#unknown hands

Silvia Grav. From the «Unknown hands» project. NYC. 2014

                                                      Chapter 2

                                                      Late Start

           I remember that morning like the back of my hand, despite all that’s happened to me over the years. The sun had already risen, and was hanging cheerfully overhead. My blinds were open just a little on the other side of the room, allowing the rays of the nearby star to shine through, dimly illuminating the contents. My alarm clock had been going off for a few minutes, but with my sleeping habits that I still hold to this very day, I couldn’t hear it for the life of me until another sound echoed through the house.

           My mother, having listened to the alarm clock from all the way downstairs, shouted up, “Jackson, get your ass up, you’re already late!” Her voice was full of impatience and anger, but it wasn’t going to last, thankfully. That tended to happen with her and I, brief moments of anger, little vents now and then. It kept us both sane, when I was with her. Being a single child with a single mother was certainly a trying effort, and with the amount of effort I had to put into my studies to even have my mom consider letting me go on my own adventure, both of our tempers were usually on quite a short fuse.

           Knowing that I had already made her a bit pissed in my sleep, I jumped up from my bed, my covers heaping up around me, ensnaring me in a cozy trap of the warm mattress comforter. Unfortunately, I had leaped from my resting position a little too quickly and violently, and found myself back-up on the floor. The alarm clock was still going off, and I groggily stood up, staring at it for a moment before gently turning it off. Still in my pajamas, I took a few moments of my time to undress and quickly dress myself again in more decent clothing. After slipping on my pair of dark blue jeans I had laid out the previous night. They didn’t fit me around the waist as I hoped. None of my pants did, but I couldn’t help that I had the metabolism of a Rapidash. I stepped over the piled up comforter and opened up my closet, and pulled out a brown leather belt. I didn’t hesitate to loop it through the straps on the hips of the pants, and tightened the belt so that the jeans were held snugly at my hip. After rummaging through several different t-shirts, I decided upon wearing a plain white color. Not because I didn’t have anything else better, but because I was going to wear my zip-up hoodie over it. I plucked said hoodie from the closet, not even bothering to unzip it before taking it from its hanger. This was perhaps one of my favorite hoodies just because of the way it looked. By no means was it the warmest thing I had, but it looked plain enough to be me. The torso of the jacket was a light grey color. The pockets and hood were all the same shade of grey, and by no means were there anywhere near 50 of them. The sleeves of the hoodie were a subtle shade of dandelion, complementing the dull tone of the torso. The hood, same color of the sleeves, quickly found its way over my head in an attempt to hide my terrible case of bed head. I slipped it on, and smiled, feeling the sleeves close around comfortably on my arms. When I attempted to zip it up, the zipper became stuck about half way, and I cursed silently, “Oh come on, dammit, work!” It took me a good five minutes to actually get it to zip up fully. Quickly plucking out a pair of hiking boots, I slipped my feet in and tied the laces up tightly, struggling to use my fine motor skills in my half-asleep state. In my hassle, I seemed to have a hard time remember what I was so concerned about in the first place.

           Glancing at the calendar on my wall, there was a certain day circled in red permanent marker. March eighteenth, my birthday. That day was the day I turned fourteen, the day I was supposed to receive my first Pokémon. My mother used to tell me, ever since I could walk; I had always been fascinated with Pokémon. “Alright, I’m finally fifteen! I can’t wait to pick from what Elm has!” Picking up my backpack that I had packed the night before with a first aid kit, a few pairs of clothes, and some canned food, I flew from my room without hesitation, leaning over the railing and shouting downstairs, “Hey mom! You know what happens today, right?”

My mother replied from the living room couch, taking a quick glance at me from the lamp-lit room with a soft sigh, “Sadly, yes. I hoped I would never see the day my little boy would leave the house, but you’re a big kid now Jackson and you have proven to me that you can take care of yourself out in the world, despite the fact that you need an Exploud to wake you up, you procrastinate on every piece of schoolwork ever given to you, you-”

Stopping her there with a soft smile, I looked down from the stairs and blushed a little bit, being able to laugh at my own flaws, “Yeah yeah Mom, I know, I know.”

Now, let’s take a brief moment to look at the wonderful parent my mother is. Being single, left alone by my father, she still managed to raise me on my own while holding down two jobs as a food sales manager for Shuckle Inc. Natural Foods, and also taught cooking classes as a professional chef. To add, the very fact that she was up early enough to see me out this early was something a good bit of mothers wouldn’t do for their kids. She was always there to support me when I needed it the most, and she was, and still is, somebody I can truly count on.

           “C’mon’ mom, when does nature have an alarm clock? What am I going to be late for when I’m out on the routes?” I casually slid down the railing of the stairs, something my mom had told me numerous times not to do, but that didn’t matter much to me at that point. I was going to become a trainer after so many years of waiting, learning, practice, and patience.

           Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, she stood up slowly, still in her pajamas, holding a cup of freshly brewed coffee in her hand. The scent of the fine roast floated through my nostrils and perked me up a tad bit, making me want to have some as well.

Wandering over to the kitchen, I opened up the fridge to grab the gallon of milk. Despite the rush I was in, there was no way I was skipping breakfast! Quickly grabbing the container of fresh dairy, I got out a small, plastic bowl from the cupboard and a box of half-empty Swabl-O’s. It was my favorite too. I don’t know what it was about the picture of the shiny Swablu happily eating the vanilla-frosted ‘O’ shaped cereal bits that made me so fond of the product. Along with pouring a glass of milk, I also made sure to take my ADHD medication, one 56mg tablet of Concerta. I slipped the bottle of the medication into the right side pocket of my backpack, at least two months’ worth of medication for the road.

From the living room, a soft, tired coo piped up, along with the ruffling of feathers. Grinning to myself in amusement, I craned my head around to see Maris, my mother’s Hawlucha, slowly lift herself from her own slumber. One of the few times of the day that Pokémon wasn’t concerned about fighting, screaming, or proving her worth was in the morning. “Luchaaa...” the bird quietly stated, gracefully hopping down from the couch. The avian wrestler shuffled her way into the kitchen, wrapped up in her own arms like a blanket.

Stepping out of her way, I said, “Heh, tired?”

The Pokémon gently nudged my knee. Confused at first, I got out of her way once more. “Luuu…” She lazily hauled herself up on top of the counter and set her eyes on the pot of coffee. One thing that had always confused me is why a luchador bird would need coffee, but I found it best not to question it.

My first thought was to get right to the lab, get my Pokémon, and hit the road, but she approached me slowly and stopped me from dashing into the open world blindly without a single care in the world. “Before you leave,” she leaded, “I have something for you. It’s a very special something from your grandfather, and I want you to have it, you know, as something to remind you of your sweet old mommy.” Mom walked away from me and waltzed over to the hall closet, rummaging around inside of it for a while. I waited patiently, folded my arms, and tapped my foot on the ground.

           As she was going through the rather disorganized closet, the TV, tuned to the Johto National News station, had happened to catch my wandering attention when something rather unusual had come on the screen. The topic itself wasn’t that odd, as the news station was still covering the recent topic of controversy, which happened to be whether or not a bill should be passed to lower the legal age somebody can get their Pokémon Trainer card at from ten to thirteen. The station was doing a live report over by Violet City, and the reporter was pestering some poor man touring the Ruins of Alph, an ancient archeological site that’s famous for its many mysteries.

As usual, the name of the person being interviewed was displayed at the bottom of the screen, along with the topic scrolling across the bottom of the name. This interesting individual’s name was Plarius, and he didn’t appear to be too happy with the reporter. His light blue hair shined brightly in the bare sunlight of the ruins, the wavy nature of it flowing in the light winds that blew through the ancient grounds. The very shape of his head was thin and skeleton-like, sporting a similarly light blue soul patch on his chin, and the intimidating presence of Plarius wasn’t helped by the black hooded robe he donned. Glaring at the reporter with an icy stare, he stared down at the reporter and waited to be questioned.

            “So, sir, what is your view on the bill being proposed? Do you think that the age of a trainer should dictate when he or she can get their Trainer Card?” the interviewer asked, almost robotically, trying to invoke some kind of emotion.

           Shaking his head with an interested frown on his face, Plarius responded with a bold yet subtle tone, “I have my own agenda to attend to. What the youth do is nothing of my concern.” Plarius paused for a moment, keeping his cold gaze locked on the reporter’s eyes. He continued, “As long as these children do not interfere with my work, I’m not interested.” Without another word, the tall, pale individual walked off screen, leaving the reporter speechless. She obviously expected anything but a response in that manner, not on one side nor the other.

           After a pause of disbelief and partial shock, the reporter stammered, “Well you heard from the people! Alright Isiah, back to you!” The News cut back to the set located in their studio in Goldenrod City, and my attention faded from the news.

           “Jeeze… Who the heck does their hair like that?” I thought to myself, mouthing the words out of habit as I reconciled about the man’s poor choice in hair dye. “Hey everyone, let’s play ‘spot the protagonist!’” I chuckled to myself at the very thought of that kind of game. It kinda sounded like a bad Unovian game show, actually… Something that I would probably watch. Yes, something that I would definitely watch.

When my mom finally made her way back to me, she had a wry grin on her face and her arms were behind her back.  

           “Hey, uh… Whatcha got there mom?” I questioned, trying to figure out what this mystery gift was, even trying to lean around her to get a peek at whatever she was holding.

           “Well, I know you’re going to need something to keep the sun off of you, and I know you do like have a few hats lying around, but you can’t take them all, right?” My mother responded with a hint of foreshadowing in her voice. From behind her back she pulled out a fedora. This one was grey with an elaborate stripe design for the band that went around it. She placed it on my head and it fit, but not by much. “It’s a little big,” she said with a giggle, “but it will do.”

           “Is this thing why Papa was saying you were adopted? Because I can’t think of anyone who would want to talk to, let alone have a relationship with anyone wearing this kind of hat.” I laughed a bit, quickly getting used to the hat’s light weight upon my noggin. “Okay… It’s not THAT bad…”

           Maris snickered from the kitchen, drinking the coffee right from the pot. I gave the ‘Mon an unamused glare, so she kept her concealed laughs to herself.

She gave me a frown and bopped the hat so that it covered my eyes, and I quickly reached to put it back in place after a grunt of disapproval. She chuckled and started to head back to the couch, “Now go and get your Pokémon from Professor Elm…” And as I was about to leave the house, she stopped me with a rather loud hum of doubt. “I feel like I’m forgetting something though.” I waited impatiently once more, not wanting to interrupt her thought in fear of getting a lecture and being delayed further. After a minute, she snapped her fingers and chuckled softly, “Right, how could I forget? You need to call me!”

           “Oh no…” I murmured silently in my head. I had my own cell phone once, a little pathetic flip-phone. I once missed eight calls from mom when I attended a Pokémon convention in Sinnoh…That was the end of that dinky little device, AND my freedom to leave her sight for a few weeks.

“So, I went ahead and picked you up one of these.”  She pulled her other hand back from behind her back, and inside of it was the PokéGear, the wrist-mounted, ‘all-in-one’ device for trainers. I didn’t really believe it myself at the time, but it had a phone on it that I could call my mom with, so if that made her happy, I guessed it would have had to do for me. After slipping it on under the sleeve of my hoodie, I looked up to my mom and gave her a warm, embracing hug. She hugged me as well, patting my back softly. “You’re my special boy, Jackson. Now go to Elm’s place, I heard he had a surprise for you.”