I didn’t know how much I missed home until I saw it.

My adulthood has been spent in the city. Giant spires of glass and steel reflecting and re-reflecting the sun. Heat clawing its way up from asphalt. The constant drumming noise; of people, of cars, of having so much life packed inside so small a place. But I grew up elsewhere; a quiet home in the country, the dirt lane like a ribbon to the door. Free-spirited pokemon wheeling overhead. Wildflowers poking their bright heads over the hills and the far-off fuzz of trees beckoning. When I was a girl, I would spend hours playing here; running, climbing, jumping. I would roll in the leaves and get stung by nettles; I would chase wild pokemon and scrounge up dirt and just laugh all the while.

And always, always with Oleander by my side.

It’s been a while since I was that girl. Stained tank-tops and mud-shorn feet have given way to suit-skirts, designer heels. I’m CFO of a big, boring company that does big, boring things. I have a spacious apartment and I go out for drinks. When I remember those childhood adventures, it’s with the wry head-shake of a woman who knows better now.

Or do I?

How many years has it been since I’ve been home, I wonder? I call my folks, do video chats, send mail. But it’s been quite some time since I actually stepped through this door. Strange… the cluttered entryway makes me nostalgic.

Mother is the first to greet me, her face beaming. I remember her hair being like old copper, the same color as mine; now it’s grey with a few streaks in it. Her face is slightly weathered. Yet she still has strong hands and a knowing smile. Father comes home from his work at the post a short time later, clapping me on the shoulder. And at nighttime, who should wander in but Oleander.

I remember we got him when I was eight—fresh-hatched from an egg, a quiet and burbling little Pichu. He was my eternal companion in those youthful adventures, scampering after me, his eyes wide and searching. He would pick fights with wild pokemon and run when his shocks would hurt him as well as they did his adversaries. In high school, before I left for the city to alter my destiny, he evolved into a strong, confidant Pikachu. He had that form when I left, and kept it the last time I’d visited, some years ago.

Now Oleander is a Raichu—the size of a small person, with smooth tangerine fur, a long whip of a tail, sail-like ears. He starts at seeing me and then bounds forward with a warbling cry, all smiles. I cuddle him, laughing, and it’s like I’m a girl again.

How had I forgotten this? How had I not missed it?

Mother, father, and I stay up late into the night catching up, Oleander hovering at the edges, all smiles and interest. I make sure to pet the base of his ear. “Look at you!” I say to him. “All grown up, so big and strong! When did this happen, huh?” He burbles proudly, standing tall.

“Just came home like it one day,” father says. “Must’ve found a Thunderstone in the woods somewhere… Mum and I, we were shocked, but it’s clear he’s happy. Still, amazing how fast they grow…” The twinkle in his eye tells me that those words are for more than just Oleander.

That night, I bunk down in my old room. It has the slightly-musty smell of a chamber that’s gone unused for a while and has been recently cleaned. Mother and father aren’t so soft-hearted to keep it kitted out with the same stuff as when I was a girl, but the bed remains; a lumpy old mattress that squeaks when you lay on it. It’s nothing like the new foam one I have in my apartment, and oddly, it brings me memories.

Oleander has a pokemon bed by the living room hearth, but as I ready for bed, I see him hovering near the door, face inquisitive. I laugh and usher him inside, which he does with gratitude. When I was a girl, he would always sleep in my bed with me. As I cup his cheeks (making sure to avoid the dandelion-yellow electric pouches) and praise his new form, I can’t help but reflect on how simple such a life had seemed.

When I’m ready for bed I crawl onto that old mattress and then pat it, inviting Oleander up. He bounds onto the bed and the poor thing sags. We’re no longer a girl and her Pikachu anymore; both Oleander and I are older, bigger, different individuals than we used to be.

It’s not just the bed’s lumpiness that keeps me up. I cuddle with Oleander, like old times; basking in his warmth. I’m a larger woman, but then, he’s bigger too. He was always my confidant, and I begin to spill everything—how I clawed my way to success at the company, how my single-minded pursuit of ambition left me without real friends, how lonely I feel. Not until it’s out of me do I realize how true it is. Perhaps I needed these childhood haunts to bring me back, but I am lonely.

“Remember the good old days, Oleander?” I say, cuddling him from behind. His long tail thrashes and then coils around my leg. This is a new addition; he couldn’t do that as a Pichu or Pikachu. But it’s an intimate, comforting gesture that I don’t mind. “Remember when you fell in the pond and accidentally shocked all the Poliwag? They chased us for half a mile, blasting water…”

He murmurs something, perhaps embarrassed I would bring up such an old memory. “Or that time we were supposed to be home by 6 but fell asleep in the meadow,” I press. “We woke up at 10:30 and booked it home. I think mother was this close to calling in the rangers to look for us…”

His body shakes with a chuckle and I hug him closer. “Remember when you evolved?” I whisper. It was in early high school—I’d ranged farther than I should have and stumbled on a nest of Noibat. Fool that I was, I’d tried to pick one up. Their mother didn’t like that, and for the first and only time in my life, I’d found myself facing down the wrath of an angry dragon. She had been furious; blasting rocks apart with hypersonic noise, spitting fire, her tail whipping through the air. To this day I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.

She cornered me in a ravine and I swear that I could see my death reflected in those murderous eyes. (As a child, I’d entertained ideas of being a trainer, maybe even a Gym Leader or Elite—but ever since that night, whenever I try to battle pokemon, I always see myself in those eyes, hear the Noivern’s furious hisses. I can’t. I can’t. I probably never will…)

And then a yellow blur had launched itself at her face, scrabbling over it, shocking and biting and crying. I’d watched as the Noivern had flung Oleander aside; he’d smacked into a rock, limp and still, and I’d started to cry, thinking I’d gotten both myself and my best friend killed. But then he had shined, his form glorious, and the spunky little Pichu rose as a Pikachu, sparks flying from crimson cheeks, and he drove her back with a bolt of lightning that seared the canyon walls. With a hissing cry, she’d let loose one final sonic burst of warning and escaped, and then Oleander had collapsed. I’d carried him in my arms back to town, running with tears in my eyes, and stayed with him through the night in the small pokemon clinic we had, refusing to leave.

“You saved my life,” I murmur, and I nuzzle into his fur. It’s amazing… how warm it is. How soft. How comforting. “You could’ve died that night, you know.” The Raichu just warbles something in response and then he shifts his position. His back is to me, but then he rolls over to face me—and then he touches his forehead to mine. We rest like that for a few long minutes.

And I’m reminded of another memory, of the time in high school when Bobbee cruelly pretended to date me only to dump me in front of everyone. I’d ran into the flower fields behind our house, crying and sobbing, and when Oleander had arrived to comfort me, I’d confessed that nobody would ever love me. Acting pugnacious, he’d babbled counterarguments to my self-flagellations. And then, seeming to think it was the only way to convince me otherwise…

Oleander had kissed me.