extends to basic words, but with a lot of help from my smart little sister, I've really started getting the hang of using these newer, bigger sounding words.

One afternoon though, Emma decides to introduce me to a new game, saying that it, like Scrabble, will help me not only learn new words, but also help me learn to connect words with objects.

"Flashcards!" she cheers, raising a small rectangular box over her head. We're sitting in the middle of the living room, her legs crossed, and me leaning against the couch, wrapping my arms around a pillow. After throwing the box down in front of me, I lean in to get a better look.

"Flash… cards?" I say slowly, giving her a questioning look.

"Yeah! Each one has an object on it, and don't worry, there's nothing too hard," she explains to me as she peels open the top of the case and pulls out small sheets of what look like paper. I notice that there are indeed sketches of various items on the surface of each card; the one I see on top has something I think is called a "dog" on it.

"I looked through them last night," Emma continues to tell me, "and I pulled out the really hard ones. Most of them looked pretty easy though. Wanna try 'em out?"

"How do you play exactly?" I ask, not just curiosity in my voice, but also pure excitement. Whenever Emma shows me a new game, I get like this. If there's something I love just as much as my little sister, it's playing games with her.

"You're supposed to tell me what each object is, silly!" she laughs. "Like this." She pulls the card from the bottom of the deck out and flashes it at me. "Tell me what this is."

I look over to see an oddly shaped object drawn upon it. Hm. Let me thing about this. Well… it's long, like a cylinder, only the bottom portion of it appears to be thicker than the top. And, judging by this drawing, it's made of some sort of glass and is transparent and - oh!

"That's a, uh… a bottle… right? A glass one," I answer. When her lips peel back to form a smile, I feel a warmth inside my chest. I've learned that this feeling normally comes around when I've answered a question correctly. I think it's called something like "proud" or, rather, "feeling proud".

"Good job, Jack!" she congratulates me, slipping the card back into the deck in her hands and pulling out another. "Now tell me what this is."

I study the illustration on the card, letting every detail of it soak in, raking my brain for the appropriate word. This specific object she's showing me right now is very, very, very long and appears to be made of some soft, cloth-like fabric. There's a wild, colorful design on its flat surface, twisting and turning around itself as - wait a second. I know what that is!

"A… scarf?" I ask. I've never physically seen one of these things, seeing how it's summer, and I've been told that there's no need for such an article of clothing during this time, so I hope I'm right and not just making nonsense up.

"Right again!" Emma says, that same smile from before appearing on her face again. "Wow. You're really good at this, Jack!"

We continue this game; her showing me a card and me studying it, soaking each one in just to tell her what it is. I end up getting most of them correct, but a few slip past me, leaving me irritated. Emma never shows any disappointment in me when this happens however, and I'm grateful for this. I'm already beating myself up pretty badly with this game, wanting to get each one right, so the last thing I need is to have her frustrated at me for being wrong.

"And what's this?" she asks, pulling out another card for me to decode. I study it, now lying on my stomach, resting my chin in my hands. Hm. Let me think about this. I've… I've seen this object before, and I think it was outside - a part of nature, definitely - so that really narrows this down… but what is it? It looks… smooth? Yeah, that's the word. At the same time though, it doesn't… wait… does that even make sense? How can something be smooth and bumpy at the same time?

I reach out and take the card from her hand, pulling it right up to my face so I can see every last detail of it. Though there isn't much detail to see, now that I really look at it. It's a pretty basic object, doesn't have much going on. Shoot! I really feel like I should know-

All of the sudden, my eyes black out, leaving me in darkness as a piercing pain stabs into the back of my head. I'm not longer in the center of the living room with Emma, a pillow resting under my arms, but I'm more of in the middle of… nothing. It's just cold, empty darkness surrounding me now, and as it creeps more around me, the pain in the back of my head becomes more agonizing, making me want to let out a scream for help. So I open and my mouth and-

In literally a second, I'm suddenly lying on the ground, only it's not on the shag carpet in the living room, like I had been expecting. This surface is hard and wet, pressed up against the back of my head, which I notice doesn't hurt as much as before. My eyes are open, but only as slits, so what I can see is blurred.

There's someone standing in front of me. They're crotched down, their face near mine. I can't make out who is it. Now they're getting up and… wait. Where are you going? I hear a muffled voice say something, but I can't make out the words as the person runs away from me. As I attempt to turn my head, I feel a wave of exhausting come over me, and I have no choice but to close my eyes.

And the pain's instantly back. I reach up and grab the back of my head, trying to help take off the sharp pressure being applied to it by what seems like nothing, and curl into a ball as I let out an agonizing scream.

"J-Jack!?"

My eyes snap open, and Emma's large, light brown eyes stare back into mine. She's wearing a concerned look on her face, but that's all I'm able to observe before the stabbing in the back of my head grows immensely. I want to keep my eyes open, not wanting to fall back into the darkness again, but I can't fight it. I just… can't fight this pain. My eyelids tighten over my eyes as I let out another cry.

"Jack!"

Arms wrap around me as I feel something touch the back of my head, surprisingly easing the pain a bit. I open my eyes to see Emma hovering over me again, my head resting in her lap as she puts something squishy and cold against the back of my head.

"What is-?" I begin, but I don't finish, because the pain is thrashing at me again, trying to get through whatever is placed between it and my scalp. I cringe, my eyes snapping shut as I feel something wet slide down my cheek.

"I-It's okay, Jack," I hear. "You're… you're gonna be… gonna be o-okay." It sounds like Emma's voice, but I can't be sure, since I've never heard her speak in a tone like this before. Fingers are being brushed through my hair as her small voice continues to comfort me, acting as a shield from the torture. Water continues to stream down my cheeks as I grit my teeth, and I can feel my body shaking as the pain begins to fade and Emma leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

We continue to lay like that, my head resting in her lap as she strokes my hair and whispers sweet words to me. She's acting abnormally calm for a child of nine, but remembering the way she stuttered earlier - barely being able to get the words out of her mouth as she tried to help me - reminds me that she was probably just as scared as I was only moments before.

I don't know how much longer it is until the pain eventually fades, but we don't move once it does. Whatever Emma has pressed up against the back of my head is no longer as cold as before and has even produced what feels like water all over her legs and my hair. I keep my eyes closed as I ask her in a quiet voice, "W-What is that?"

"Huh?" she goes, not expecting to hear me talk I assume.

"What is that?" I ask again. "On my head. It's wet."

"I-It's an ice pack," she tells me simply. "Mommy told me that… well, if something hurts, you should put an ice pack on it. And by the way you were grabbing your head, I thought… well, I thought maybe your head was hurting."

"So you went and got an ice pack for me."

Emma looks a little let down when I say this, her shoulders slumping at the words. By her expression, I can tell she's probably thinking she should have done something more, something that would be more efficient in making me stop feeling the pain I was enduring.

I help her feel better, just as she had done for me. "That was very smart of you," I tell her, trying to smile. "It helped. A lot. Thank you."

She beams back down at me, only her eyes look a little hurt. I don't think anything of it though, because she leans down and kisses me on the forehead.

Once she's gone back to stroking my hair, the pain completely gone now, I decide to ask, "What was the object?"

She gives me an odd look.

"On the card," I explain. "What was it?"

Her lips part a little as she stares down at me. I can't tell if she's trying to decide whether or not to tell me, and I'm about to ask her again what it was, when she simply says, "A rock. It was… it was a rock."

A rock.

I close my eyes, relaxing my body.

I should've known that.

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---

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Well, this isn't working.

I sigh and fall back on to the cold, concrete floor, allowing my tensed shoulders to relax. The silver bike chain hangs lazily from my bike's back wheel's spoke, swaying a little as if to mock me. I'm tempted to snatch it up and hurl it across the cluttered garage, but man, I paid a good thirty bucks for that stupid thing and there's no way in hell I'm just going to throw it around like that.

It's Thursday, my first official day off from work, and the next big race is this Saturday. I've been sitting in my garage for the last couple of hours, Toothless accompanying me as I tinker away at my bike, trying everything in my power to make it better and faster than stupid Lout's. I bought this new chain, all sleek and clean - very unlike my older one - in hope of it increasing my speed, therefore my chances of winning. All I've gotten out of it though so far are dirty fingers and a dire need to just get out of this stuffy, overcrowded, and not to mention freezing garage. Maybe wearing a sleeveless shirt while inside a windowless room wasn't the best idea I've had today.

I look over at Toothless, carefully perched on a stack of forgotten cardboard boxes, lapping away at his paws. "There's no way I can race this weekend, bud," I tell him.

He stops licking himself and stares back at me, his large green eyes burning into mine.

"Don't give me that look, cat," I threaten him, throwing him a nasty look. "I… ugh. I know I told Astrid and Fish I would, but really. I just…"

Ah, who am I kidding. I've been making excuses to not race against Lout and the other guys since I got my bike back in the third grade, and here I am, fifteen and still a coward. It's not that I don't think my bike's not good enough to race, because I know it is; and I also know I'm a good enough racer to compete against those blockheads too. It's more of just the fact that those guys have been racing bikes since they were old enough to turn the pedals, where as I've been riding bikes since then as well, but not actually taking it seriously until I was about nine. That huge head start they have - already having fancy bikes all ready for racing - well, that's rather discouraging and extremely intimidating to me.

I get up from the cold ground and quickly loop the chain through the chainring, not bothering to make sure everything's all lined up and in place, because, quite frankly, I really couldn't care less right now. It's only about 7:30, so I have a good half hour to kill before it starts to get dark out, and what better way to kill that time than to go for a much needed and, not to mention, much deserved ride.

"Wanna go, bud?" I ask Toothless, getting up to press the garage door opener.

He gives me this look, growling ever so slightly.

"Don't worry," I tell him rolling my eyes as the garage door opens up and I grab my bike from its stand. "I'll work more on it tomorrow. I may not be able to race this weekend, but I'll get around to it someday."

He continues to give me this look, and I chuckle.

"Fine. I'll go by myself then," I say, mounting the saddle. "Just go claw on the back door or something. Dad'll let you in." And, with that, I kick off the ground and speed out of the garage, gliding down the curvy driveway and into the empty street.

I aimlessly ride around for a while, not really concerned with where I'm going. Berk's a small town, so if I feel like going home, all I have to do is look at my surroundings and get home from there. The fact that I've lived here my entire life just makes doing that even easier.

Normally, I love weaving in and out of streets in my neighborhood, familiar and unfamiliar, seeing all the fellow population doing their everyday evening routines. Some of my favorite things to see are parents coming home from a long day at work to be greeted by their excited children, little kiddy pools filled up with hoses being played in by chubby toddlers, joggers plugged into their iPod, their dog happily jogging beside them. The fact that the wind blowing through my hair feels absolutely incredible just adds to the many reasons why I love biking so much.

There is one street though that I always avoid. It's the street that Fish used to live on, before he got two little sisters and had to move to a bigger place a few streets down. Windwalker Drive is its name and, if I can help it, I try not to have to bike down that street. There are just too many sad memories there.

The street lights begin to flicker on above me as I turn on to Astrid's street. I want to tell myself that me biking towards her place is just a coincidence - that I hadn't been thinking about it - but then I'd just be lying to myself. Every time I go out for a ride, I somehow find myself on her street, staring down the block at her lit house, knowing her room's the window to the far left on the second story, and that she's probably in there, doing whatever it is she does when she's alone.

One of these days, I swear it, I'll have enough guts to pull into her driveway, march up to her door, and ask her if she wants to bike with me. I've seen her bike on several occasions, throwing and catching barspins and kicking into a cliffhanger like a pro, and let me just say that it would be a privilege to be able to bike alongside her.

That's just a stupid fantasy of mine though. I mean, I don't know that many tricks, like she does. I'm more of a racer, focusing on speed and endurance rather than all those super cool and dangerous stunts, so I'd probably feel really lame if I were to bike with her; I'd just be cruising while she'd be being the total badass she is, no doubt.

And besides. She's Astrid Hofferson, not only the toughest and most popular girl in our grade, but also by far the most beautiful - at least in my eyes. And, well, I'm Hiccup Haddock. What girl in her right mind would want to bike with me?

I decide then to stop torturing myself and head home, since I notice the sun touching the top of the houses around me. The last time I stayed out after dark, my dad pretty much threw a temper tantrum and almost grounded me from being able to ride my precious bike for a week. The fact that I'm not wearing my helmet right now would just give him even more of a reason to be pissed at me, and that's definitely not worth the risk.

It takes a good five minutes to get to my house, and I happen to arrive right as the last street light turns on. As I pull into the driveway, I notice a white van sitting behind my dad's car. I guess Gobber's decided to pay us a visit tonight. Lovely.

After storing my bike in the garage, I enter the house through the conjoined door that leads straight into the laundry room, which then goes into the kitchen. Gobber's bombing voice is the first thing I hear.

"Ye got to cut the poor boy some slack, Stoick," he goes in his thick accent. "So what that he isn't into… well… whatever it is you do, but he's still young. He's still got time to figure out who he is."

I stop in my tracks and hope neither of them heard me open and close the laundry room door. My dad lets out a heavy sigh, signally that, yes, they are talking about me, which is just great.

"I know, I know," I hear my dad go as I creep closer towards the entrance to the kitchen, so I can hear them better. "He's just… I can't help but feel he's wasting his time on that bike of his. I mean, ever after what happened to his leg a couple years ago, he still loves riding those damned things. It's all he puts his time into nowadays. He's even stopped hanging out with that Fish boy lately too."

"Well, if it makes ye feel better, they work together when they're with me," Gobber assures him.

My dad sighs again. "That's beside the point."

"Well, don't he have anyone else besides the Ingerman lad to be with? He's bound to have other friends, Stoick."

"There's the Hofferson girl, Archie's daughter, I suppose. But those two haven't hung out since they were kids, Gob."

"So, what ye tellin' me is that there isn't anyone else?"

"Besides Toothless?"

"The cat don't count."

"Then no. He doesn't have anyone else. But this isn't about his friends. I just… just want him doing something better with his time, that's all."

"Ye can't control the boy 'n' what he does in his spare time. If he wants to work on that bike of his, he's goin' to work on it, whether ye approve or not. He's a stubborn one, wee Hiccop."

"So I've been told."

"Oi. Wonder where he got that from."

I hear my dad chuckle, but it's more of one of those dry type, like he's doing it more to be polite than because he actually thinks what Gobber said was funny. "But really. I just… ah! I wish I could just understand what makes him tick, you know? Understand why he likes to spend his time messing with those bikes rather than… being more productive. I mean, there are so many things he could be doing with his free time! I offered him to be an intern at work with me - you know, get to know the trade and whatnot for when he takes over when he's older - but he turned me down. I let it slide, because he's working for you, of course, but I can't help but feel-"

"Stoick, think 'bout what ye sayin'," Gobber interrupts him. "It's rather obvious why the boy does what he does."

I don't hear anything, so I assume my dad's giving his friend a questioning look. Of course he doesn't know why I love working on and riding bikes. He never even bothers to ask about it - or about really anything that's going on in my life, for that matter. Hell, for all he knows, I'm still in the robotics club at school and building model airplanes up in my room; in other words, I'm probably still eleven in his mind.

"How old was Hiccop when he started getting into bikes, eigh?" Gobber goes on.

"Dunno. Maybe around… middle school age?" I hear my dad answer. "Gob, you know I don't keep track of those kinds of things."

"Well, maybe ye should!"

"What in Odin's name are you getting at?"

Gobber sighs, letting a brief pause appear in the conversation. I want to stop listening, to pop out from behind the wall and announce myself, just to make them stop talking about me behind my back, like I know they often do. Even though this urge is inside of me, I don't. I can't. This is the only way I can find out what my dad thinks of me, as sad as that sounds, and I don't want to ruin it.

"He's hurtin', Stoick," Gobber finally speaks up. "He's usin' all this bike nonsense to forget 'n' ease his mind of… well, of troubling matters."

"What are you talking about?" my dad asks, but I know he already knows exactly what Gobber's referring to. It's the only thing he could be referring to.

Gobber says it right as I think it.

"His mother."

There's a moment of silence as my dad, and even me, let's Gobber's words sink in. I wish I could see their faces, see what my dad must be feeling right now, but I don't want to risk being caught eavesdropping.

"Val died seven years ago," my dad reminds him quietly. "He can't-"

"But he is," Gobber says. "Do ye think he could really get over something like that so quickly? I mean, she was his mother."

"And she was my wife."

"Yeh, but ye also know what he thinks 'bout it all. How he feels... ye know... like he's somewhat responsible for what happened."

My dad doesn't say anything after that, and that's when I can't take it anymore. As much as I want to hear what my dad has to say to that, I don't think I can stand another second of just standing here, listening to this. Without a second thought, I open the door leading to the garage quietly, and then shut it rather hard, so I know the two men in the living room will hear it. As I walk into the kitchen, the silence from the living room is even quieter than it was before I walked in, if that's even possible.

Turning into the living room, I shoot a smile their ways. "Hey, Dad. Gob."

My dad looks nervous as Gobber gives me a nod, but he still manages to respond without looking too suspicious. "Ah, Hiccup! I was wondering where you had gone off to. I tried checking up on you a few minutes ago, before Gobber got here, and you were gone."

"Oh, sorry," I go, trying to play it cool for him; the last thing I want is to suddenly snap in front of him, especially with Gobber here. "I was getting a little stressed out, so I went for a ride."

"Ah. Well. Tell me next time, alright, son?"

"Gotcha. Hey, uh... I'm gonna head upstairs, maybe settle in early tonight. Wanna wake up earlier to, uh… do… stuff…"

My dad nods at me as I walk towards the stairs on the other side of the room. "Oh. Alright. Goodnight then."

"Yeah, 'night, Dad. Gobber."

"Sleep tight, Hiccop!" Gobber smiles at me, waving.

I go up the stairs by two as the two men sit in silence behind me, probably waiting for me to close my bedroom door so they can continue talking without me hearing. I have to fight the urge to slam said door behind me as I enter my room, anger suddenly overwhelming me.

He bikes because it gets his mind off of his mother, blah.

Whatever.

Gobber may think that's the reason, but that isn't the truth, I know it. I bike because I love it, that's why. I love the rush I get as I pass thirty miles per hour, wind flowing all around me as I pedal my feet like my life depends on it. It has nothing to do with my mom, absolutely nothing. It was just a coincidence that I started taking riding more seriously after she died, that's all. They have nothing in common.

"They act like they know me," I say to Toothless, whom is already lying comfortably on my pillow. "But they don't know anything. Notice how they didn't even bother to ask me how my day was. Gah, they don't even care!" I belly flop on to my bed, making Toothless jump up from his place and scurry off the bed. Telling him sorry is on the tip of my tongue, but he's already bolted into my bathroom before I can.

Fine. Useless feline…

I turn on to my back and stare up at my popcorn ceiling. I had felt tired while putting my bike away, but now. Now I'm just pissed off. I mean, I had been upset already about not being able to race this weekend, and not to mention being reminded for the hundredth time how I'll never stand a chance with Astrid, but this? Having to hear my dad not only talking about how utterly confusing I am to him as a person, but also talking about my mom and how she incorporates into this mess and how I feel about her death. Now that's just pushing it.

The thought of my mom makes the anger I'm feeling disappear, but only by a bit. The anger left inside of me however isn't towards my dad for becoming so distant and secretive around me ever since mom died, but rather at myself. I remember what I did that day when I was eight, and I'll never forget it.

I feel the corner of my eyes begin to grow watery, so I quickly whip them with my hand. No. No crying. You can't cry, you wimp. I'm not going to let you think about stuff like that, not right now. Today's already been pretty crappy. Thinking about what happened seven years ago is just going to make it even worse. Just don't think about it...

Something soft rubs up against my leg as I hear a low purring sound. Sitting up, whipping my eyes one last time, I look down at my feet to see Toothless, nuzzling up against me in an attempt to give me some comfort. I guess he forgives me for scaring him earlier.

"Thanks, bud," I go with a soft sniff, stroking his back, which arches with pleasure. "Let's get to bed, alright? I've had about enough of today."