Disclaimer: All characters related to Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends are owned by Craig McCracken and Cartoon Network Studios.
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Chapter One: Is This Real Life?
Without being able to tear his gaze away, Mac stared intensely at Goo, who sat at Frankie's vanity mirror as she hummed happily while re-braiding her long, black hair. Eventually, Mac's eyes began to feel dry for keeping his eyes wide open for so long, and had to blink multiple times until his eyes became all watery. Mac used the back of his hands to wipe away the excess tears, then resumed staring at the dark-skinned girl.
She finished strapping on a black elastic hairband- the one with the dark pink plastic heart charm sewn on- to the end of her pigtail. The brunette shook his head faintly, trying to ignore the dizzy confusion in his mind. Why did he have that dream? Was there something that was trying to tell him something?
Maybe that Goo was really going to die? Or maybe he had that dream to make him realize how good of a friend Goo was, and to never forget to cherish what they had together? Or maybe, just maybe, he had that dream to make him realize how much he liked- no, loved- Goo.
Mac could not understand the sadness he felt in his heart, why he was feeling the same depression he experienced in the motion picture of his imagination. In his fictional world, he lost Goo. She was gone, her cremated body rested inside a bottle no bigger than a quarter-sized coin, attached to a black leather string to wear around his neck.
In reality, he had Goo. She was there, brushing her nappy hair in front of the mirror. So why did it still feel like his world was crumbling down?
"Earth to Mac," called Goo, who had suddenly appeared with her nose barely two inches apart from his. "Hey, Space Cadet! Why are you just sitting there?" she asked teasingly. "We have to get ready and go!"
She got up, and ran towards the door. Her red high top sneakers slapped hard against the cream carpeted floor. Mac observed that she had to be stomping pretty heavily on the ground to be making that kind of noise on a carpeted floor.
"We've got a big day ahead of us!" she hollered happily before disappearing into the hall.
Mac, from the uncomfortably warm spot he formed on Frankie's bed, stood up slowly. The springs of the mattress groaned as he released his weight off of his seat. With each careful step he took towards the vanity mirror, he stared into the reflection of his own brown eyes with the same intensity he used while watching Goo. But his eyes weren't beautiful, shining with life like Goo's. His looked small, bloodshot and dull. What had happen to him?
He shook his head again, clearing the buzzing through his skull. Then he hurried out of the room, hoping to catch up with Goo, though he knew that was very unlikely to keep up with that hyperactive girl, let alone catch up.
Making his way down to the kitchen to grab a fresh pitcher of lemonade and a huge glass platter of piping hot cookies placed carefully on top of the pitcher, he carried the refreshments out to the concession table, set up outside on the front lawn. Steadily, he set the pitcher on the table cloaked with white linen, then lifted up the platter and placed it on a cleared space next to the lemonade.
Dazedly, he stood there with no particular thoughts running through his head. In fact, the stood there dumbly with no thoughts at all. The sun shone brightly in his face, making him irritable squint against the bright light. "Mac!" He jolted out of his thoughts (or lack thereof) as he head his name yelled into his ear. A warm hand appeared on his shoulder, and his eyes followed the trail of the person's arm to realize the identity of the speaker.
Human face, red hair, and a green hooded jacket- it could only be Frankie. A young man with tan skin, who Mac recalled as Frankie's boyfriend, hovered behind her. Her downturned eyebrows indicated that she carried concern for... for what? Him? He was fine, save for muzzy feeling in his brain. So why did she look so worried?
"Sorry, what?" came his hazy response.
"You okay?" the twenty-six-year-old fretted.
Blinking a few times while shaking his head to snap himself out of his stupor, he looked back up at his companion.
"Yeah, I'm just a little lightheaded..."
"Maybe you should sit down," she suggested, guiding him to a vacant folded chair at the end of the table. "Did you eat breakfast?"
There was a minute or two of silence, as he was close to slipping back into a trance. "... No," he finally answered. "I haven't eaten anything today."
Patting his shoulder, Frankie offered him a sympathetic smile. "I'll fix something up from the kitchen. You just take it easy, 'kay?"
"No, it's fine," his spacey answer came, readying himself to stand up from his seat. "I can make it myself." But just as his sneakers had touched the ground once he shifted his legs in an up-right position, the color from his face drained and the wave of wooziness hit him ten times harder than it had. Mac fell backwards, crashing into the fold-out chair.
Faintly, the boy heard Frankie's cry out his name in distress, and the confused, shocked expressions from imaginary friends and prosperous foster families. A strong hand shot out and clasped firmly onto his arm, as the person helped support him back on the ground. A "Whoa, Nelly!" met his ears, but did not entirely register in his mind. It took a bit of effort to become aware of who rescued him, as those hands assisted him to steady himself from all of the stumbling around that his body was controlling him to do.
"Let's get him inside, Luis," Frankie had instructed to her boyfriend, who held the twelve-year-old in his grasp. Focusing only on the ground that he stumbled over from beneath his feet, Mac ignored all of the concerned faces of his imaginary friends as Luis guided him through the front door.
End of Chapter One
Author's Note: How "Not This Year" came to be, I just wanted to write a story centering my favorite character from Foster's! Which is bizarre since I took a fresh approach of making it a tragedy. I started writing in February 2007. What I haven't told you was that my original intentions was to end with the character's death as an actual event, but when my younger sister (then age 12) read an early draft, she glared at me and said, "I hate you. You killed Goo".
Not only did "Oh crap, she's mad." pass through my thought process, but it was at that moment that it dawned on me that Mac needed to come to realization of his feelings; he needed a second chance to do things over and get it done right before it was too late and over. He couldn't have done that, since there are no do-overs after death.
Recently, I found the first couple of pages to this story while shuffling through my notes from the filing cabinet. I had the intention of reusing unused material for "Not This Year" to put towards a sequel, but completely forgotten that I had physically written the pages. Since I was updating all of my other work, and "Not This Year" remains as one of my more popular fics, I might as well give this a go.
16 September 2011