the radio says you want a new beginning; a reason for living; a deeper meaning, yeah
So glockdown wrote the life and death of mister honda, and I, well, couldn't get it out of my head.
glockdown I AM SO SORRY. This is kind of what I meant by 'I have headcanon'. All, uh. 1,227 words of it. Please do go read this story instead, guys. Reading it left me with this whole I want to know, and I filled in the blanks with this.
Four words to describe what I've done: The Long Kiss Goodnight.
Five words: 'The World of Mr. Honda'.
And maybe, something from a Namco-Bandai game:
Do you remember?
When telling me about how not having memories didn’t bother you, you said “If all I do is look at the past, I won’t be able to advance forward.”
- Hahaha……. I was stupid, wasn’t I.
…… no, I thought that was a wonderful truth.
______________________________________
. the past is another country
All he knows about himself is what the doctors tell him.
Height: five foot nine; blood type: O; striking scar there, right between the eyes, testament to some forgotten battle; and there’s something else, too, something he can’t quite comprehend.
They call it retrograde amnesia.
He doesn’t yet understand that it’s the reason why the face in the mirror is as much a stranger to him as every other face he sees.
______________________________________
He is a fortunate stray (he has always been the lucky one, even if he doesn’t remember it), and somebody finds him.
One of the first things they do is choose him a name.
They go by makes of cars, since enough drive up to the bed and breakfast to be worth remembering.
Subaru, Ellie begins, Datsun, Nissan, (Toyota! Cecil pipes up, starting to get the hang of this game), Mitsubishi, Daihatsu (Suzuki! Cecil, showing she’s good at remembering names too) -
In the end it’s Jake who decides, by waiting until they’ve exhausted their recollections of every Japanese car manufacturer known to man.
“Honda,” he says resolutely, refusing to be left out, his eyes bright with the certainty only the young ever truly know.
“At least Jake won’t forget it,” says Cecil.
The truth is any given name fits as well as any other, when you don’t remember the one you once had.
______________________________________
Now they’ve given him a last name, they want to choose him a first name, too. For fun, Ellie borrows a book from the library about the Tokugawa shogunate. Maybe something traditional, she says, half-teasing and half-serious; and they spend a pleasant afternoon going through names of shoguns past. He’s at the sink with the washing-up (it’s one of the very few things Ellie lets him do), Ellie folding clothes, and the kids at the table, wide-eyed and serious in the manner of the very young entrusted with a Very Important Task.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this life wasn’t always his.
He mangles the names as often and as easily as they do. They get through Ieyasu, Hidetada, Iemitsu and Ietsuna without any event, but when they get to Tsunayoshi he drops the plate he’s washing and doesn’t know why.
______________________________________
He stays just Mr. Honda.
Sometimes the smartest thing to do when faced with too many choices is to make none at all.
______________________________________
He understands just enough English for most of the weather report to make sense, now.
Sunshine means Bring along that baseball cap. Cloudy means the cap can stay where it is, but he might need to watch out for rain, which means someone, somewhere, might need an umbrella.
They’re getting ready to head to the store when the heavens open unexpectedly, sending them all racing back to the house for shelter.
As Ellie dries her hair, Cecil looks out of the window.
“People say rain means the sky is crying, Mr. Honda.”
______________________________________
There is not often trouble in the place he has learned to call home, but today is a different day. A special day.
There are three of them, three parts drunk and one part mean, and they have Ellie cornered behind the register. It isn’t the money that’s the problem, even if they have never had much to spare. It’s that the children are with her.
“Hey,” he says, coming around behind them, holding out his hands to show them, See, I’ve got nothing.
The one with the baseball bat comes for him, the one with the knife close behind.
He doesn’t have to think about what to do next.
The man with the bat soon finds himself holding on to nothing but air, and his feet somehow tangle with something too fast for him to see. He falls against his friend, knocking them both to the ground. Mr. Honda steps in before either of them can recover their breath and the man with the knife is disarmed.
Mr. Honda tosses the knife, and it sails in a graceful arc over the counter, where it clatters to a rest next to Ellie’s feet (she wastes no time in picking it up and giving it a new purpose, namely, making sure that both men on the ground want to stay right where they are).
Mr. Honda holds on to that baseball bat, though.
There is something about the way it feels in his hands that is right in a way he has no words for.
That still leaves the man with the tire iron, who starts circling him, wise to the fate of his fellows and wary now.
Mr. Honda looks at him, and he knows, all of a sudden, with absolute certainty, what to do if he wants to make sure this man never bothers anyone ever again.
“No,” says Ellie, low and quiet from across the room, and when he glances over, he realises she is talking to him.
“Okay,” he agrees, easily, and when this man joins his friends on the floor, he, too, is only unconscious.
Mr. Honda, on the other end, is not even winded.
Ellie is calling the police and the children are staring at him, their eyes as wide as saucers.
“How did you do that?” asks Ellie, afraid and amazed at the same time.
He answers her honestly.
“I don’t know.”
He knows no secrets.
So he has never needed to lie.
______________________________________
They celebrate his Finding Day on the last day of August, marking a year to the day they took him home to La Pine.
It’s the sushi restaurant closest to their part of Oregon, and as he doesn’t remember any before it, it’s the best he’s ever had.
“Maybe you were a sushi chef,” says Cecil, brightly, inspired by their surroundings. She’s bright and has an imagination she isn’t afraid to use. On previous occasions she has ventured the possibility that he was a basketball player (‘Even though you’re not that tall, Mr. Honda’), a secret agent (‘Like James Bond, but in Japan’), and ‘Maybe you did nothing. Maybe you weren’t very smart, Mr. Honda.’
“Maybe,” he says, smiling easily. Any life is as likely as any other.
“Maybe,” says Cecil. “Whatever you were, you’re our Mr. Honda now.”
______________________________________
When the snow settles itself into the window ledges and blankets the world outside, there are presents under the tree for him, too.
One from each of them.
“Open mine first,” urges Jake, finally old enough to understand the meaning of presents (but not old enough to be able to open them without help).
It’s a baseball.
“Mine now,” says Cecil, a little older, but no less impatient.
That’s a catcher’s mitt.
And you’d think by now Mr. Honda would know what his last present would be, but it’s still a surprise to him until he opens it.
“You were pretty good with a baseball bat,” says Ellie, smiling. “We thought, maybe…”
“Yes,” he says, and laughs.
______________________________________
The first time Mr. Honda tries out his Christmas presents, everybody wants him on their team. He is far and away the best rookie anyone has ever seen, and as they say, a natural.
The kids are used to it, though.
Mr. Honda can do anything.
______________________________________
Maybe not everybody wants to be found.
But out there, although Mr. Honda doesn’t remember them, is a family who has never stopped looking.
______________________________________
WARNING: There are now vague Heroes Season 3 spoilers in the comments. Please tread carefully.
glockdown I AM SO SORRY. This is kind of what I meant by 'I have headcanon'. All, uh. 1,227 words of it. Please do go read this story instead, guys. Reading it left me with this whole I want to know, and I filled in the blanks with this.
Four words to describe what I've done: The Long Kiss Goodnight.
Five words: 'The World of Mr. Honda'.
And maybe, something from a Namco-Bandai game:
Do you remember?
When telling me about how not having memories didn’t bother you, you said “If all I do is look at the past, I won’t be able to advance forward.”
- Hahaha……. I was stupid, wasn’t I.
…… no, I thought that was a wonderful truth.
______________________________________
. the past is another country
All he knows about himself is what the doctors tell him.
Height: five foot nine; blood type: O; striking scar there, right between the eyes, testament to some forgotten battle; and there’s something else, too, something he can’t quite comprehend.
They call it retrograde amnesia.
He doesn’t yet understand that it’s the reason why the face in the mirror is as much a stranger to him as every other face he sees.
______________________________________
He is a fortunate stray (he has always been the lucky one, even if he doesn’t remember it), and somebody finds him.
One of the first things they do is choose him a name.
They go by makes of cars, since enough drive up to the bed and breakfast to be worth remembering.
Subaru, Ellie begins, Datsun, Nissan, (Toyota! Cecil pipes up, starting to get the hang of this game), Mitsubishi, Daihatsu (Suzuki! Cecil, showing she’s good at remembering names too) -
In the end it’s Jake who decides, by waiting until they’ve exhausted their recollections of every Japanese car manufacturer known to man.
“Honda,” he says resolutely, refusing to be left out, his eyes bright with the certainty only the young ever truly know.
“At least Jake won’t forget it,” says Cecil.
The truth is any given name fits as well as any other, when you don’t remember the one you once had.
______________________________________
Now they’ve given him a last name, they want to choose him a first name, too. For fun, Ellie borrows a book from the library about the Tokugawa shogunate. Maybe something traditional, she says, half-teasing and half-serious; and they spend a pleasant afternoon going through names of shoguns past. He’s at the sink with the washing-up (it’s one of the very few things Ellie lets him do), Ellie folding clothes, and the kids at the table, wide-eyed and serious in the manner of the very young entrusted with a Very Important Task.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this life wasn’t always his.
He mangles the names as often and as easily as they do. They get through Ieyasu, Hidetada, Iemitsu and Ietsuna without any event, but when they get to Tsunayoshi he drops the plate he’s washing and doesn’t know why.
______________________________________
He stays just Mr. Honda.
Sometimes the smartest thing to do when faced with too many choices is to make none at all.
______________________________________
He understands just enough English for most of the weather report to make sense, now.
Sunshine means Bring along that baseball cap. Cloudy means the cap can stay where it is, but he might need to watch out for rain, which means someone, somewhere, might need an umbrella.
They’re getting ready to head to the store when the heavens open unexpectedly, sending them all racing back to the house for shelter.
As Ellie dries her hair, Cecil looks out of the window.
“People say rain means the sky is crying, Mr. Honda.”
______________________________________
There is not often trouble in the place he has learned to call home, but today is a different day. A special day.
There are three of them, three parts drunk and one part mean, and they have Ellie cornered behind the register. It isn’t the money that’s the problem, even if they have never had much to spare. It’s that the children are with her.
“Hey,” he says, coming around behind them, holding out his hands to show them, See, I’ve got nothing.
The one with the baseball bat comes for him, the one with the knife close behind.
He doesn’t have to think about what to do next.
The man with the bat soon finds himself holding on to nothing but air, and his feet somehow tangle with something too fast for him to see. He falls against his friend, knocking them both to the ground. Mr. Honda steps in before either of them can recover their breath and the man with the knife is disarmed.
Mr. Honda tosses the knife, and it sails in a graceful arc over the counter, where it clatters to a rest next to Ellie’s feet (she wastes no time in picking it up and giving it a new purpose, namely, making sure that both men on the ground want to stay right where they are).
Mr. Honda holds on to that baseball bat, though.
There is something about the way it feels in his hands that is right in a way he has no words for.
That still leaves the man with the tire iron, who starts circling him, wise to the fate of his fellows and wary now.
Mr. Honda looks at him, and he knows, all of a sudden, with absolute certainty, what to do if he wants to make sure this man never bothers anyone ever again.
“No,” says Ellie, low and quiet from across the room, and when he glances over, he realises she is talking to him.
“Okay,” he agrees, easily, and when this man joins his friends on the floor, he, too, is only unconscious.
Mr. Honda, on the other end, is not even winded.
Ellie is calling the police and the children are staring at him, their eyes as wide as saucers.
“How did you do that?” asks Ellie, afraid and amazed at the same time.
He answers her honestly.
“I don’t know.”
He knows no secrets.
So he has never needed to lie.
______________________________________
They celebrate his Finding Day on the last day of August, marking a year to the day they took him home to La Pine.
It’s the sushi restaurant closest to their part of Oregon, and as he doesn’t remember any before it, it’s the best he’s ever had.
“Maybe you were a sushi chef,” says Cecil, brightly, inspired by their surroundings. She’s bright and has an imagination she isn’t afraid to use. On previous occasions she has ventured the possibility that he was a basketball player (‘Even though you’re not that tall, Mr. Honda’), a secret agent (‘Like James Bond, but in Japan’), and ‘Maybe you did nothing. Maybe you weren’t very smart, Mr. Honda.’
“Maybe,” he says, smiling easily. Any life is as likely as any other.
“Maybe,” says Cecil. “Whatever you were, you’re our Mr. Honda now.”
______________________________________
When the snow settles itself into the window ledges and blankets the world outside, there are presents under the tree for him, too.
One from each of them.
“Open mine first,” urges Jake, finally old enough to understand the meaning of presents (but not old enough to be able to open them without help).
It’s a baseball.
“Mine now,” says Cecil, a little older, but no less impatient.
That’s a catcher’s mitt.
And you’d think by now Mr. Honda would know what his last present would be, but it’s still a surprise to him until he opens it.
“You were pretty good with a baseball bat,” says Ellie, smiling. “We thought, maybe…”
“Yes,” he says, and laughs.
______________________________________
The first time Mr. Honda tries out his Christmas presents, everybody wants him on their team. He is far and away the best rookie anyone has ever seen, and as they say, a natural.
The kids are used to it, though.
Mr. Honda can do anything.
______________________________________
Maybe not everybody wants to be found.
But out there, although Mr. Honda doesn’t remember them, is a family who has never stopped looking.
______________________________________
WARNING: There are now vague Heroes Season 3 spoilers in the comments. Please tread carefully.