|
Marche walked a beeline from his house to Mewt’s, cutting through alleys and even someone’s yard. He walked back out onto the street and made his way to Mewt’s front door. He stood outside of it for a minute before rapping his knuckles across the mahogany. While he was waiting for someone to answer, he tucked his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, noticing the green doormat with the word ‘welcome’ written across it.
The door opened and Marche looked up to see Cid standing in a blue sweater and baggy blue jeans. Marche gave him a polite smile and took a half-step forward.
“Is Mewt home?”
Cid nodded. “Yeah, he’s upstairs . . . I didn’t know he was having friends over.”
“Oh, no . . .” Marche waved his hand out in front of him. “We didn’t have plans, I just want to talk to him.”
“Oh, well.” Cid moved to the side. “Go on up, he’s in his room.”
Marche thanked Cid, then walked inside Mewt’s familiar house.
After Marche got back to St. Ivalice, he and Mewt had started spending a lot more time together. They’d play together, read together, and every day after school, they’d head off to Mewt’s house to do their homework together. Marche had spent so much time with Mewt that he even noticed his personality changes. Before, Mewt was a quiet, introverted boy . . . but Marche had watched him go from that to someone who often spoke his mind and was so well spoken that the bullies didn’t bother him anymore.
“Marche.” Cid’s voice came from behind him. “I have to get to work. Tell Mewt I said goodbye.”
“Okay.”
The door clicked shut, and Marche couldn’t help but think how much he liked Mewt’s dad as a person. He was just a good guy. He also had changed after coming back from his stint as Judgemaster. He got a respectable job as a business manager and was now making a decent living, pulling enough money now to live more then comfortably.
Thinking about that, Marche walked upstairs and around a corner to look down the short hallway to see Mewt standing in his room with his door open, pulling on a white tee shirt. Marche looked away out of politeness, but not before noticing how thin his friend was--so thin that his shoulder blades were visible. Marche had always known that he was always scrawny but had never seen it so blatantly.
No wonder he was a prince.
“Marche?”
Looking up, Marche saw Mewt looking at him from his room, puzzlement on his face.
“Hi, Mewt . . . uh, your dad let me in and told me to tell you he went to work.”
Mewt nodded. “Oh, ok.” He smiled and then went about finding his sweater, “So, what’s new?”
Marche walked to the door of Mewt’s room and leaned against the frame. He looked around at the off-white walls, the navy-blue carpet, and the clean decor of dresser and unmade bed. There were no toys or games or any other hallmarks of childhood in the room. Marche knew Mewt well enough now to know that he wasn’t into stuff like that. Mewt was more into reading, fantasy, and science, and the occasional philosophy. He had a plethora of books to prove it, but he said most were in the attic now.
Marche sighed. “Mewt, I have a question to ask you.”
Mewt looked up from shuffling through one of his drawers. “What?”
“It’s a question I’ve had for a while now . . . but, I’ve hesitated to ask because you and I were becoming such good friends.”
After a deep breath, Marche walked to in front of Mewt and looked down at his stomach as he asked.
“Do you hate me? Mewt, do you hate me for bringing us back to the real world?”
Mewt’s cool blue eyes curved into concern. “Marche . . . I don’t hate you. You did what you had to.”
“That’s what my brother said.” Marche sighed and went to sit on Mewt’s bed.
“What brought this up?”
“I had a dream last night.” Marche’s hands went up to run through his hair. “I . . . it was about Ivalice. So when I woke up, I thought of what we had there. I talked to Doned about it and he said basically what you’re saying. But . . .”
“But what?”
“I just feel bad, that’s all. You were a prince, Mewt. A Royal Family member who could have anything you wanted handed to you on a silver platter.”
“Yeah, I guess . . .”
Marche continued, cutting Mewt off. “You even had a mother! You had something usually irreplaceably priceless given to you.”
“Marche, stop it. None of what happened there was real. The land wasn’t real, the people weren’t real, none of it.”
“But, if it looked real, sounded real and felt real . . . then what’s to say it wasn’t? Isn’t reality simply a matter of perception?”
A look of anger came over Mewt’s face, but soon shifted into a small grin.
“I suppose,” he said. “Marche, why does it sound like you want to make me hate you?”
“I . . .” Marche slumped, dropping his head and putting his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to. I just want to understand, that’s all. Because . . . because if I were you, I wouldn’t forgive me.”
Both boys were silent for a while, Marche sitting on the edge of Mewt’s bed and Mewt standing in front of him. A wind picked up outside and rattled the windows in the room, snow gusting around outside.
Marche finally stood up after twenty minutes ticked by. “Sorry for bothering you so early, Mewt,” he said and headed for the door, “I’ll see you around.”
“Marche, you know that you don’t have to leave.”
“I know . . . but I have things I have to do, sorry.”
Mewt furrowed his brow as he watched Marche leave, then sighed heavily, unsure what to do next. Should he go after Marche? Or stay here and let him confront him own demons? Mewt thought about it and quickly came to the conclusion that Marche wouldn’t like him asking too much about his thoughts and dreams. But Mewt still wanted to help--seeing his best friend in such a state of depression also made him depressed.
Maybe I’ll talk to Doned. He thought, and turned on his heel to find his gloves.
|