Stop Clapping (Pokemon X and Y)

The air is warm and wet, alive with the smell of bread like I’ve never smelled before. The breeze is even warm. I snuggle up against his shoulder. I love this feeling: the sun shining down on us, his warmth beneath me, this language so much like one I’m used to, but different, chattering around us. People are everywhere talking and laughing, celebrating. They stare at us, as they always do, but none says anything. We’re just tourists to them.  

Everywhere we go, in every house, I can see little altars, decorated with photographs and items. There’s food on them, and other things. Trinkets and scarves, like Pokemon might hold. Clothing and hats, pins and lockets. I don’t know what these little collections are for; even though this place is like the region south of ours, even thought he language is the same, they do things so much differently.

I give him that look, the look that says, “ask,” and he gives me a little nod, his light hair shaking. He asks a little lady who looks like that friend of his friend what the altars are for, and she says they’re for paying respects to the dead. I can see an altar near her; it has a scarf, like a Pokemon would wear, and Mint Pokepuffs decorating it, with a photo of a Sigilyph like our friend.

Every fiber of my being, everything in me, wants to fly to that altar right now. I want to lay myself on it, and scream at them all to take it back.

But I can’t.

So I’ll have to do the best with what I’ve been given.

“Az,” I say, giving his hair a gentle little tug. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some of that cool bread.”

He startles a bit, and I wonder if he was thinking what I was. But even if he was, I can’t share with him. That’s not what he needs. He needs me to be grateful for the gift I’ve been given. That’s how I have to pay my respects.