“My gawd it’s annoying!"
“Yeah, and the way it gets into your head. Like, you only know two or three lines, but it goes around and around!”
“I hate how it’s on the radio, all the time. You flick it on and you swear you only heard it half an hour before.”
My head lolled back, gazing lazily through the leaves. As the sun went down the entire western horizon bathed everything in a unique orangey glow, and their shadows mottled my olive skin. It was a spectacular sunset and it belonged to Kyeema, a little town than was the gateway to the great Bugger All.
Below was your average teenage banter, and you just couldn’t get more average than five kids hanging out in their tree house, avoiding homework and complaining about nothing in particular.
“I hate the singer, whatsherface.
As if anyone really looks like her,” I contributed with disgust, plucking up a
leaf and tearing of little bits, watching them flutter
“Anyone comin’,
Tez?”
I lifted myself up a bit and twitched aside some greenery. “Nup. Ol’ Bucket just went into his shed a while ago. He might have gone back inside.”
Flopping back, I sprawled on my stomach with eyes half closed and let one arm hang free.
Bloody great lookout.
We needed a lookout because the tree we were sitting in, and the few that surrounded it, weren’t on our land. They technically belonged to a cranky old bloke we called Farmer Bucket. The name originated because during Spearkow season he wore a bright red bucket on his head with eyeholes cut through to avoid the worst of the Spearow’s that nested around here.
We had made an uneasy peace with them. Sometimes we brought lunch scraps, and sometimes they didn’t try to split our skulls apart.
Long story short, Bucket hated kids, and had in his train two vicious mightyena that patrolled his property. They, like the spearows, had no qualms chasing squealing 14 year old girls and even though none of us had ever been bitten you didn’t want to take the chance. There were rumours after all. I can’t count the number of times they almost chomped me in half as I dived through the fence that divided his land and ours.
This tree, done up with a swing, rope ladder, a few platforms and topped with a layer of cammo paint lay right on the border where the fence line had degraded into worm riddled fence posts and rusted barb wire as saggy as an old ladies knickers
The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence again, finding nothing else to pick at. My arm swung limply and I shifted again to get cosy.
My own little seat was the highest branch that could support my weight and allowed a full view of the area. It was a bit of a squirm, but a real treat once you were nestled right. From here I could see Bucket, Mightyena or any passing trucks that may pass on the news to him there cubby house on his land.
I could also see the Pidgeot pair that would hunt the tall spinifex for animal, another reason we had chosen this tree. They were gorgeous and I think they even had chicks although we could never track their nest down.
Nothing, a good
enough time as any to open the conversation to my favourite topic.
“And? It’s
not like either of us are going anywhere,” Scotty said glumly, sitting up and
tossing the tennis ball he had up and down. His spiny black hair hid his
expression but I knew it to one of longing. Unlike most siblings, we got on
really well. I think it was because although I was older than him by two years,
he was a pretty booffy boy.
“Maybe.” Even
from the voice you could tell he was grinning. Jarrod always grinned. Just to
Scott’s left lounging in a hammock of vines just where the main trunk branched
out, he lay with eyes half closed. “But who are you root’n
for in the championships?”
“Brutus!”
bawled Matty. Almost at level with me, Matty was hanging upside down his grubby T-shirt dangling
over his face, not a worry that he could lose his grip and splatter like so
much melted cheese on the dirt below. The kid was Scotty’s age and Jazz’s
brother.
“Nooo!” we all groaned in mock agony, including the last of
our little posse and my best mate, Jess. Matthew and Jarrod’s sister, whether
she liked it or not, and more often not. She rocked the swing with her toes,
fingering the vines we had encouraged to grow on the ropes.
“What?” Matty
giggled, as if the behemoth whose idea of a battle was raw power, no tactic
stood a chance.
“I
got an eye on that new electric trainer,” Jazz ventured.
“You
would!” I jeered. “Shanna is gonna
blitz ‘em!”
“Phtt!” Scott snorted. “Sez
the girl who thinks Clefairy come from space!”
“They
do! I read it!” I retorted defensively, and then a little sheepishly added, “Do
you think we could make it?”
“Into space?” Jess asked puzzled looking up.
“No-oh, the Championships.”
“Course. It’s pretty easy,” Jazz shrugged.
He
had done some amateur training when he was ten, but hadn’t even made it to
It
was why I constantly badgered him with questions.
“Easy
for you to say,” Scott grumbled, throwing the ball up so high it bounced
lightly off my back. I grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them back at him.
“Tez and I don’t have a Pidgey
between us!”
I
nodded dryly in agreement. Not for lack of trying, believe me.
Because
their family was divorced it meant their father spoiled them rotten. Each had
an eeveelution from one of the foreign regions, Kanto
probably.
Our
father had also been a trainer in his younger days but kept us firmly shackled
from leaving on an amateur journey by not keeping Pokemon as
a pets. He’d even gone so far as to get us a pet animal, rare these
days. It was an odd little bird that chirped its heart out but had all the
brains of bread pudding.
Don’t
get me wrong, he’d love us to follow in his footsteps but when he began with an
injured Rattata, he quickly found out that without a
properly registered and trained beginning Pokemon it was just too
difficult.
He
knew what was best, I guess.
Out
the corner of my eye I caught a moving dot coming from the farmhouse, hooning
at a hundred K’s an hour.
“Car!”
Quick
as lightning Matty somersaulted to the ground
scuttling into the tall grass with Jess and Scott diving for cover after him. Jazz
huddled into a ball, blending effortlessly into the leaves and I made a daring
leap onto the limb opposite, weaselling into the lower branches and out of
clear sight.
The
sound of wind and flying gravel grew when suddenly a sleek chrome bullet shot
past in a billowing of wind. Rocks flicked dangerously into the laneways where
we hid but the ute
disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. It was a lot of trouble for
just two seconds of vulnerability but we were good as dead if we were caught.
From
the grass emerged the three, Jess grumbling and picking the twigs out of her
hair. She spared a glance at the sky outside our refuge.
“Man
we gotta go! I got homework and mum will kill us if
she comes home and we aren’t there!”
We
each added our own colourful description of exactly what we thought of
homework. The others peeled themselves underneath the fencing while I eased
myself to the end of the branch clear of hindering limbs and the barbwire. I
hung by my arms for a moment and dropped heavily onto the grainy red dirt,
cringing at the sharp gravel imbedding themselves in my calloused heels.
I
looked over my shoulder at the sun setting over the dusty orange dirt road,
flecks still dancing in the wake of the farmhand’s car.
Well you never know…
It’s not a hard life,
It’s a soft and gentle land
Gonna lay my head
On the soft and gentle sand
Hear Ol’ Man Time
Whisper in my ear
A Thousand Feet
Have been
through here
~John Williamson, A Thousand Feet
My
heart skipped a beat.
It
was here! Here! Here! Here! Here! Here!
I
stared at the first page with greedy anticipation. Beneath a large colour
photograph of a drunken politician in the bottom corner was a spiky red speech
bubble and written inside was what I drooled over every maths lesson at school.
Every year during a drunken Christmas party
the great Professors of the year would pull a bunch of names out of a hat and
bet on which Region would produce the best new trainer…
However the official story was that the
great professors of the Leagues would offer the chance of a lifetime.
The chance to become one of the ten
official trainers of the League Amalgamation Competition, a lame excuse to
narrow the betting field if ever I head one.
Every year, the great professors of the all
the Leagues offered the chance of a lifetime, the chance to become one of the
10 official Pokemon trainers of The League Amalgamation Competition. Three
Professors, probably picked out by an intoxicated game of Ip
Dip, would preside over the event, and bolstered the beginning Pokemon of their
own League as prizes.
Of
course there were the usual three kids they chose themselves for their own
League just before training season started, but this one had so much more
prestige. An Official trainer!
And let me make this perfectly clear, it
had nothing to do with the Metone League’s own Professor Ironbark being nuttier than
my Nanna’s fruitcake. He hadn’t represented the Metone
league in over 4 years and a Metonian hadn’t been
amongst the ten in seven years.
We had no famous trainers that put us on
the map, like Lorelei Drift, Ash Ketchum or Hiro Nakajima. I don’t need to remind you of the more
notorious reasons we were recognized on the world stage, regardless to say that
it was probably Professor Ironback that first started
any chant that began with “Scull! Scull! Scull!” during the Christmas party.
I
gazed across the rest of Kyeema in the early morning
light, partially hidden by a slab of rock jabbing out from the escarpment, at
their mundane houses with their nifty little gardens and gravel driveways and
cute little mailboxes in the shapes of Goldeen and Miltanks.
I could leave this behind and see the
world, a world beyond everything I knew; if only I could sneak it into the
house without dad pinching it to read the fishing foldout first.
I bent down and tucked the soggy
cling-wrapped mass under my armpit eager to get my bare feet out of the
dew-drenched grass.
I
felt incredibly devious as I ducked beneath the windows and slipped through our
security door. I had to resist humming the theme to a famous moving about some impossible
mission or something. Despite my care, the tumbler relocked with a click and I
winced. I peeked around the arch leading into the lounge room. Dad was lazing
in his armchair with his feet propped on a beanbag, grumbling about the
weather.
When
I was sure he was properly distracted, I pressed my back against the wall
moving stealthily.
“Hey Tez! What you got there?” My tanned face
blanched a pallid white as my little brother peered from the kitchen, his hair
riddled with knots and cowlicks from his noisy sleep. Scotty’s eyes met my ‘Stantler caught in road-train headlights’ expression and focus on the
rolled up newspaper. “You have it?” he said slowly.
“Eep.” I broke and ran for the safety of my room, because
even though my brother was two years younger then me he wasn’t too old to sit
on me until I gave up my hard earned prize up.
Don’t
give me that look! No one likes waking up at six in the morning so therefore it
is hard earned!
I
dived into my bedroom with Scott blustering after me and slammed the door shut.
The knickknacks on my shelves jittered noisily and just in time I threw my back
against it. His weight crashed into it and the door bucked. Straining, with one
leg shoving off my bookshelf I gave it a final shove and the door snapped long
enough for me to flip the lock.
“What
are you kids doing?” I heard my father bellow, but I didn’t care. I jumped onto
my bed bouncing with excitement, tearing the paper apart. “Sports section, no.
University section, no. Real Estate, no. Comics mmmm…
later. Ah-Ha!”
I
scrambled through my desk for scissors, paper and pens, returning to my bed
jostling the mangled paper. Dad would not be happy. I snipped carefully along
the dotted line, and with meticulous care I began to fill out my details.
Age: 10 11 12 13 14 15
16
I
paused at this. Although I had been racing my brother to this every year since
I was ten, this was my most eligible year.
When
kids were ten and eleven years old, they were almost immediately tossed away,
or awarded them one of those ‘we felt sorry for you here’s a cap’ prizes. As
the years past and those same kids had turned 15 and 16, they didn’t care about
Journeying.
I ticked fourteen years of age with enthusiasm.
Pokemon
License Number: 482-25686
Region: Metone Town:
I
paused, that could be a problem. See, Metone
technically wasn’t apart of the Northern Leagues; in fact it really wasn’t
apart of anywhere. It was a continent of land to the South East of the
Its centre was a dry and arid red desert where
only the hardiest of people could make a living. Thick green rainforests
subject to monsoon storms in the north drew tourists from everywhere and
coupled with the East Coasts world-renowned surf it was hard to resist. Its
south was very polar orientated, frigid mountains and catacombs of caves
sneaking in and out and the west coast was a plethora of Pokemon, wondering in
and out of the mangrove forests.
Of
course it had its own Pokemon League, but I had been all over and wanted to see
something new.
Contemplating
what to do next, I riffled under the blankets of pages and found my own prepared
sheets, three pages of 1cm spaced lines reserved for the required essay. Ha!
The envelopes were probably tossed in a big raffle barrel and the essays had
all the significance of tea strainers, but what can I say, I was hopeful.
Poor
deluded bugger.
“It
has to be catchy, interesting, but meaningful. Oh boy how am I gonna do that?” I grumbled. This was the boring part.
Finally I jotted down ideas, I formed these ideas into sentences and paragraphs
and after only an hour, I had a masterpiece. I read and reread, ignoring
Scotty’s pounding on the door, his pleading and his bargaining until I was
satisfied I was bound to win.
After
finishing the thousand-word essay, I sealed it in one of the envelopes from my
mountains of stationary I always got for my birthday along with my entry form.
I looked at it with pride, fantasizing the three
Professors would crowd around it making exclamations of excitement and call
over their aids to witness the essay of the next Pokemon Master, regardless
that her hand writing had all the legibility of chicken scratches.
I
sighed dreamily, knowing it would be a long, long wait until I received a reply.
Okay, there were many, but only one managed
to come out of the censorship unscathed.
Torture.
Even
knowing that kids my age were feeling the same anxiousness all around the world
didn’t make me feel any better. If not now it would be another year gone,
another closer to the day I’d be ineligible for the prize.
I barely thought or talked of anything else so
much that my friends were sick of me. Jess even threatened that if the word Journey popped out of my mouth again;
I’d spend the afternoon in a tree suspended by my dacks.
My
attention span was shot to nothing and my teachers could only persevere. I
wasn’t the only kid who’d entered and only our Pokemon subject teachers were
able to hold our concentration for more then the first period.
The
weeks passed at snails pace. I watched the evening news for the clues that
Professor Oak would give having been selected again to be among the three. His answers were always sly and
ambiguous, and just as likely to break into poetry. Professor Ivy would babble
enthusiastically about nothing and Professor Elm would smile secretively and
wish every entrant good luck.
And
Professor Ironbark on the local news?
The
least said the better.
Everyday when I got off the bus I pawed
through our mail like a furret and when there was
nothing I sulked in my room until I got bored. If I’ve learnt anything in my
fourteen years of life that time travels slowest when you’re waiting.
“We’re
home!” I yelled as both Scott and I squeezed through the door at the same time.
I rolled my eyes at him as he passed and he poked his tongue right back. No car
was in the driveway so our parents were still at work. The mail, as always, sat
patiently in the fruit bowl waiting for me to mangle it. It looked nothing more
then bills and junk mail. I sighed with irritation as I tossed each back into
the fruit bowl.
“Bill,
advertisement, junk, junk, junk… Go you little legend!”
It
looked no different then it had any other year. The stamp of Lance of the Elite
Four and his Dragonite in the top right corner, the
crisp crystal blue stationery and the neatly typed address on the back.
I
leaned on the counter gazing at it sceptically, or was it dread? It didn’t look
like the letter of a winner; it didn’t even look like the winner of a ‘We feel
sorry for you, here’s a cap’ letter! I ambled back to my bedroom and sprawled over
my bed, carefully slitting the envelope open and removed the Pokemon patterned
stationary.
Thank
you for your entry in the Trainers Challenge..... Impressive and moving essay
....... Accepted into....Sheet enclosed..... Good Luck
Thank
you for your entry in the Trainers Challenge. Your essay was an impressive and
greatly moved the judges. It was easy to tell it was written from the heart and
so it is our pleasure to inform you that Professor Oak, Professor Ivy and
Professor Elm have accepted your extraordinary essay into the lucky ten. All
information on when and where you can pick up your prize is on the enclosed
sheet. Good luck in attending and hope to see you soon.
Melissa
Hobbs
Pokemon League Chancellor
I
leapt from my bed and whooped an almighty victory cry at the absurdly short and
impersonal letter, dancing and wagging my bum all over the place. I was in
shock, I was in ecstasy, I was outta here! Scotty
rounded the corner sliding in his schools socks and swinging through the door
with a puzzled expression.
“Gawd, Tez, at least take losing
with a PG rating,” he shook his head as I yipped again starting back to his
room.
“Read
it and weep!” I gloated, holding it out in outstretched hands as I sprung up
and down on my bed.
“What!”
he blurted, grasping the crinkled sheet it disbelief. “That’s so not fair! You’re gonna
have to tell mum and dad you’re leaving.”
“Come
on, you know they’ll let me, they probably can’t wait to get out of the house!
Less food to buy, less clothing, won’t have to run me into town,” I stopped
rattling of reasons for a second. Only the recoil of the bedsprings moved me up
and down.
My
parents were your average, ‘have you done this or that’ parents, sometimes
irrational in their parent logic, but for most part loving and concerned for
me. My mother was more peevish, wishing I was more girly but dad would be
rooting all the way.
“You
think?”
That
night I lay in bed pondering the afternoon’s episode. I had been subtle and
carefully resealed the envelope leaving it under our dining room table as if it
had slipped in my excitement and not noticed, just to see their reactions to
it.
Well,
it wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured it.
I
was lying on the couch within view when Mum spotted it. Her cheery humming went
into a quizzical silence as she stared at the envelope. She glanced over at me
but my gaze was fixed firmly on those dumb Ash Ketchum cartoons.
Sure,
he was top of the League, but there was no way his journey could have been that
corny. Every episode was the bloody same. Help! Save me! Save my Pokemon! Oh no
Team Rocket! And of course the Coup-de-grass, or whatever, Thundershock
Pikachu!
Blah,
but that was not my problem…
Using
my blurry peripheral vision I tried to figure out what she was thinking.
“Neil,”
she called. I don’t know how she did it, but it was perfectly casual and had I
not known I would have been none the wiser. She strolled nonchalantly to the
door, discreetly hiding the envelope behind her leg as she moved and leaned
out. “Neil!”
Dad
ambled from his tool shed; he was always working on whatnot. I’ve always been
very close to my dad, I’m pretty tomboyish I guess.
Dad
was in view of the envelope, having seen it many times before and the two
quietly edged behind me, still watching the Pikachu
as if indifferent. The slitting of the tab was hidden behind its loud ‘”Chaaaa!’ as it loosed its customary thundershock
to end the episode.
“Um,
Topaz,” my dad said. I swivelled around and I could read in my mother’s
disappointed expression behind her dark eyes. Forcing down my own
disappointment at her disappointment I stared with my usually weary expression
after a school day but my father was on cloud nine. He held up the powder blue
stationary by its corner between his middle and index finger. He grinned
toothily with pride.
We
argued-
Well
argued isn’t the right word, more like debated the pros and cons of my journey,
mum submitting more cons and dad and I forwarding the pro’s but as much as she
didn’t like the idea of me leaving they agreed it was the opportunity of a
lifetime. Their only concession was that while on the road I still had to do my
school studies via correspondence. Of course, I would have agreed to anything
short of assassination to go on this journey, but that was becoming more and
more popular these days so I wouldn’t be left like a shag on a rock if I had trouble with a maths class.
One of my few talents is memorising
completely useless bits of information in a short period of time, like the Pokerap. I had that down pat within a day or two and I used
that skill that night to know the sheet by heart by the time the lights went
out.
The information sheets said that I would be
picking up my prize at a small ceremony a fortnight from now. Johto was this years League, and we’d be flown to Newbark town where it would take place.
I considered this choice.
The year before it was the Janera League and
the one before that was Tintia. Johto was, in a word, alright. Alright terrain differences,
official trainer routes pretty well kept and alright Pokemon. They said their
Elite Four was tricky, but I’d burn that bridge when I came to it… or whatever.
I would have to go through various
pre-journey classes that ranged from food rationing, to battle etiquette to
caring for your Pokemon. Each was essential to the skills in the outside world,
but I was confident I’d fly through them considering the many camping
experiences under my belt. Believe me, some of them were pretty horrendous when
your dad sometimes forgot flammable and inflammable meant the same thing.
My thoughts lingered on the word prize. It
was everything the beginner trainer could beg for, it was the perks of ‘an
Official Trainer.’ Other kids who began just with a Pokemon given by
their parents or found their own simply had to fund their initial pack themselves.
It was all the help the League would give us. Mind you, it was nothing to sneer
at, not by a long shot.
Twenty Pokeballs,
ten Greatballs, 2 Ultraballs,
an elusive Masterball that would be available to us
only when we had earned a certain badge –a Masterball
in the hands of a rookie is something to worry about. A state of the art Pokedex was also available, then
there was cell phone, collapsible bike, potions, revives, antidotes, maps and a
voucher for free registration in the Johto League.
Sure, the pack was absolute legend but that
was not the thing longed for most. A Pokemon. The idea of someone who will
stick with you no matter what, and all that nostalgic stuff.
I
had the choice of ten different Pokemon from this year’s Professors. The two
grass types, Bulbasaur and Chikorita,
a fire duo Charmander and Cyndaquil,
Totodile and Squirtle the
water Pokemon, the thundering dynamos Mareep and Pichu or the baby Pokemon Cleffa
and Igglybuff.
"Which
one," I mused to myself as my eyelids began to close. Each had its
strengths and weaknesses, each had its likes and dislikes, each would have
valid opinions and feelings that I had to be in tune with. Which one?
See,
I did do some study!
At
one point I was even interviewed on T.V, being the first Metonian
in seven years to embody the spirit of her wide brown land. I stuttered and
tripped my way through it, knowing I was probably looking like a country hick,
but believe me, you could make far more sense out of my dribble than anyone
could out of Professor Ironbark who had gestured wildly and slurred. No one had
a clue although it may possibly have involved starter Pokemon and gumboots.
The
City did that to a bloke. He was the
only Professor to have their lab in a major city.
On
my other side was Metone’s other leading professor,
Professor Tanya Mangrove. She didn’t like me one bit, but I wouldn’t be alone.
She glared at the interviewer, the audience, even the cameraman who hid behind
his camera successfully but even through the thick lens her penetrating stare
seemed to lose none of its disgust. It was a good thing she lived on the other
side of Metone.
Most
of the time however I spent with my friends and family, who knew when I would
see them again? I think Jarrod was just about ready to strangle me as the last
week ticked away but it didn’t stop my eager questions. Mum was giving me doom
and gloom incessantly and every night dad would give advice, the good, the bad
and the ugly of training. What Gym battles were like and how to deal with cocky
trainers.
“Womp their
arse!” he exclaimed
excitedly, slamming his fist on the kitchen bench as I leaned over it.
Scotty
still sulked occasionally, but he had at least given up on trying to convince
me to let him go in my place. Yeah right! Jess actually considered following me
on the journey, but when Jazz said that a large part of it was being hungry,
she cast a sidelong look at Vaporeon and scoffed at
the idea of journeying all together. Jess and hungry rarely mixed.
But
right then, I sat with Jarrod on the bench at Settler’s Park, the scuffed up
rectangle supposed to be a soccer field was regularly transformed into a battle
field. It was where Jazz, Jess and I spent a good deal of our time.
“Kay,”
I said, staring speculatively at the trainer on the left, a boy of about
sixteen and matted green hair, obviously from out of town, maybe even a
foreigner judging his fair skin. Trainers rarely came through Kyeema, because it wasn’t on the official trainer route but
it was cut off by the Acubra forest and the Kinta river system. Either way he leaned to one side
grinning arrogantly as he sent a blubbery, bubbly white Pokemon, with a horn on
its head and flippers.
“Wassat?”
Jazz
without turning away from that battle muttered patiently, “Seel, from the Kanto
Region.”
“That’s
a Seel? You said they were round little blue balls.”
“No,
that’s Spheal, from Hoenn.”
The challenging trainer was a local, Trev of equal age but a good deal bulkier and I had a fair
idea why he didn’t want to Journey.
He
was busy talking up his Cheeron, a small local
Pokemon with cocoa brown fur, large cupped ears twisting anxiously and black
and white bands down its slightly hunched back. Its bristly, well muscled tail
that
seemed to big for it
swished back and forth, usually used to support them as they swung upside down
from trees as it listened, smiling placidly, its small blunt nose twitching at
the scent of its opponent. It was just a normal type and a bit of a pest when
the mulberry bush down the back was in fruit, so I didn’t really think it had a
chance against the outsider’s Pokemon.
“Okay,
I’m going for the Seel,” I said finally, listening vaguely to the usual banter
shared by trainers trying to intimidate each other.
Jess
rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through her playing cards.
Jazz
smirked, “Good, cos I’m going for Cheeron.”
I
blinked quizzically but focused on the match, suddenly begun. Cheeron waddled forward, head turning left and right as the
Seel humped its way to meet him. I sighed, resting my elbow on my knee and
looking over my shoulder to where everyone else was playing on the slippery
slide. This was gonna take a while.
Noticing
my boredom, Jazz grinned. “Don’t worry, it’ll start soon enough.”
He
was correct, barely past the first quarter the Seel fired a sparkling ray,
glittery with ice crystals from the top of its horn. Aurorabeam
I guessed and what a doozy! The Cheeron
uttered a shrill squeak, curling into a ball baring its bristling banded fur.
“Done
for!” I hissed to my mate.
“Nu-uh,
Defence Curl,” said he said knowingly. I didn’t see how, the rodent was
electrified inside a many-rayed star of white opaline light, droplets of ice
weighing down Cheeron’s long wiry whiskers exposed to
the outside. They trembled violently.
“Seel
Seel!” clapped the Seel, panting heavily, rolling its
blubber hurriedly to finish off the job with head bowed. Its opponent still remained
adamantly furled and like a circus trained Pokemon the Seel nudged it on to its
nose, batting it up and down between its tail and horn, hooting merrily. It
trainer whooped triumphantly while Trev looked
dismayed, shouting for it to Rest but the black and white ball bounced up and
down.
With
an extra loud honk the Seel flung Cheeron up into the
air very hard. This was it! The bet was mine!
Suddenly
in mid air the ball split apart with a spray of ice crystals. Its black beady
eyes glinted craftily, and while spinning Cheeron’s
plump bald tail swung down like a vengeful golf stick and struck Seel
senseless. It rolled clumsily across the ground and out for the count.
“How
did you know that!” I burst out, drawing the attention of both trainers while
the foreigner picked up his Pokemon, petting it soothingly before returning it
to its ball. He would now have to see Harry. Since Kyeema
was too small for a PokeCentre, Harry was the next
best thing with some of his bizarre potion concoctions and a rest, all for
free, the considerate old man. He also tended many of the wild Pokemon and I
had known him to give out Pokemon to beginners. I had tried to wheedle one out
of him but dad put a stop to it quick smart.
“Easy,”
Jazz grinned, standing up and glancing at his watch. He waved the others over,
indicating it was late and we were homeward bound.
“That
doesn’t answer the question,” I muttered sulkily. “How am I meant to be a
trainer if I can’t even judge whether a Pokemon win or not.”
Jazz
gave my shoulder a very quick, embarrassed squeeze and I looked at him as if he
had a pineapple growing out of his ear. Emotions and caring was not a
big part of our little group. In fact the display of anything other than that
hurt usually resulted in a thump on the shoulder and being dogpilled. Come to think of it, even that hurt could
do that.
“I
was joking, I didn’t know, I just took a guess. Trev
has been training that thing for three years, and it should have evolved into Arcon long ago. The kid just misjudged that. Don’t worry,
Pokemon is a thing you learn over time.” He bent down to scratch behind Jolteon’s ear who had trotted up with an infectious grin
only he and his trainer could pull off. “And it’s pretty hard to learn if you
don’t have one, ay Daunt?”
Daunt,
Jarrod’s Jolteon, yipped in affirmation, bounding
ahead with Matty’s Flareon
nipping at its heels.
“Notch
up another win to me, Scotty,” Jazz said over his shoulder to Scotty, tugging
on his thongs.
“Right,
7 to 12, this week,” he said happily. “See Topaz, you just don’t have the
knack, you really should let me go in your place!”
“Get
real!” I laughed. “Race yis home!”
Then,
on the night before I left mum and dad chucked a huge surprise party,
noting the sarcasm at the word surprise. Surprises are highly overrated and no
matter how careful they were, they couldn’t keep me from prying around corners
and shuffling through draws. When caught I’d only grin mareepishly.
With
mates from school it was a bonfire bash and even a couple of fireworks which
dad had gotten from somewhere or other. He managed to keep his head on his
shoulders, and knowing where his skills in cooking lay I had no idea how. The
small fires that had broken out were quickly extinguished and we all gazed up
into the night sky bursting with reds and yellows and greens like comet tails
drifting to earth.
After
a round of prezzies, most of which had practical uses, and somehow still receiving the same socks and soaps
and stationary I aaaaalllwaaysss got on my
birthday or at Christmas. Even so my face was plastered with an imperishable
grin that lasted long after the guests left and even as my eyes slowly shut.
"Beep-dibeep! Beep-dibeep!
Beep-dibeep! "
I
raised my head of my pillow to see the numbers 6:00 flashing in neon red lights
in the centre of a Snorlax’s paunch. It buzzed and
buzzed and buzzed as I stared at it dully.
"Bloody
hell," I muttered to myself, slapping the button grumpily. Even on such an exciting day I couldn’t be
morning person. Morning people always tend to be obnoxiously happy for the rest
of the day and nothing was gonna change me into one
of those. It is only on the rarest of occasions did I get up of my own
freewill before 8:30 and if so, it’s usually to watch cartoons.
As
I peeled back the covers, and rolled onto my feet I realised that my well-loved
cartoons would only be watched at a PokeCenter.
This
journey stuff it seemed did have its downsides.
Kneeling
in front of my full-length mirror I pulled my long raven blue hair into a ponyta tail with a Pokeball studded band and dragged on my
new Pokemon uniform. It was far from my practical tastes, but I felt that if I
wanted to be treated like a trainer, you had to look like a trainer, and that
meant eccentric.
The
top was a blue, swimsuit like shirt, slightly clingy with polished oval stones
on my shoulders and at my waist, where a wedge missing bearing skin ran from
about an inch below my sternum and along my ribs ending just below my belly
button. Below were baggy dark blue denim jeans and brown suspenders I let
dangle by my knees. On my hands were slate-blue fingerless gloves, with slender
gunmetal grey chains attached to elbow bands and my legs were white ruffled leg
warmers held in place with blue knee bands emblazoned with the Earth symbol. To
top it off were my comfortable red sneakers.
I
looked like a professional, or at least crazy enough not to be messed with.
But
something was missing
"Watch!"
I frowned as I searched my room for it. I tossed bits and pieces aside and
rummaged through the draws.
"Ahem,"
a voice coughed behind me I turned to see Scott dangling the watch, a tad sleepily.
"Heh heh," I chuckled
embarrassed as he glanced at the state of my room. "Left it in the
bathroom again?"
Scott
nodded, wandering in and making room on my bed to sit. He sighed enviously;
looking at the faithful swag I had packed about a week in advance in my
excitement. "Have you decided on what Pokemon you’re going to choose?"
"I've
narrowed it down to Totodile, Charmander
or Mareep," I answered, pulling the strap tight
around my wrist. I chewed my lip and looked around. I didn’t want to leave
anything behind because if I did it was over a continent away and I wouldn’t be
coming back for a long time.
"Time
to go Topaz," my mother’s voice rang from the lounge. I looked at the
comforts of my room, the recognition that I wouldn’t see my childhood toys and
photographs for a long time hit home. It was depressing and I hated being
depressed.
"Don't
worry, I'll clean it up." I screwed my face up, almost forgetting he was
there.
"More
like clean it out so you can have it," I joked. "I'll call you as
soon as I get my new Pokemon!"
"Topaz!"
"Coming
mum," I sighed as I tugged the massively overcrowded bag onto my back. I
stumbled and staggered until I got my balance, cringing at the thought that
this was going to be on my back almost 24/7. When stood upright I whispered
slyly. "I'll send ya a Pokemon as soon as you
get your license!" – Which could be anywhere from 1 to 6 years, I
added silently
“Wait!
I gotta say goodbye to dad!” I yelled along the
hallway, running out onto the back veranda and clearing the steps. I hurried
into dad’s shed, and under normal circumstances I would have been a little
apprehensive of some out of control power tool running amuck. Instead I burst
in. We had to travel into Yarabee, a two-hour drive
west and dad had work, so he wouldn’t be able to see me off.
“HEY!”
Dad jumped out from behind a cupboard with his welding mask tipped back,
startling me into crying out.
“Jeeze dad, don’t do that!” I breathed, huffing with
eyes wide. Just a little note, I hate loud noises, despise them. Finally
recovering from the scare I looked around his 
workbench cluttered with hammers. “Whatcha make’n dad?”
“A
wingwong for a goosey’s
bridle,” he chuckled, a little sadly. My nose wrinkled at one of his most common
maxims if ever I asked that precise question. I could never figure out what
that meant.
“No, really.”
His
eyes gleamed deviously. “This!” From behind his back he whipped out a small
elongated box, beautifully emblazoned with polished stones and gold fluting and
scrolled in gold were the words Inka Tninka Pitjikala.
“My
gawd dad!” I gasped, flipping the hinge. Inside it
was inlaid with pale blue satin over the top of what must have been foam
underlay. “Hey! It works!”
“Of
course it works,” he said indignantly, but still grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s for your badges you earn.”
“Thanks
heaps dad,” I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck with a strong hug.
“Heh, careful, don’t want to snap my neck, eh boxer? Quick,
get going or you’ll miss the plane. We’re already cutting it close. “
“Love
you heaps, see you!” I raced around the side of the house, bounding through the
open door of the care up beside mum. I could barely contain my excitement on
the way to Yarrabee, not that you could tell. I’ve
always been real quiet in car ride, maybe cause there always so long. Mum
hugged and kissed me as I stood before the plane, feeling awfully melancholy
but eventually boarded. I laughed aloud at her madly waving arms through the
port window.
The
propellers began to spin with a muffled chop-chip-chop-chip, rolling
down the runway and my mum was forced to stand back. She grew smaller and
smaller and as the plane lifted off the ground, vanished altogether. I leaned
back into the chair, my heart empty and my mind full.
I
remember little of the actual flight, snoozy part of the way, that is until the
little snot behind got the bright idea to kick the back of my chair to the
rhythm of the in-flight movie’s soundtrack. Finally it got too much and I leapt
to my feet to wring his scrawny little neck but his wide girthed mother
intervened with a dark glare. That’s justice for you people.
After trying, sleep was futile; the bloke
beside me snored like a rusty old train.
I read my trainers guide, or more likely,
read ‘through’ my guide, you know how you read but you don’t read stuff?
Usually school textbooks, but either way I mused the words of another of my
father’s maxims, now delicately carved into the box in my hand.
Inka tninka pitjikala.
The lines of an old song we
usually sung around the campfire on family trips and I hummed the chorus in my
head a little sadly.
Take your time
Take a look around
Cos
all the signs
Are on the ground
Serviper,
Doduo
Pikachu
And ancient man
Has been here too.
The lyrics lulled me into a melancholy state of mind. What it meant to between us
was that whatever happened, there have been people before me who have gone
through exactly the same thing and survived. There would be people after me who
would survive. It was comforting in the whole, I’m one insignificant ant of a
person in an infinite universe kinda way.
Okay, maybe not as comforting as dad intended.
So immersed was in that single thought that I finally looked up, we bumped
along the tiny runway of
Home ~ Authors Notes ~ Next Chapter
~ Write Reviews
~ Read Reviews ~
