Souvenir

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.


A Folded Stub

Two years.

We’d been safe from him for two years when our luck ran out. Oh, he didn’t find us, we just ran out of money.

After moving from Fukuoka to Domino City, about 80 miles down the coast, I’d checked us into a seedy motel with the last of Gozaboro’s pilfered money to give myself an address of some sort and started looking.

Eventually, a nice old guy had allowed me to work at his game shop for a few hours in the evenings and on weekends to cover his grandson’s shift. The grandson had gone off to college in Kyoto, and the old man, Mr. Mouto, needed some help.

Hn. College. Something I had no chance of achieving as I’d never attended, nor graduated from, high school. But maybe Mokuba...

I appreciated the pay, but it wasn’t nearly enough money to take care of Mokuba and me. I had to find something else.

To make sure Mokuba ate regularly and to keep a steady roof over his head, I put him in an orphanage. I’d introduced myself to them as Seto Koizumi, 2nd year student at Domino High School, my height affording me the luxury of that lie.

“I found him a few days ago, on my way home from school,” I’d lied as Mokuba cowered behind me. “I took him home and cleaned him up and all. I thought he could stay with us, but my parents said I should bring him here.”

“That was a wise decision,” the director had smiled, projecting warmth and acceptance.

“I can only get him to tell me his first name, though,” I’d furthered, easing his skittish form toward her.

Once she’d obviously been swayed by our performance, I pretended to assure Mokuba that he’d be all right there. As expected, she mentioned that having someone he knew continue to visit him until he could be placed, might help ease his transition.

“He’ll undoubtedly feel less lonely and abandoned,” she’d concluded, taking in the sight of him clinging to my waist.

“I’d be glad to help,” I’d smiled.

Truthfully, only part of our "performance" had been for her benefit. Mokuba honestly didn’t want to be apart from me, which I completely understood. I didn’t want to be apart from him either. But I’d just needed some time to get things together. Time to find better work and a place for us to stay. At the orphanage he would be well taken care of, and I could still see him everyday.

Unfortunately, after almost six weeks, I still hadn’t found a new job and still couldn’t afford a better place for us to stay, so I went to pick up Mokuba from the orphanage. My plan was to “take him out for dinner” as I had done several times before and we’d simply move on to another city.

I’d packed up everything in the motel, meaning to get it on our way out of town. We’d get something to eat, pick up our stuff and stow away on the bullet train out of town, since I didn’t have enough money to buy tickets. I’d planned for us to be ‘sleeping’ when the conductor came for tickets, if there was a family we could pretend to belong to on the train. If not, we’d hide in one of the bathrooms and steal someone’s seat markers after the train pulled off.

Even if we did get caught before we got to the next city, they’d have to wait until we stopped to put us off or have us arrested. I’d even planned what to do if we somehow wound up in foster care. I’d only need a mid-scale computer to hack into any system and alter our records. I’d planned for every contingency surrounding our escape to another city.

Except one.

“Gone!” I’d yelled incredulously

“Yes,” the counselor had gushed happily. “You won’t need to come by and take him on any more outings. He was adopted this morning by a nice family right here in Domino!”

“A-adopted,” I’d choked. He wasn’t supposed to be...It was only for a few weeks...Just until I could...”

“M-Mr. Koizumi?” the director had stuttered.

I remember leaving the orphanage and then nothing else for several days. I didn’t go back to the motel. I didn’t go back to the game shop. I just wandered around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mokuba somewhere.

At some point, I wandered back to the game shop and Mr. Mouto took me into his home above it. He watched over me as I sobbed about losing Mokuba. After wallowing in my grief for several days, I told Mr. Mouto everything. I told him who we really were, I told him about what happened to us, I told him about Mokuba’s adoption…

I don’t know why I trusted him, but I just knew he’d keep our secret. He even allowed me back to work at the game shop, offering me a room in his home, rent-free. I gratefully accepted his offer, retrieving our few belongings from the motel. With his support, I started thinking clearer again and decided to look for Mokuba more methodically.

It took me a little over two months, but I saved up some money and bought a new computer for the game shop. Mr. Mouto was very grateful, even when I told him I’d also be using it to search for Mokuba.

“You don’t care Mr. Mouto? It’s possible I may do something illegal,” I’d warned.

“You’re an honest young man. I trust you,” he’d responded with a smile.

With his blessing, I’d hacked into the computer records of the orphanage and found my brother. He was actually living fairly close to the game shop.

I stalked them for a while, Mokuba and his new family, the Ishtars. I watched him talk with them, and eat with them, and smile with them. I even caught him doing something with them that he hadn’t done with me since before we ran away, laugh. He was playing in their ample front yard with the younger twin boys, Marik and Malik and laughing. His new parents, Isis, a stunning black-haired, blue-eyed beauty and Rishid, a tall, tanned man who would be bald if not for a long, dark brown ponytail, sat on their porch smiling.

I found out everything I could about the Ishtars. Isis and Rishid and their five-year-old twins were from Egypt. They were living in Domino City while Isis subbed as a professor of Egyptology and Archeology at Domino University for her mentor, an American named Pegasus J. Crawford, on sabbatical after the loss of his wife. She was also the curator for a limited engagement exhibition of Egyptian artifacts at the Domino City museum. Rishid, who’d followed his wife from Egypt and whose current occupation consisted of taking care of their home and kids, had been a curator for the Cairo Museum in Egypt. When I fist saw him, his serious expression bothered me and I worried that he could be capable of hurting Mokuba too. Until that day they played in the yard.

Rishid had joined the boys after a while, running around, rolling in the grass, laughing, actions I’d expected from a caring father. Mokuba had played with him, had smiled at him, had laughed with him. I’d debated making contact, but I had to be sure he was all right. I had to be sure I could leave him there. I had to be sure he was happy.

I showed up at their door one day several weeks later.

“Yes, may I help you,” Mrs. Ishtar had asked politely. I went with the lie I told to the orphanage.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. I learned that Mokuba had been adopted and wanted to say hello. I’m the one who found him and took him to the orphanage.”

“Oh! Well, come right in,” she’d gushed eagerly. Her demeanor should have warned me that there was something more going on, but I was so caught up in seeing Mokuba, that I didn’t care.

“Mokuba, you have a visitor,” she’d called up the stairs after leading me into the spacious front hall. Of course the house was nowhere near as big as the Kaiba mansion, but it was obvious they lived fairly well.

When he saw me from the top of the stairs, I swear his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Seto!” he’d exclaimed, launching himself at me from halfway down the staircase. Somehow I managed to catch him without falling onto the marble floor. I don’t remember how long we clung to each other and cried, eventually finding ourselves on the floor anyway. I held and rocked Mokuba who continued to sob even after I’d calmed. At some point, he cried himself to sleep, but I hadn’t stopped rocking him.

“Why don’t you take him to his room,” Mrs. Ishtar had suggested quietly. “It’s the first door on the right. I’ll bring you both something to eat later.”

With that statement, I realized she must have known who I was the whole time. Just how much had Mokuba told them?

“Okay,” I’d choked. “Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“There’s one in Mokuba’s room,” she’d intoned, as she helped me to stand with Mokuba in my arms.

“Thank you,” I’d replied as I carried Mokuba carefully up the stairs.

After placing him in the bed of the spacious room, well stocked with books and toys, I called Mr. Mouto to explain why I wouldn’t be able to take my shift that night. He replied with understanding and even encouraged me to stay the night if they offered.

They didn’t get a chance to offer because I fell asleep next to Mokuba not five minutes after talking to Mr. Mouto. I awoke to Mokuba shaking me, and the smell of waffles; Mokuba’s favorite food.

We ate in his room in silence until I apologized for allowing him to get adopted and told him how long I’d been looking for him.

His silence after my confession and apology startled me.

“A-Are you going to take me away,” he’d questioned quietly several minutes later.

“Do you want me to,” I’d pressed.

“No,” he’d replied after a tense few moments. “I want to stay here, Seto. I want this family to be my new family.”

I could tell it greatly distressed him to admit that to me. I’d pulled him into my arms and assured him that it was okay for him to stay and that I’d come by everyday to see him. I’d further assured him that I’d always be his big brother even though he’d now be a big brother himself.

He’d curled into my arms quietly then, speaking words several minutes later that part of me had expected.

“I told them, Seto. I told them everything and they didn’t send me away. They still wanted me even though...even after...they-they didn’t care, Seto. They didn’t care that he’d...that he’d...”

“Shhh,” I’d soothed his quaking form. I knew what he meant. I knew what he felt. Dirty. Used. Unworthy. I’d hoped the abuse hadn’t continued long enough for him to have gotten the full impact of the shame, but that was a foolish thought. Even once would have been enough to damage him, let alone the five times he’d told me about. Those feelings wouldn’t go away just because we were free.

That afternoon I’d called Mr. Mouto again, promising to resume my shift in the morning to come as it was Friday.

That night I had dinner with the Ishtars, counting Mokuba among them in my head, if not my heart. I had dinner with the Ishtars many more evenings after that, though I did skip that week after they’d told me about their future plans.

As Mrs. Ishtar’s teaching and curator stint ended the last week of September of that year, they’d be going back to Egypt. Mokuba would go with them. I stayed away a week because I was angry. And sad. And hurt. I knew I’d probably never see Mokuba again as I had no where near the means to fly to Egypt. The Ishtars suggested I join them and they’d take care of me too, but I didn’t want to be a burden. It was more than generous that they took in Mokuba though they had their own children.

So I prepared myself to lose Mokuba forever. He promised to visit as soon as he could, but I told him it would be alright if he waited until he could do it without straining himself or his family.

“But Seto,” he’d cried, “you are my family!”

“I meant your new family, Mokuba,” I’d soothed, hugging him tightly. “They’ll have to be your first priority. You’re a big brother now. Malik and Marik will depend on you to take care of them. You’re the oldest son now. You’ll need to be there to support your new parents. I’ll still be here once your obligations to them are complete.”

“What about my obligations to you?” he’d sobbed.

“I’m the big brother, Mokuba. You have no obligations to me.” That had only made him sob harder; thanking me for everything between his wails of how much he’d miss me.

The last time I saw him was dinner at their house a week after my 16th birthday.

The Ishtars left for Egypt the next day.