 | One night, I dreamed that Jessie, Meowth, and I finally stole Pikachu. We brought him to our Boss and the Boss gave us more money than we'd ever seen in our lives. I was surprised to wake up in the sub instead of the huge mansion I'd been dreaming about.
It wasn't real, I realized, it was only a dream. But I couldn't go back to sleep, I got to thinking (which yes, I can do, I just prefer not to). I had been rich once, and it wasn't all that great...
I was born 17 years ago in a big, fancy hospital in a big, fancy, rich town. My parents were the richest people in the town, and the 5th richest people in the entire world. From birth, I was engaged in an arranged marriage to Jessibelle, the daughter of the second richest people in town.
My early years weren't too bad. I didn't see my parents much, since they were too busy running businesses, making even more money, and generally looking after themselves to bother with their son. But they bought me a Growlithe, which I named Growlie, and all the toys I wanted.
I first met Jessibelle when I was 3. Believe it or not, we were once good friends. Once a week, my mother and her mother would get together to gossip, and we would play together. Jessibelle would only play girlie games, like dress-up, house, or tea party, but I didn't really care. Maybe that's where my crossdressing came from...
But when we were 5, Jessibelle's parents died in an accident on their yacht. Jessibelle moved in with us.
At the time I didn't realize how awful it must have been for her. So I suggested, "Let's play tea party!"
"I don't want to play tea party!" She snapped.
I suggested dress-up and house and Barbies and pokemon nurses, but she refused to play any of them and told me to go away. Then, she tattled on me to my parents, and my father beat me with a belt for bothering her and "Being a girl." I saw nothing wrong with the games I played, but obviously he did.
Jessibelle totally changed. She whined and cried all the time, my parents gave her special treatment, and she wouldn't play with me. I played with Growlie instead, but playing with a dog wasn't as good as playing with another kid.
Soon, I wasn't the only one annoyed with her. My parents said that she would never make a suitable wife for me unless they took "Drastic measures." they sent her away to some fancy boarding school where they would teach her to "act like a lady."
But with no Jessibelle for them to fuss over, they had more time to yell at me. I spent a lot of time hiding in Growlie's huge dog house.
Jessibelle came home 3 years later. I was excited for her to come home; I thought she would be the way she used to be. After all, Mom and Dad had never had a problem with her before her parents died. It never occurred to me that this might be because she wasn't theirs to do what they liked with. So I ran to the door to meet her, truly believing that she would be her old self.
"Let's play dress up!" I exclaimed, "I get the pretty pink dress!"
"You've got to be kidding!" She said.
"Well, if you want it that badly, I guess you can have it," I moped.
"NO, James, I don't play dress-up, and neither should you! We're 8 years old, and that's too old to play! Especially in your case. Boys should not wear dresses!"
"But I like dresses..."
"Stop whining! I know girls mature faster than boys, but this is ridiculous!"
"You're as mean like the grown-ups!" I yelled, stomping out of the room.
"As mean like? That's not proper grammar!" Jessibelle yelled after me, "And that's not proper walking either!"
Mean Jessibelle was worse than Whiny Jessibelle, but I was the only one who thought so. My parents thought that school had done wonders for her, and were angry at me for not being like her. Late that night, I sneaked downstairs and heard them talking.
"She's a perfectly behaved little lady!" My mother said.
"Now it's James who's unfit to marry her!" My father said.
"Did you hear him ask her to play dress-up?"
"Why does our son have to be such an imbecile?"
"James!" This voice came from behind me.
Slowly I turned around, "Jessibelle? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"You're one to talk! Get moving, or I'll have to make you!" She chased me back to my room, threatening to hit me with a belt.
Had I chased her, I would have been a "savage little beast." But my parents thought that Jessibelle's "discipline" would be good for me. They gave her a whip, and she chased me around all day, because apparently everything I did was wrong.
About a week later, I had had enough. I had to do something. Maybe if I "talked out my problems like a mature adult," as my parents were always telling me to de, she'd be reasonable.
She was chasing me when I stopped behind a table, far enough away that she couldn't get me without running one way or the other. Then I said, "Jessibelle, I need to talk to you." I made sure to stand up straight and use proper grammar.
"About what?" She asked, looking ready to attack at any moment.
"Hitting is uncivilized. There must be some other way you can teach me. I mean, I've never hit you, and I've never seen mom or dad do it either! Hitting hurts, but since you're so perfect, you probably have no idea what it's like."
Jessibelle got very angry. I thought I was in for it, but instead, she yelled, "You're the one who doesn't know! You don't know anything!" Then, she ran upstairs to her room.
"What did I do?" I asked myself.
"James!" My father had to choose that moment to pass by out in the hall, "Why are you talking to yourself? Where's Jessibelle?"
I couldn't admit that I'd upset her, so I said, "The bathroom?" Then, I got my mouth washed out with soap. Apparently, that was a "rude and inappropriate topic."
After this, I was the one running up to my room. But on my way down the hall upstairs, I thought I heard someone crying. At first, I thought that mom had fired one of the servants, who were paid much better here than they would be anywhere else. But then I realized that the crying was coming from Jessibelle's room.
I crept to the door and opened it a bit, and saw Jessibelle sitting on her bed with one of the maids trying to comfort her. It was only then, now that her red curls were falling forward, that I noticed the scars on her neck that looked like they might continue down her back. Just then, the maid put her hand on Jessibelle's back, trying to comfort her, but making her jump.
What had they done to her at that school? I wondered, beat her and sucked all the life out of her? I felt sorry for her as I went back to my room.
Until she came after me the next day. Then, I sicked Growlie on her.
It was two years later that I came up with a most brilliant idea.
"Hey, Dad, why don't I go to school?" I asked one day, "Jessibelle did, so why can't I? Pokemon Tech seems like a good place!"
My father got very mad, "I'll tell you why! You would disgrace our family if I let you out in public! And why would you want to go to Pokemon Tech? Pokemon training is for losers!"
Eventually, I stole a bunch of money from my parents and ran away to go to Pokemon Tech. I didn't have many friends there, but I did have Jessie.
One day after school, Jessie and I were in the forest near the school when we smelt a very bad smell and heard a whimpering that sounded like, "Koffing!"
"What's that terrible smell?" Jessie asked, "Let's get out of here!"
"No, wait!" I said, running in the direction of the whimpering, "It's a baby pokemon!"
"Koffing!"
"Have you been abandoned?"
"Koffing!"
"Do you want to be my pokemon?"
"Koffing!"
I took out my Pokeball, and the Koffing allowed me to catch it.
Jessie and I only stayed at pokemon tech for one year. Because we didn't study, we failed some exams and got kicked out. Neither of us could go home, so we decided to get jobs and live on our own. There were two reasons for joining Team Rocket: 1) At the time
we thought it would be fun, and 2) It's about the only place that hires 12-year-old kids who flunked out of school.
So for the last 5 years, I've basically been trying to get back where I used to be. It's strange, because I know how awful it is being rich. Jessie only knows that being poor is bad, so she thinks that being rich will be better. I guess money's just something you can't live with, but you can't live without. And maybe failure's not as bad as success.
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