It has been TOO. LONG. Way too long. Anyways, this is the first addition of my new fic, Being Well. Because I'm an artsy junkie, the story will be spilt up into "parts," not chapters. There are 10 parts planned, not including this introduction/prologue piece (I KNOW, it's short. It's just there to set the playing space.)
Feedback is appreciated. I hope ya'll enjoy my take on these iconic characters from Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald. This is very different than anything I've ever written so let's just see what happens.
.....
Being Well
This is a story about being well.
…..
My mother and I are nothing alike.
My mother sits at home. My mother sits at home and pretends that she is living a life. My mother sits at home and pretends that she is living a life and does not long for more that what she has been given.
My mother thinks that television is both her best friend and her worst enemy. My mother’s affinity is religious. My mother tried gardening once but got heatstroke and had to see a doctor. My mother is too polite. My mother is not living but is not yet dead. My mother understands her worth and does not reach for more. My mother does not want more. My mother doesn’t believe that one has to move in order to move forward. My mother always shows her teeth when she is smiling. My mother and I have yet to see each other at the same time. My mother lives in a world with endless possibility yet chooses to live as though there is nothing beyond her four walls. My mother needs me to keep going. My mother needs the idea of me to keep going. My mother is not good at math.
My mother and I are nothing alike. My mother is not well.
I am well.
….
“I will always take care of you.”
Wally buried his face in my chest, his chartreuse hair tickling my bare chest. Every gust of wind that wrapped itself around our tangled bodies felt like nature manufacturing bona fide “movie moments” for us to play parts in. Verdanturf Town sat between the mountains and the plains; gushing air cleaner than it should be was plentiful and rich. It was perfect. It was the way things should be. Wally was the way things should be. He looked up at me with a sullen gaze, like a puppy who had been kicked too many times Wally was not someone who easily believed everything people offered.
“I love you, but you need to take care of this. She’s your mother, Brendan.” He proclaimed softly.
Wally was always right. It wasn’t always the best thing, but Wally was always right. Wally was always right but Wally always knew his limitations. He never pushed to be anything more than what he was because he was never well. Being well and being right do not always, and in fact, rarely go hand in hand.
“My mother hardly knows anything about me, anyways. Why should this be the thing that opens up years and years of unspoken words?”
“Because. Because if you do this, everything else will be a breeze.”
Damn, Wally was right. But he was not well.
….
This story is not going to be about my mother and I. This story is not going to be about the problems we faced in performing our own little “Mom and Son” performance pieces where we would pretend everything was well when things were, in fact, not well at all. This story is not going to be about Wally and I, and about how I got hurt and wasn’t doing very well but then I did what I had to do to get better. This story is not about how Wally was never well and never got better, but in fact got worse and worse until he wasn’t a person. This story is not about how we each faced problems and each approached them differently. This story is not about any of those things. This story is about what it really means to be well. This story is about moving forward, moving into new houses, and moving on. And this is a story about the differences between being right and being well.
This is a presentation; an exploration, if you will. This is my gift to you, dear friends. This is my search to find out what it truly means to be in tune with one's self, emotionally, physically, and mentally. This is me trying to find answers. This is me trying to find questions. This is also me being melodramatic, apparently, because I just read all that and now I feel like I'm clearly being too smart for my own good. Or too dumb. Someone help me.
The characters are as follows:
My mother, Caroline. Housewife of the year, lover of all things birch. I mean the wood, not the man. Though she did have an affair with him, but we’ll talk about that in, oh I don’t know, 3 parts.
My ex-boyfriend, Wally. Not the breadwinner, and boy was he annoying when we were younger. But he grew, like people do. I miss him.
Flappy; my Flygon. Original name, I know. I was 10, what did you expect?
Professor Birch, my mentor and academic advisor. I call him my academic advisor because it makes him seem important and I know that’s what he wants. Plus I still get paid for plugging his products, so that’s a thing.
Norman, my father. I should have more to say about him, and I do, but I can’t describe him in just a few sentences. A mess, he is.
May, my best friend (by default. Literally.) The ultimate flower child. Give a girl a pokémon with wings and you’ll never see her again. This is a fact, dear friends.
There are other people in the mix but due to time constraints I have to pretend like they didn't exist. I'll omit them and try to minimize their impact, but things tend to just seep into the mix and I kind of have to deal with them. So bear with me.
This is all a true story. This is how things happened. And this is about me, Brendan.
And this is about being well.
Feedback is appreciated. I hope ya'll enjoy my take on these iconic characters from Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald. This is very different than anything I've ever written so let's just see what happens.
.....
Being Well
This is a story about being well.
…..
My mother and I are nothing alike.
My mother sits at home. My mother sits at home and pretends that she is living a life. My mother sits at home and pretends that she is living a life and does not long for more that what she has been given.
My mother thinks that television is both her best friend and her worst enemy. My mother’s affinity is religious. My mother tried gardening once but got heatstroke and had to see a doctor. My mother is too polite. My mother is not living but is not yet dead. My mother understands her worth and does not reach for more. My mother does not want more. My mother doesn’t believe that one has to move in order to move forward. My mother always shows her teeth when she is smiling. My mother and I have yet to see each other at the same time. My mother lives in a world with endless possibility yet chooses to live as though there is nothing beyond her four walls. My mother needs me to keep going. My mother needs the idea of me to keep going. My mother is not good at math.
My mother and I are nothing alike. My mother is not well.
I am well.
….
“I will always take care of you.”
Wally buried his face in my chest, his chartreuse hair tickling my bare chest. Every gust of wind that wrapped itself around our tangled bodies felt like nature manufacturing bona fide “movie moments” for us to play parts in. Verdanturf Town sat between the mountains and the plains; gushing air cleaner than it should be was plentiful and rich. It was perfect. It was the way things should be. Wally was the way things should be. He looked up at me with a sullen gaze, like a puppy who had been kicked too many times Wally was not someone who easily believed everything people offered.
“I love you, but you need to take care of this. She’s your mother, Brendan.” He proclaimed softly.
Wally was always right. It wasn’t always the best thing, but Wally was always right. Wally was always right but Wally always knew his limitations. He never pushed to be anything more than what he was because he was never well. Being well and being right do not always, and in fact, rarely go hand in hand.
“My mother hardly knows anything about me, anyways. Why should this be the thing that opens up years and years of unspoken words?”
“Because. Because if you do this, everything else will be a breeze.”
Damn, Wally was right. But he was not well.
….
This story is not going to be about my mother and I. This story is not going to be about the problems we faced in performing our own little “Mom and Son” performance pieces where we would pretend everything was well when things were, in fact, not well at all. This story is not going to be about Wally and I, and about how I got hurt and wasn’t doing very well but then I did what I had to do to get better. This story is not about how Wally was never well and never got better, but in fact got worse and worse until he wasn’t a person. This story is not about how we each faced problems and each approached them differently. This story is not about any of those things. This story is about what it really means to be well. This story is about moving forward, moving into new houses, and moving on. And this is a story about the differences between being right and being well.
This is a presentation; an exploration, if you will. This is my gift to you, dear friends. This is my search to find out what it truly means to be in tune with one's self, emotionally, physically, and mentally. This is me trying to find answers. This is me trying to find questions. This is also me being melodramatic, apparently, because I just read all that and now I feel like I'm clearly being too smart for my own good. Or too dumb. Someone help me.
The characters are as follows:
My mother, Caroline. Housewife of the year, lover of all things birch. I mean the wood, not the man. Though she did have an affair with him, but we’ll talk about that in, oh I don’t know, 3 parts.
My ex-boyfriend, Wally. Not the breadwinner, and boy was he annoying when we were younger. But he grew, like people do. I miss him.
Flappy; my Flygon. Original name, I know. I was 10, what did you expect?
Professor Birch, my mentor and academic advisor. I call him my academic advisor because it makes him seem important and I know that’s what he wants. Plus I still get paid for plugging his products, so that’s a thing.
Norman, my father. I should have more to say about him, and I do, but I can’t describe him in just a few sentences. A mess, he is.
May, my best friend (by default. Literally.) The ultimate flower child. Give a girl a pokémon with wings and you’ll never see her again. This is a fact, dear friends.
There are other people in the mix but due to time constraints I have to pretend like they didn't exist. I'll omit them and try to minimize their impact, but things tend to just seep into the mix and I kind of have to deal with them. So bear with me.
This is all a true story. This is how things happened. And this is about me, Brendan.
And this is about being well.
