â sheâs a liâl older. i held âer back âtill i knew she was ready.  â even then, heâs not sure heâs ready. this is her dream, and he loves her so much he aches, heâs so proud of her itâs like a stab to the gut, wants her to feel so free she forgets about everything holding her back, but heâs scared. he wonât be there if she gets hurt, if sheâs scared and alone, if she feels like giving up, if sheâs lost her wayâŠÂ he knows deep down that sheâll be just fine â sheâs marnie, after all, but sheâs still a little baby in his eyes. a little baby whoâs grown up so quickly heâs come to miss the sleepless nights and incessant crying. not the diapers, though. never the diapers.
   though the grudge still lingers, he thinks of his parents leaving as a good thing. he never had anyone to hold his hand while he crossed the street, or anyone to kiss his knees when heâd fall and scrape them. taking care of marnie was no small feat, mind you, but he did everything he could to make sure she knew she wasnât alone. he kept her well-fed and clean and made sure the roof over their heads stayed theirs, even if that meant heâd have to go without. skinny and tired as he may be now, it was all worth it in his eyes. his exhausted, arid eyes.
   he shouldnât feel so old in his twenties. sure, his thirties may be approaching faster than he could never imagine, but the fact of the matter is that heâs still young and he knows it. if so, why does he feel like heâs lived about ten lifetimes in one ? itâs almost like with everything thatâs happened to him, the piers that was before ceases to be, and a new one is hatched from the shell left behind. only, with each rebirthing of himself, heâs dragged further and further into the dirt until heâs reached the appropriate six feet under. a bit dramatic, makes for a good lyric or two, but his bones ache and his mind never settles. should a man as young as he really feel this way ?
   he stops himself before taking one of the few hits left from his cigarette, shoulders shaking just slightly with a soft chuckle. itâs corny, truly something awful, but it amuses him more than anything else has this entire night.  â donât worry â âer morpeko doubles as a night light.  â
   anxious as he may be, it comforts him greatly to know that she plans to keep morpeko by her side. memories tend to grow fuzzier and fuzzier with each passing year, but he still remembers the day he caught her partner with perfection. almost. it was a present for her fifth birthday, and even though he knew sheâd be startled, he also knew she needed a real friend. it warms his heart to see the two still get along like best friends, even after so many years. itâs like himself and his obstagoon, only, marnie doesnât risk having her bones broken by a large, overly-excited pokĂ©mon tackling her to the ground every time she lets morpeko out of her ball.
   he glances to kabu again, abusing the last dab of his cigarette as he inhales as much of the toxins as he can, lets it swirl in his lungs before releasing it and throws it into the grass. maybe heâd remember to pick it up later. maybe he wouldnât. he knows itâs just a compliment, knows he should just take it and run with it, but the grip of doubt is crushing. did he really teach her everything she needs to know ? if she faces defeat, how will she take it ? he would hate to have her come home to him crying â heâs not sure how well he can comfort her anymore. he lets out a noise, nothing above a tepid little hum to acknowledge his words. acknowledge, but not accept.
   he shifts, letting his back lean against the railing. he doesnât quite mind how the rain catches his hair in certain spots.  â aye, that i was.  â he gives an almost prideful smirk as he nods, crooked, tobacco-stained overbite peeking out just a touch.  â she gave me that smartass quiz durinâ my match. asked me how old she was. i said she looked like sheâd be dead aâ old age by noon. she was pissed. â a soft snicker accompanies his punctuation, arms crossing. he looks almost nostalgic.
I held her back until I knew she was ready. Knew she was. A car hydroplanes down below and jerks back into its lane. "But you aren't?"
Fill in the blanks. Connect the dots. In the interminable depths of Piers' mind, this, at least, is a certainty. Marnie is ready, and late-night stress smoking and trembling hands are the sole domain of her brother.
Kabu remembers thirty-five years ago, drowning in too much jacket. He stood squarely at an airport terminal as she lingered stuffy-nosed and eyes watery, squeezing him and scolding despite her squeaky knees --- a side effect of sleeping upright, inevitable when waiting for the boarding announcement. Call home, she told him. Stay safe. She was wearing tennis shoes that day. Smelled of firewood. Piers reminds him of this, a worried-sick mother, but doesn't say. He doesn't judge.
The rain comes down slightly heavier than before, splattering by their shoes. Piers' shoulders shake at his joke, and not because it was good.
"So you say," Kabu starts. He rubs at his eye like an old man, and his mouth tugs. "I don't think morpekos glow."
He knows they don't. Not that it matters. The man has finally finished the last of his cigarette, flicking it to the grass and leaning backwards against the railing. Even now, Piers is doing it: keeping his worries close to his chest as though any confession would be his ultimate downfall. Instead, he hums. Neither admission nor denial. But it tells Kabu something else: he doesn't believe him.
The man smirks. He has a wide tooth gap and tobacco stains, and Kabu shakes his head, traitorously amused.
"Best not to get on Opal's bad side. She asked the same question when I was your age," he admits, now turning his back to the railing, too. Kabu looks through the glass double doors in front of them. He thinks of Opal, thirty years younger, his age, now, and the animalistic rage in her eyes any time someone pointed out her graying hairs, of which there had been many. The threatening stare she turned his way when she asked him. An air unit rumbles to life. A mist of steam gushes out. "So long as she learns from you, she'll be fine."
Marnie, he means. He canât imagine little Marnie telling Opal she'd be dead before sundown, and his mouth goes soft at the edges, a restrained laugh, then gone. He hears the rest inside.
"Will you be joining us?"