The next day, on
the outskirts of town, a tall man was packing his sleeping bag and other
belongings. Tales was just about to leave when he heard someone call his
name. He turned warily around, but unwillingly put his guard down
when he saw the boy from the night before. He knew he shouldn’t have
been tricked into the false sense of security because he was so much like
her, but-oh, that was why he didn’t feel endangered. Because the
boy was like her.
“What are
you doing here, kid?” he growled. He picked up his backpack, putting
it on and turned to look in skepticism at the boy.
“I-I want
to come with you,” the boy reply quietly. Tales noticed the boy’s
backpack and sighed, crouching so they were looking straight at each other.
“Look, you’re
a good kid. You stood there in the face of death and asked exactly
who it was. That’s brave. But nothing-nothing can prepare you
for what I intend to do. It would be good for you to just go back
to you Emiko-“
“How do
you know her name?” the boy asked suspiciously.
“Never mind.”
Tales waved his hand dismissively. “My suggestion is to go back and
help her. You won’t be any help to me. I have to find someone.
And I don’t think you know her.”
“You don’t
understand!” the boy exclaimed. He looked down, surprised at his
outburst.
“What don’t
I understand?”
“You’re
my father.”
Tales was
shocked. He blinked several times, stared at the boy, opened his
mouth to say something, thought, closed it and opened it again. “I
don’t know who you think you are, or who you think I am, but…”
He stopped
himself and thought some more. He had a child, true, but he had been
so scared, so unsure of himself. He had run away before it was even
born. That had been too soon, though. That had been six years
ago, seven at the most. The boy was ten at least. And besides,
she probably would have gotten an abortion as soon as he left… But, then…it
could have been that long and he hadn’t realized it. It would explain
why the boy was so much like her…And the eyes. His eyes. He
noticed it again, having forgotten the night before. He was looking
at the boy again when he noticed them. No doubt, he saw those eyes
every time he looked into the mirror.
“What’s
your mother’s name?” he said finally as the boy stared expectantly at him.
“Naoko,”
the boy replied. “And I’m Vegeta. I know you never knew me,
but mom told me about you once. And I heard you talking to her on
the phone. I recognized your voice last night.”
Tales thought
about this. Her. It was her. This was proof. He
recalled the last time he had talked to Naoko, about six months ago.
Why he had called her, he didn’t know. He had simply picked up the
phone and dialed her number. She had picked it up. Said hello.
He said hello back. They exchanged “how are you”s, “what have you
been doing lately”s. She hadn’t mentioned Vegeta and they had sat
several minutes in silence before she apologized and said that her pot
of rice was boiling over; she had to go. They had said goodbye and
both for waited for a few seconds, waiting for the other to say the phrase;
to say “I love you,” but neither did and she hung up.
“How were
you sure it was me, though?” Tales asked, drawing himself out of the memory.
“How did you know it wasn’t just some other guy who sounded like me or
the phone screwing up my voice?”
“I have
a picture,” Vegeta replied. He took his backpack off, setting it
on the ground, and unzipped it. He dug through it for a moment, finally
producing a somewhat crumpled picture of a man-undoubtedly a younger Tales
and a woman with hip-length blonde hair, a tail and green eyes, which were
closed. His eyes, in turn, were also turned, and he held her close
to his chest. Tales recognized the two people immediately.
It was one of the few pictures of them, taken by a close friend.
“What happened
to her?” he asked.
Vegeta knew
what he meant. “She left four moths ago and left me with my aunt
and cousin. My aunt was killed by the Nefarians, but Emi and I escaped-thanks
to you.” He turned to look up at Tales, something he would later
learn was very uncommon.
“You have
no clue where she is?”
Vegeta shook
his head and Tales couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He smiled
at his son. “How old are you?”
“7 and a
half.”
“You look
10.”
“Yeah, well,
you look 20!” Vegeta retorted. He had obviously thought 17 was insulting
him.
“I’m 28.”
Vegeta looked
down, silent and Tales sighed, laughing. “Fine, you can come with
me.”
Vegeta’s
face brightened and a grin spread across it as he ran to catch up with
his father.
