When something bad like this happens, I always turn to God and pray. My mother raised me to be religious, like her mother did her, and her mother before her.  But how could I have been compelled to pray this time? I didn’t understand how something like this could’ve happened.

I watched as they rolled my father’s lifeless body into the ambulance. They said it was a heart attack, something we couldn’t have seen coming. But they didn’t know if they could save him. I held my mother as she collapsed crying on our front porch, clutching my clothes as if they were his. The sight of the ambulance zooming through the night must’ve been too much for her to bear.

Hours later at the hospital, the surgeons said the same thing — that he was in surgery, and that they were unsure if they could save him. There again I witnessed the hardy outer shells of my mother collapsing. She hugged herself tightly, clutching her cardigan as if she’d already lost him. And though I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I knew what I had to do to help her. 

I held her hands in mine, urging her to look at me. “Mom…” 

A tear fell onto our hands. I tightened my grip.  “Mom, let’s pray.”

She didn’t say a word. The sounds of her cries echoed through the empty waiting room like a cacophony of silent wails. 

No one went to hospitals anymore. It was 2423. No one had the need to, but we didn’t have much money for preventive healthcare or equipment at home. Only people like us went.

 “Mom… let’s pray for dad…” I tried again. But she refused to say anything; she stayed sitting there with her head buried in her hands. “Mom…”

“How… how could this happen…” She finally muttered, momentarily looking up at me. Streaks of her tears had left their mark on her face. The light make up she so often wore had smudged itself in all the wrong places. “Luca… Don’t go…”

I tightened my grip again. “Mom, let’s pray.”

It was no use. She’d buried herself in her hands again, racking herself in the chair as she let out another agonizing cry. The mom I knew who was so strong, so determined to seek God in the face of every adversity, the very same one who named me after biblical characters, was no longer there. I didn’t know what to do. I gently rubbed my hand on her back, trying to soothe her anyway I could. 

A nurse came by the nurses station not long after. She saw how distressed my mom was and made a small smile my way. 

“Excuse me,” I said as I approached her. “Do you guys have a chapel around here?”

She gave me another sympathetic smile and nodded. “Yes we do. Down the hall, to the left there.” 

I placed my hand in hers. “Thank you.”

When I turned around, my mom was still in the same position. She’d crouched down to her knees and hid her face in her palms. Seeing her like that… It frustrated me. I don’t know. I just couldn’t stand doing nothing. 

“Come on mom, we’re going to pray.” I placed my arm around her waist and hoisted her up.

“What…” She dropped her whole weight on my arm. I almost had to drag her there.

“We’re not just gonna do nothing.” I grunted. “Dad needs us to pray. Dad needs us right now and I’m sorry but your crying isn’t gonna help.”

The moment we got to the chapel, she fell to her knees on the kneeler and propped herself in front of the cross. The shadow of Lord Chari’s body cast over her, especially his wings. “Lord Chari, please don’t take him. Please don’t take my husband.” 

She began to cry again, sobbing in between her words as her pleas grew louder. “Please spare him. Whatever my dear Luca has done in this life, please forgive him. Please! Please… He’s still Gira’s father… She still needs him. Please.. Please God.. please…” 

I hugged her. She shut her eyes harder and clasped her hands together tighter. I could see the whites of her knuckles forming. “Lord Chari please… help him through this… I can’t lose him, Father, please… Please!”

“Shh.. Mom.. it’s okay…” I began rubbing my hand on her back again.

“Please! Please! PLEASE!” She cried out. “Don’t take him! Don’t take him! Lord Chari, please don’t take him!”

“Mom…” I began to feel the tears running down my face too. 

The thought that my dad might die had finally crossed my mind. It took my mom wailing in front of God to make me realize that I might not have a father after this. She was still yelling. Begging for a miracle. She started banging the pew, still yelling out ‘please’ to the cross and the only thing I could do was rub her back. 

She fell back onto her seat not long after, tired from the anger. After a while of trying to read our bible — the Book of Moons, she stayed looking into the nothingness of the bottom of the cross instead. For two hours I stayed with her, gently rubbing her arm every now and then. We still had no news of my dad. The hospital they took him to wasn’t as advanced as the others — his surgery was still underway. He still had more hours to go, but at least he wasn’t dead. That was the most important thing.

I was rubbing my mom’s arm when my phone chimed. It was a text from Jamal, my research partner. 

Gira, can you come to the university now? Mendelsohn pushed up our deadline to tomorrow and we need to get this done asap. I’ll meet you at the Valet library. 

I dropped my phone to the pew. Shit. My research paper. I’d spent so many weeks doing that and it was the last thing I needed to complete before graduation next month. My chest tightened at the thought of it alone. What should I do? What should I do? God…

I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t have anything else go wrong in my life, so I made a stupid decision.

Really? At 3 am? Ok, I’ll see you soon.

I looked at my mom. She fell asleep on my arm. The streaks were still visible on her face. She looked so peaceful, breathing in and out at a steady pace. I didn’t want to wake her, but I needed to go.

I removed my arm slowly from under her and wrote her a note explaining where I went. I just didn’t think before I left. I couldn’t be there for much longer anyway. I just couldn’t handle the silent waiting, the cluelessness. I needed to leave. 

The cold air of autumn woke me up for the first time in a long time as I left the hospital. It was like a breath of realization that I didn’t know I desperately needed. Taking the closest bus, I went to the university and raced up the stairs of Valet library when I got there.

Jamal was already buried in his books when I arrived. He held a magnifying glass to his eye and read 3 books at once. 

“Why don’t you turn more lights on in here?” I said as I walked to him.

He looked up from the books. “Tins! You made it! I can’t believe you actually did it.” He chuckled. “Mendelsohn’s a bitch huh?”

Tins. Tina. Nobody calls me that anymore but him. 

I smiled. “Yeah.”

Jamal’s expression changed when I got close enough. He put down the magnifying glass a little harder than he should’ve when he got a look at me. “Tins uh- Gira. Are you okay? You um..”

My chest dropped. I knew what he was gonna say. That I was tired? Or looked like I just cried? Or appeared as if I had just comforted a hysterical mother perhaps. But I didn’t want to say it. 

“It’s my dad. He had a heart attack and my mom and I were in the hospital when you texted.” 

Jamal’s expression turned to utter shock. “Oh my god Tina.. Why didn’t you say anythi—”

“No, it’s okay.” I commanded him. “I came here to get my mind off of it and we need to get this paper done.”

I took a breath. “So this is how it’s gonna work.” I breathed out. “For these next few hours, we are not going to talk about my dad and we’re only gonna talk about our paper ok? Any topic outside of ‘Trends of the early 2000s’ is unacceptable and you will be cut off immediately, understood?”

I nodded unintentionally as if I was the one who needed to agree with what I’d just said, but so did Jamal.

“But Gira, you should really go be with your mom.” 

“No.” I announced. “I’m going to be here with you and we’re gonna get this done.

“Gira, your dad just had a heart attack, I don’t think you’re in any shape to do a research paper.” 

There’s that same sympathetic look that the nurse gave me. I despised it. “Nope, I’m gonna get this done and if you mutter another word about this, you’re gonna be cut off, Jamal.”

I could tell he was trying to read my expression, if I was okay or not, but I quickly gave him a slight glare that was enough to assure him that I was serious. 

“Okay.” He picked up his magnifying glass reluctantly. I could feel him feeling uneasy as I took a seat near him and opened up a book of my own. “You’re right, it’s 2423. A heart attack is nothing they can’t fix by now.”

I smiled at him weakly to comfort myself. He knew I didn’t want to talk about it and didn’t push on. The nice thing about Jamal is that he doesn’t hover. 

He placed a book down in front of me. “Here, start with this one first. It’s an album filled with stuff my dad got on his latest trip.”

Jamal’s dad — I almost forgot about him. The famous James Davidson, the best archaeologist of our generation. He’s dropped by the university a bunch of times to share his work, but nothing beats the perk of working with his son. Classified information, locked up artefacts, diary recordings. He’d give me access to everything.

“Oh but don’t open the seals! It’s priceless evidence.” He began to flip through the pages. “There’s pictures there, fabric pieces, and a bunch of other things. Go ahead, look.”

“Wait wait wait stop.” I motioned to him. Something quickly caught my eye — someone familiar. 

I began flipping the pages myself, trying to find what I just saw. Page by page I looked, searched for the familiarity of the image. 

And there it was — the picture on a card.

 I recognized the orange outline of the figure, the blueness of its wings. I knew who he was immediately. “Lord Chari…”

Jamal perked up immediately. Being the atheist that he is, I didn’t know if he had any idea what I just said. “Chari? Isn’t that your God?” 

I studied the card. ‘120 HP.’ ‘Fire Spin.’ The writings didn’t make sense to me. “What…?”

Jamal began flipping the pages again. “I think I saw more of those cards here.”

He began pulling out every single card that looked similar to the one I was holding, putting them in a pile.

I quickly spread out the cards and looked at every single one. “What is this? What the hell?”

One had my name on it. It was purple, pictured with an entity wearing a yellow armor of sorts. Another had my dad’s name on it — silver with a blue rabbit-looking creature on it. 

Jamal looked at me in confusion. “Giratina. Lucario. That’s your and your dad’s names.” 

He took a card in his hands too. “You guys were named after biblical people right? Why are there characters here with your names on these cards?”

I couldn’t register what was going on. What was happening. I stared at Lord Chari’s card in my hands. Every time something bad happened in my life, I prayed to him, asking for answers. And he always gave them to me at some point or another. I recognized his full name on the card — Charizard. Lord Charizard. But I didn’t understand the rest of it.

Grabbing more cards in my hands, I noticed that all of them had the same writing on top. Lord Chari’s, mine, dad’s, every single one of them had the same writing. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Jamal…” I turned to him, prompting him to look at me. “What the hell is a pokemon?!”