I'm a Pokemon Trainer :: Prologue

 

 It was nearing midnight, local Paldean time, as I boarded the last train out for that night. Having spent the last few months traveling around the region, attending the various events the local Pokemon training school had set up. But somehow, someway as these new adventures into unfamiliar regions tend to go, I got caught up in another huge mess that involved Pokemon from the past and future, along with a whole lot of family drama(not mine) that I am definitely not ready to delve into right now.

What I can dive into right now is who I am, my backstory, and the whole reason I’m even writing this journal thing to begin with. So, let me first introduce myself: My name is Richard, but I just go by Rick more often than not. I’m a trainer from Pallet Town, having unofficially begun my journey as a registered Pokemon Trainer on Christmas Day in 1998. And I say unofficially because it was December, well past the previous registration period and way before the springtime applications opened up. The southern reaches of Kanto had been experiencing a cold snap that year, and on the morning of December 23rd, we got one heck of a nasty ice storm that lasted straight through to Christmas morning, so no actual adventuring was going to take place outside of my video games in the comfort of my bedroom.

Of course, that didn’t keep Santa and his herd of mysterious Flying-type Stantlers away.

I guess I should introduce my companion Pokemon as well. His name is Jen, and he’s a Lycanroc of the midday variety. We’ve been together since day one and have been inseparable ever since.

“Oh but Rick, that doesn’t sound right,” you’re probably thinking to yourself right about now. “A Lycanroc, in the Kanto region? Doesn’t the professor there—“ 

And that’s where I usually stop people. Yes, Professor Oak always hatches a bunch of Charmander, Bulbasaur, and Squirtles for new trainers for the fresh springtime batch of new trainers beginning their Pokemon careers, whether they go on to be League Champions, breeders, or one of the myriad of other professions one can achieve with an official trainer card.

But remember, this was early winter, during the busiest holiday of the year, and a surprise Christmas present that not even my parents—who had gone through the trouble of putting the whole thing together in the span of a week or so I’m told—hadn’t even planned on. 

As I previously mentioned, Christmas Day 1998 was the “unofficial” beginning of my Pokemon adventure. Something that my parents love to talk about every year, given the suddenness of the whole ordeal.

Every family has those holiday stories, I’m sure.

After I’d spent the summer and a good portion of the autumn season begging and pleading for them to let me register as a Pokemon trainer(which they refused. Too dangerous, they said), I eventually relented and just kind of went with the flow as kids tended to do. We didn’t dwell on things like we do now as adults. Fall and scrape a knee? Bellyache about it for five minutes and then you’re off to the Rapidash races once more. Suffer that same injury in your thirties, and you’re going to feel it for a good three weeks at minimum.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Well, according to my parents, the decision to register me with the Pokemon League came just a week before Christmas, well outside of the open application period. But because of a chance encounter with Professor Oak on his way back from the Alola region for vacation, they’d been able to secure me an “early registration slot”, which honestly, now thinking about it: As real as the hand-written Christmas card from the Prof was, I don’t think there was anything actually officially done in regards to getting my name on the list until actual registration opened up that following March.

But as an eleven-year-old kid? That card literally promised me the world and all the Pokemon I could catch.

According to his lore, Jen’s egg was one of the many souvenirs that Oak brought back with him from Alola. A Rockruff “egg on the verge of hatching in the coming weeks, possibly sooner if one were to care for it,” they’d quoted him saying as they took the warm, gently rocking egg.

Christmas morning came, and the ice storm outside was finally dying down. My siblings and I raced to the Christmas tree, nearly tripping and knocking it over in the process. The Staryu-shaped tree topper came loose and toppled down somewhere, but the excitement of the morning and all of the gifts meant it’d wait for later.

There had been two large boxes sitting on my side of the tree, plus several smaller ones of different shapes and sizes. The Unova-made Tyranizilla film on VHS, some music CDs and a couple video games all had been unwrapped. I always tended to gear toward opening the smaller gifts first and leaving the big ones for the end.

The way the two boxes had been placed, it had been intended for me to open the egg first. The feel of the container beneath immediately made me raise an eyebrow as it felt, honestly, like a flimsy birdcage at first. To my surprise, that’s exactly what it was. 

Heck, it was the old birdcage from when my family had caught a runaway Pidgey a few years before(We located the original trainer and returned it to them!). 

Now that I really think on it, it was getting to care for the Pidgey those few days that sparked my interest in Pokemon beyond the companionship they offered around the house.

Inside the cage was an incubator, and inside that was a small egg. Taped to the class dome was the Christmas card from Professor Oak himself, inviting me to come to the lab in the spring to sign up for my Pokemon adventure.

I was shaking, so excited that I was on the verge of throwing up! I couldn’t believe it, I was finally going to get to be a Pokemon trainer. I jumped up and hugged both my parents, saying that it was the best Christmas ever. Which again, in hindsight, it kind of was considering everything that has happened as a result.

I distinctly remember asking them what kind of Pokemon was in the egg, but they didn’t know or had forgotten to ask, one. But as luck had it, we weren’t going to be waiting long.

First, we heard a cry that none of us were familiar with. Sort of like a little “Bow-bow!” sound, like the bark of a Growlithe or Mightyena, but way smaller.

The cracking sound of the thick eggshell followed that. Shards of shell smacked against the dome of the incubator as the tiny Pokemon within forced itself into the world. With haste, I took the incubator out of the cage, the bottom of the machine warm to the touch, and placed it on the floor in front of me. Removing the dome, the egg was free to pick up. My family had gathered around, and the rest of Christmas was suddenly unimportant as everyone was curious as to what was inside.

The first tuft of brown-grey fur poked through the seams in the shell, followed by a tiny brown leg as it kicked through the bottom part of the ovum prison. Then a second, a third, and finally a fourth! The egg was practically standing up on four legs at this point and would have made for a hilarious picture had anyone thought to grab a camera.

A fifth hole burst from the back of the egg, and out popped a tail! A rather fluffy one at that! “Is it a Poochyena…?” I remember asking, not aware of too many canid Pokemon of this size(of course, with thousands upon thousands of Pokemon in the world, it was only natural)

The rest of the eggshell finally gave way as some unknown force pulled the shell apart, revealing the small puppy Pokemon within.

It was a Rockruff, a Pokemon native to the Alola region. A tiny little boy with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen and one overgrown canine, which he still has to this very day.

The very first thing we did together occurred seconds later, as I asked the newborn Pokemon if he’d like to help open the final gift with my name on it. He didn’t really understand, though, so I guided him. Tearing off a shred of paper and letting him hold it between his teeth. He pulled, playing a short-lived game of tug of war with the wrapped box. Inside were a bunch of necessary items for my coming adventure, like potions, antidotes, and even a few spare Pokeballs.

A Christmas for the history books if there ever was one…

The rest is fairly easy to guess, as I’m sure you reading this are, too, a Pokemon trainer and have gone through the motions of registering. 

We (my nephew and I), along with several other kids and some adults too, all showed up at Professor Oak’s lab that following spring, ready to begin our adventures. He took us in one by one, sitting us down at a big computer in the main room, and had us register our names, birthdates, and all that stuff. When that was done, one of his Aids would appear from the back room with a Pokedex that not only had all of our info on it but also our names and trainer numbers engraved on the inside of the door itself! 

Coolest thing ever. And while my nephew and the rest of the group had to take a few extra steps in picking their starting Pokemon, my Rockruff and I—whom I had since named Jen after one of my favorite Jim Henson film characters—dashed home to show the family what I got.

And to announce my departure date.

That all feels so long ago. I mean, it’s been over two decades now, so I guess it kind of was. Ol’ Jen and I have been through a lot together since then, and if I’ve learned anything about the time spent in each region I’ve visited thus far, then wherever I’m going next is likely going to present itself in a remarkable, unforgettable way as well.

Ah, but it’s getting kind of late, and I need some sleep, much like the wolf Pokemon that’s resting at my feet at this very moment.

Oh shoot, I forgot to mention why I’m even doing this, didn’t I? Well, long(er) story short, my adventures in this world of Pokemon have been nothing short of incredible, and so it’d be a crime if someone didn’t take the time to sit down and document it all.

Now whether one chooses to believe the tales I’m going to tell is a whole other story.

But, you know. You’ll just have to take my word for it, I guess.

G’night.