Plié and Clout

Sasquatch to the Moon: Prologue

THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE: GO BACK TO THE LAST CHAPTER IF YOU OPENED THIS ONE IMMEDIATELY <3

***

10 years ago.

2 A.M.

Soběslav, Czech Republic.

August 27th.

***

"Mom, mom, tell me what's going on, please," I beg, reaching out to her, she swats my hand away and then raises hers quickly to swipe away a tear I didn't see.

"Not now, Miloš," she responds. "Not right now."

"Mom?" I watch her root through the closet, throwing things into a bag. "Dad said it was my fault."

"No, nothing is your fault, baby, just sit still, okay?"

"What's going on?" I ask again, hugging my knees to my chest, starting to cry. It feels like my fault. I don't know what I did, but it feels like my fault. "Why are we going? School starts in two days, we can't go."

"I'm sorry, Milo, we have to. It's not your fault."

My brother, Roman, is standing in the door, watching the two of us. I'm rocking on the bed, trying to calm myself down, trying to tell myself it's going to be fine, everything is going to be fine.

He pulls on my mom's sleeve, looking at the bags. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes, dear," she bends over and pulls him into a hug. "I'll come back and visit, I promise, okay? We have to go for now, but we'll come back."

"Will I ever see Miloš again?" He looks over at me, "Dad says he's bad. That he's, that he's going down there. You know, down there," he points at the floor, "the bad place. Dad says he's getting rid of him for good."

"Miloš isn't bad, it's just something he can't control, okay? Miloš won't go to the bad place."

"Dad says he's bad. That he wants to do bad things."

"He's not bad," Mom hugs him again. "Stay safe, okay? Keep rested, study hard. I'll come back and visit, I promise."

"What if you don't?" He mumbles. "I don't want you to leave."

"I know, honey," she wipes her eyes and then takes a deep breath. "Just keep being a good kid, Roman, I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles, dropping his head.

Mom looks at me. "Up, Milo, come on, let's go."

"Why do we have to leave?" I ask, barely able to stand up. She hands me my hockey bag and a suitcase, both are too heavy and feel wrong in my arms.

"It's not important right now, okay?" She runs her fingers through my hair. "We're going to Canada for a little while, with my friend, okay?"

"Okay." I look around the room, spotting my favorite stuffed animal from when I was a kid, but it's too late, she pulls me out the door before I can grab him.

It's the middle of the night, the moon is overhead, filtering through loose clouds. She woke me up, bags mostly packed, I didn't know what was going on or what was happening or anything.

We drove to the airport, a long drive from the rural area of Czechia to Prague. Then we got on a plane.

I'd never been on a plane before, it was a foreign concept, everything felt wrong about it. It felt like it shouldn't be able to fly; like it wouldn't make it.

I was sick to my stomach for the first leg and most of the second. I lost track of where we were. Prague to London, maybe, London to somewhere else. I was tired, delirious, barely able to stand up straight from sickness, barely able to stay awake.

"Hey, my name is Josie." someone sticks their hand out to me. I don't understand what they said. "You're so tall, just like your dad."

I shake my head at her. "I don't speak English." 

She starts talking to my mom, my mom does speak English, not well, but somewhat. Enough to get by in this conversation. I stare at them. 

She turns back to me. "You'll start school on Monday, is that alright?"

I shake my head. What's so hard to understand about 'I don't speak English'?

Mom turns to me, it's a relief to my ears to hear something I understand. "It's just for a little while before going back, you'll start school on Monday, is that okay?"

"I don't want to go to school here," I say, as simply as I can, trying to make my point so she understands, "I want to go home, with my friends."

"I know, honey, we just can't, not right now."

I shake my head. "I want to go home."

"We can't."

"Is it my fault?"

"No."

"It feels like it's my fault, Mom, it feels like it's because of what I said about Hyrek, what dad said-"

She shakes her head at me. "It's not your fault, it's not at all your fault. Let's get you to bed, okay? We'll find some friends out here for you, it'll be okay."

"I don't want friends out here," I splutter, "I want Jan and Matyáš."

"It's going to be alright, just get some sleep."

It's been ten years since I've been home. It's been ten years since I've seen Roman, my father, my house. It's been five since the last message I received from either Jan or Matyáš, they moved on, found new friends, better things to do with their time than keep up with an old friend that had to go. Nobody back home knows why we left, nobody here knows why I showed up, a scared 13-year-old Czech boy who couldn't speak a word of English on his first day of school in Whitby, Ontario. I do. I know why I'm here and I know it was my fault.

My name is Miloš Tvrtko Stojanovič, my friends call me Rocket, and it's my turn to tell my story.