Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures Author's Note-I finally decided to sit down and write this one-shot Wilt/Frankie fic I'd had in mind, inspired by a real-life event. I was trying to come up with a story that would focus on Frankie's reaction if someone were to come to adopt Wilt-how she would take it, and IF she'd take it, or try to stall it in some way, not being quite prepared to let him go. Like I said, it started out to be a little one-shot, but as most people who know me will tell ya, FAT CHANCE! I debated breaking this up into chapters, since it did turn out to be a rather long read after all, but decided to leave it as just a long one-shot. The woman in the store who assists Wilt with his, uh, purchase, is loosely based on me, while the guy with the tattoos, the other store customers, the Cottingham family, and the cashier are my creations. Wilt, Frankie Foster, Foul Larry(yeah, he's in here), Bulby, Mr. Herriman and "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends" are the creations of Craig McCracken and belong to Cartoon Network. I do not own "Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Edition", either.
Steam, ah, glorious steam-fingers massaging shampoo into thick lather, working as though to wash away all outside cares, the sound of running water in the sink drowning out everything else…everything but,
"Miss Frances! Your presence is required in my office IMMEDIATELY!"
Why does he have to call like freakin' NOW? A girl DOES have to wash her hair every now and then, you know! Frankie continued to scrub and lather her hair and scalp. Whatever the rabbit wanted would just have to wait, since she could hardly just drop what she was currently doing just to go strolling down to his office right now, could she? Apparently, though, her supervisor didn't see it that way, since it was not long before the intercom boomed to life once again, its message more urgent this time.
"MISS FRANCES! I absolutely INSIST that you cease and desist whatever trivial and no-doubt meaningless activity that you are currently occupying yourself with, and report to my office IMMEDIATELY, as I have previously stated, to take care of a matter of utmost URGENCY!"
"AHHHGGGG! Hold your horses, man!" yelled the red-head from the now-broken solace of her private bathroom, knowing fully well that Herriman couldn't hear her from his office, not even with THOSE ears. Her face heating up from more than just the steam from the tap, she began hastily rinsing the shampoo from her hair, not even bothering with the application of cream rinse, although she knew she'd pay for that when it was time to comb out her wet hair.
Moments later, her hair wrapped in a towel, Frankie Foster strode towards the door to the office/inner sanctum/command center of the house's Financial Director, and her immediate supervisor, Mr. Herriman, even as the intercom crackled a third time.
"MISS FRANCES! WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING YOU ARE TO STOP IMMED…"
"CAN IT already, I'm right HERE! Geesh, I couldn't come down here with shampoo all in my face, and I have to wash my hair SOMETIMES, you know" Frankie pushed open the door, her face an frustrated scowl.
Her supervisor scowled back, adjusting his monocle. "Your hair," he began, speaking with barely concealed contempt, "could have surely waited until AFTER visiting hours were over! The Cottinghams have come to adopt an Imaginary Friend, and they've been waiting for nearly 15 minutes for you to handle the procedures! I'm sure they did not drive eight hours just to be pushed aside so you can attend to your personal hygiene!" The six-foot-tall, Imaginary rabbit gestured behind him, towards his enormous desk, in front of which stood a fairly-typical family of three-mom, dad, and a boy who looked to be about 7 or 8, though it was hard to tell, since the kid was noticeably tall for his age. The family was staring intently at the interaction between the towel-headed human, and the impatient Imaginary bunny. As Frankie glanced in their direction, all three smiled at her, as if on cue.
For some reason, Frankie felt a sort of mental "red flag" raise itself, a vague uncomfortable knot beginning to tighten in her stomach, as soon as she got a good look at the prospective adoptive family. It wasn't that there was anything bad about them, or scary, or anything that would suggest they'd be anything less than a perfect family to adopt and care for one of the many Imaginary Friends who resided at the house. No, it was the kid's clothes. He wore a basketball jersey, AND he was carrying a basketball tucked under one arm. Frankie didn't know why at that exact moment, but something about the kid's choice of clothing and his need to carry around a piece of sports equipment put her at unease, causing her throat to tighten a bit, so that when she spoke, her voice sounded a bit more raspy than usual.
"Oh, uh…hi, my name's…" she paused to clear her throat-"excuse me coming in with this towel; I was just washing my hair and…" a cough from behind her, where Mr. Herriman still stood, prompted her to get on with it. "Anyway,", she continued, straightening herself and trying to sound as enthusiastic and professional as possible, "my name's Frankie Foster, and I'm the Estate Manager here at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. So, you guys would like to adopt one of our Imaginary Residents? Any ideas which one, or would you prefer to look around first?
The man, a tall gentleman with gold-rimmed glasses, extended his hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Miss…or is that Ms? Foster…yes, we have come to adopt an Imaginary Friend. My family and I have talked this over a lot, and we believe that it's the best thing to do for not only our son Kevin here, but for the sake of a poor, unwanted Imaginary Friend, to give him the wonderful, loving home he so deserves!"
"That's right," chimed in the mother. "Why, we wouldn't let Kevin create one of his own, knowing that there were so many unwanted, homeless Imaginaries out there in the world, and that if he made one up of his own, that would mean that hundreds more poor Imaginary Friends would be left starving and dying out there on the streets, victims of unspeakable abuse! Now that the time is right, we've decided to go ahead and adopt one of these poor, defenseless Imaginary Friends and give him a forever home!"
"Well, you know the Imaginary Friends here at Foster's DO have a loving, caring home, but you're right to want to adopt one, I guess." Frankie responded, a bit hesitantly. Turning to the kid, she asked, almost wishing she didn't have to, "So, Kevin, is it? Do you have any Friend in mind, that you'd like to adopt?"
"Sure do! Saw his picture up on your website! It's this one, right here!" The kid pulled out a folded sheet of printer paper from his pocket, and handed it to Frankie, who reached out and took it the way a person would take a certified letter from a credit collection agency from the mail carrier. Although she dared to hope, part of her mind already knew whose picture and profile was going to be on that piece of paper-maybe that kid's basketball jersey and basketball he carried were blatant clues- when she opened it. Holding her breath, she slowly opened the folded paper, her heart sinking as she did so, for the image on the paper revealed her worse nightmare to be coming true at last.
A familiar warm smile, set in a "broken" face marred by suture scars and a blind, "wonky" left eye, beamed up at her from the paper, his bright red color slightly dulled by cheap printer ink, his personal information and stats blurring before her eyes as Frankie felt her blood rush from her face, that knot in her stomach and her throat suddenly tightening like a vice, as a voice in her head gasped out, "No! This cannot be HAPPENING! These people can't really want to take HIM!" It seemed for an instant that everything in the office vanished, everything but her, that wretched piece of folded paper, and that kid, standing there smiling, all innocent and…the moment was broken by the sound of Mr. Herriman's voice, now right beside her, as he gazed at the sheet of paper in Frankie's trembling hand. "Ah, yes, Master Wilt! A most excellent choice, if I must say so! Master Wilt has been here for many, many years, and I'm sure that you will not find a finer example of a sportsman, especially for a youngster who seems so athletically inclined himself!" He reached out and tousled the hair of the beaming, basketball jersey-wearing lad with a chuckle, then continued, "Ms. Frances here shall fetch Master Wilt right away and will conduct the formalities of the adoption procedure." He then added, more gravely this time, "I'm sure we shall all miss Master Wilt sorely, as he is a most helpful and dare I say, sensible member of this household, but I'm sure that we shall all deal with it in time, and I'm even more certain that Master Wilt will be thrilled to have found a real home at last!"
Frankie found herself surrounded by numbness, her ears ringing so loudly that she almost couldn't hear Mr. Herriman's words. Enough sank in, though, that she had to refrain herself from yelling, "NO! No, he won't be thrilled to leave us! We WON'T 'deal with it all in time'! You can't take HIM! You just CAN'T!" This just could NOT be happening. It must be a bad dream, a new version of a dream she'd had many times in the past, and these people, these Cottinghams with their perfect family looks and their cheap lousy computer printer, could not really BE here; they were just part of that dream, and when Frankie woke up, they'd be gone, and she wouldn't even be able to remember their names or their kid's ridiculous basketball jersey or…Frankie heard her own voice state, in spite of the painful knot in her throat, "Uhm, you don't really want HIM, do you? I mean, I mean, I mean…his arm, and that eye, and…and…and…". The mother cut her off with a wave of her hand, "Oh, we aren't concerned with those, no, not at all! In fact, when we were discussing adopting an Imaginary Friend, we decided that we would actually look for one that was disabled or handicapped, since we knew that the poor handicapped dears would be less likely to be adopted by anyone else, and that they'd probably been the ones who have suffered the most, and were most in need of a stable, loving family environment to help them heal!"
"Yeah, and this one's profile says he loves to play basketball! I LOVE basketball, and I've always wanted somebody who can really help me to become a great basketball player someday, you know, like Jordan Michaels, 'cause he's the greatest basketball player in the whole world!" Not-so-little Kevin's enthusiasm was barely contained. Frankie could do nothing, for what seemed an eternity, but stand there, slack-jawed, and stare at him. Mr. Herriman's voice cut in once again, breaking her trance-like state of near-shock.
"Well, that's that, then. I've financial matters to attend to elsewhere in the house, and Miss Frances will bring Master Wilt in to meet you. I'm sure this arrangement will be a most joyous occasion! Cheerio, then!" With a tip of his top hat and a another tweak of his bow tie, he turned and hopped out of his office, leaving Frankie and the Cottinghams.
"Oh, we can't wait to meet this 'Master Wilt', or does he prefer being called just Wilt? Is Wilt a nickname, or is that his real name?" Frankie could barely comprehend the father's questions, her mind was racing so fast, trying to come up with some way to forestall this. "Uh, would you guys excuse me for a sec?" she aksed, her voice quavering far more than she wanted it to. "I..I…guess I need to….go find Wilt…and…you know…let him know that someone's uh…here to…adopt…him…or something" Frankie heard her voice say, though truth be told, it didn't sound like her voice, but more like some recording, being played back from a bad dream. Biting her lip, hoping her anxiety wasn't too obvious, she stepped out of the office into the hallway outside, closing the door behind her, hoping it didn't slam. For several seconds, or minutes-it was hard to keep track of time under the circumstances-she just leaned up against the wall outside the door, trying to force her brain into gear and regain some measure of self-control, taking deep breaths as she did so. This cannot be happening! This isn't real; it's a bad dream, like all the others. Her subconscious tried to tell her, but her logical mind cut it, reminding her, but you know it IS real, and you KNEW that eventually this day would come, didn't you? You let yourself get complacent and get lulled into thinking that he would always be here, that no one would ever really want to take him away, away from YOU, because of his busted eye and stumpy arm and scarred-up face, and you'll just be able to go on enjoying his presence here forever, without even having to tell a soul how you REALLY feel about him, didn't you? And now, he's about to leave you, maybe forever, and you never, ever even told him how you feel, 'cause you'd be too embarrassed for anyone, especially HIM, to know that you actually felt "that way" for an Imaginary Friend-too ashamed your friends might find out, or that you'd get in trouble for interfering with the reason that he's here in the first place, to find a new adoptive family! So, now I guess you gotta let him go, right? Just deal with it, right? Just forget that prom night never hap-"
"Just shut UP, shut up already!" Frankie hissed to herself, at the same time glancing around her to make sure no one heard her talking out loud to herself. She clapped a hand to her still towel-wrapped forehead, grinding her teeth. "Think, THINK", she muttered, "there's gotta be some way around this!" She decided that she might be able to think a bit more clearly in the kitchen, for some reason, perhaps because this was where she and Wilt often were able to spend some time alone, just talking as old friends do, while he helped her prepare breakfast for the rest of the household, a chore he'd taken upon himself. Taking in another deep breath, she half-ran for the kitchen, bursting through the swinging doors, hoping at the same time that there would not be anyone else in there. There wasn't; it was just her, and her thoughts. With less chance that someone else would overhear her "conversation", Frankie felt a bit more free to babble out loud to herself as she tried to sort out this mess.
"Oh, MAN, how am I gonna stop this? I can't let those people take him, I just CAN'T! Man, why didn't I see this coming? How could I be so stupid as to think that nobody would EVER want to adopt him, just because he's been here for like, FOREVER, and nobody's ever wanted him all this time? I gotta DO something, but it can't be obvious that I did it, 'cause I would SO be in trouble if anybody knew! I mean, Mac would be like, SO mad at me, 'cause I'd be like doing the exact same thing he and Bloo got in trouble for, you know, on that Adopt-A-Thought Saturday, when they tried to stop everyone from taking all those Imaginary Friends…and, and, and Wilt…if he KNEW…that I…tried to stop someone who really wanted to adopt him from taking him home…oh, MAN, he would NEVER forgive…"
"I'm sorry, but forgive WHO, for WHAT?"
Frankie spun around with a sharp gasp, to find herself face to face, or rather, face to waist, with the very object of her conundrum-"Master Wilt" himself. She stammered hopelessly, her eyes darting about the room in a desperate effort to find SOMETHING that would at least inspire her as to how to deal with the current situation. "Uh…uh…uhm…I mean, nevvvverrrr for…give…uh, BLOO! Yeah, Bloo." She tried to smile.
Wilt chuckled, shaking his head, "Man, what has that little booger got himself into THIS time?" His accent, just strong enough to make his speech patterns really interesting and give them a slightly musical lilt, made Frankie struggle all the more to fight back tears as her increasingly blurry eyes frantically sought out some inspiration in the room, finding only the usual kitchen stuff…the counter, dishes drying in the sink, small kitchen table, small piece of paper and pen on kitchen table…
BINGO.
The pen and paper suddenly seemed to beckon to her, as her mind churned out a feverish, last-ditch, this-has-to-work plot that would hopefully at least stall the inevitable. She forced a smile to her face, hoping that she would not look as desperate as she felt, lest Wilt realize that something was up. "Oh, THAT," she laughed, "Oh, don't worry about it, Wilt, it's just Bloo being…well, you know, BLOO. But look…" Wilt smiled, his smile lighting up the room like a beacon,
"Oh, well, I won't worry, then. But I just came in to tell you I finished edging the sidewalk like you asked me to this morning, and boy, was it startin' to get hot out there! NOT that I'm complainin', though-I mean, I'd NEVAH complain about ANYTHING you ask me to do…."
Frankie cut him off, "Look Wilt, thanks for edging the walk and all, but I REALLY, really sorta need you to do another favor for me, OK?"
"Sure, Frankie. No problem-O! You know how I love to do favors for you!
Why does he have to be so damn NICE and agreeable all the time? Frankie realized that this aspect of Wilt's personality would not make it any easier when it was time to let him go, NOT that she had any intentions of just letting go without a fight, mind you; oh no, her mind was made up. It was now or never. This HAD to work. HAD TO. "OK, I uh, need for you to go to the store for me; I uh, uh…am going to write a list of things for you to pick up AT the store…on this piece of paper! Yeah, this paper…the one right here, on this table, with this pen! Think you can handle it?" Frankie grabbed the pen and began hastily brainstorming a list of things for Wilt to pick up at the store, things that hopefully would take awhile for him to find, at least, thus keeping him away from the house for awhile. Long enough that the Cottinghams would either get frustrated and leave, or better yet, pick someone else to adopt. Someone that WASN'T Wilt. Let's see…light bulbs…yeah, we can always use those…Kiwi fruit…yeah, that's out of season now, so he'll have to ask the produce guy about it, and you know how Wilt loves to talk…maybe someone else will ask about something and he'll be compelled to help THEM find it…what else, what else, that's not enough stuff….suddenly, Frankie was struck with a most devious notion, something so dastardly and just so insidious that it would be guaranteed to keep Wilt at the store for a good, LOOONG time, that she almost started snickering out loud. To be honest, part of her hated to put him through this, knowing that this would be one of the most difficult tasks of his entire life, and part of her actually began to feel a twinge of guilt for interfering with him being adopted, perhaps by what would turn out to be a wonderful, perfect family, but another part of her told the guilty part to go take a flying leap, and told her that Wilt had gotten over a lot of things in his 32 years, and he would get over this, too. Maybe one day, she'd actually get the courage to tell him how she felt (not that she actually expected him to reciprocate those feelings), who knows?
"OK, here's your list of things to get, and here…" Frankie shoved the folded list into Wilt's hand, then fished around in her skirt pocket for checkbook, conveniently folded up and crammed in there after a previous shopping trip she'd made earlier that day, when she'd been in too much of a hurry to neatly put it back in her purse, "take my checkbook…and this pen, and don't worry about how much things will cost; I'm good for it! Now, you better get going, since I really need some of this stuff right away!"
"Uh, I'm sorry, Frankie, but don't you think I better take a shower first? I mean, I DID just finish edging the walk, out in the hot sun, and I'm uh…kinda sweaty and all" Wilt replied. Pretending to sniff the air around him, Frankie answered, trying not to sound upset, "Oh, NO….you smell just fiiine, really! Now, I really NEED this stuff, Wilt! You wouldn't wanna let me down, would you?" She made what she figured were her best "puppy-dog" eyes at him, smiling innocently. It had its intended effect.
"Oh, no, Frankie! I'd never do anything to let you down…well, not since that day, you know, at the beach…I am STILL so sorry about that, and I uh…"
"Then would you just GO already!" She was practically shoving him towards the door, noting that he DID actually smell a bit like a lawnmower and could have seriously used some fresh deodorant at that point, but what the heck, people at the store would just have to deal with it!
"Oh, alright. I hope that I don't stink too bad for those people at the store; I'll just go pick up my bus key in the foyer and…"
"Nononono….not through the foyer!" Frankie grabbed his arm. She had a feeling that the Cottinghams might have left Mr. Herriman's office and would be waiting there. "Why don't you…go out the back and uh, walk? I know how you're really into physical fitness and exercise and stuff, and how much you need to keep fit and all, so I just figured it would be better for you, you know, healthy and stuff, if you walked."
Wilt smiled even more warmly, bending down closer to her, so close that she could almost…no, don't even think about THAT, not now, she reprimanded herself mentally, as he responded, "Oh, thanks, Frankie! It's so great to have somebody around who actually thinks about my health and wellness! That's a great idea, to WALK to the store! AND it'll save on gas, too! You're such a great person, Frankie! That's why I love helpin' you so much, 'cause nobody deserves it more than you do! See ya in a little while!" With that, Wilt turned and strolled jauntily out through the back door, in the opposite direction of the Cottinghans, with their basketball-wearing little kid and their cheap computer printer and their lame sob story about helping handicapped Imaginary Friends…hmmph…he is SO not 'handicapped', people, just because he's lost his arm and eye; he's still able to do TWICE as much as you people can with BOTH your arms and eyes…Wilt does NOT need any of you to feel sorry for him…
…though, he's probably gonna feel a little sorry for himself, for once, when he sees what's on that list!
In spite of all the stress she'd been through, and the prospect of having to tell the Cottinghams, who'd driven for eight hours just to adopt a handicapped Imaginary Friend, that she couldn't find "Master Wilt" anywhere on the whole place, Frankie could not help but let a particularly evil grin spread itself across her face, as she tried not to think too hard about what poor Wilt was about to face. Now, all she had to do was to deal with the Cottinghams, and her problem would be solved…well, at least for the time being. Wilt would get over his upcoming ordeal, and she would be able to enjoy his company at least until the next family came along who wanted to take him…er, adopt him, which given the frequency with which that had happened in the past, would probably give her at least another decade. She hoped. IF she was lucky, and didn't let her guard down like she'd done this time.
Even though Wilt was still vaguely aware that he probably didn't smell like a rose garden after a day's work outside in the sun, edging the walkway, he was still happy as he entered the supermarket, and his face was practically beaming. It was his nature to find good in every situation, or ALMOST every situation, but for some reason, doing something for Frankie made him feel especially good all over. He loved to help everyone, but there were few people for whom doing favors made him feel as good as doing them for Frankie Foster did. Way back in his mind, deep in his subconscious, Wilt knew that there probably was a little bit more to it than that, but he was content, for the time being, to let that "little bit more" stay there, hidden away, and just enjoy the moment. And, he had to admit, the moment was pretty good. Blissfully ignoring the funny looks he was getting(when you had an amputated arm, and a wonky blind eye, and glaring black scars on your face, you got used to funny looks from other people, after all), Wilt strolled inside, still smiling, and reached inside his right sock, pulled up knee-high, for the tightly-folded list Frankie had given him, careful not to also pull out her checkbook, stuffed down the same sock for safekeeping. He shook open the list, noting the first item of about 10 or so different things-four packs of 75-watt long-life light bulbs-as he reached for the handle to a buggy, just in case there was anything heavy or bulky on the list that might be too much to carry in a basket draped over his stump of a left arm. Head held high, Wilt started for the aisle where he knew from experience the bulbs were kept, right across from the magazines, nodding in greeting to people he passed along the way. It didn't take long to find the bulbs, fortunately. Wilt stopped in front of them, perusing through the different brands, comparing prices and noting their alleged longevity. Frankie DID say that money was no object, but still, if he could find a decent light bulb brand for less, why not? Settling on a particular brand that was on sale, he carefully selected four packs, and placed them in the front part of the buggy, the part where little kids sometimes rode shotgun when their moms went shopping, so the delicate bulbs wouldn't get broken by anything heavy that he might need to place in the buggy. That done, he took a moment to turn to look through the selection of magazines, feeling a bit of guilt for doing so, not only because he knew that "magazines" weren't specifically on the list, but because he knew that one of his real guilty pleasures, the Sports Illustrated Annual Swimsuit Edition, would be on the stands. This very thing had created a bit of an uproar the year before, when he'd made the mistake of ordering it through the mail, and Frankie had been the one who'd gone to pick up the mail from the mailman that day. Still, it WAS kinda funny in retrospect, even if Wilt couldn't quite comprehend why it had bothered her so much, something about…
Wilt took another look at his list in his hand, knowing that at least it would take his mind off the cover of that magazine, and for the first time, he noticed it.
Second-to-last item on the list.
Right under the Kiwi fruit.
He felt his jaw drop involuntarily, his mouth going suddenly and uncomfortably dry.
He looked up, at the sign on the magazine rack that blazed, NO READING UNLESS YOU INTEND TO BUY, as if by looking away for a moment, that would somehow change the content of that second-to-the-last item on that list.
It didn't. When he looked back at the list again, IT was still there, or rather, THEY were still there.
Wilt swallowed hard, his tongue feeling like a piece of sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He shook his head ever so slightly. This must be a mistake. It HAD to be a mistake; she didn't really mean for him to buy…THOSE, did she? Maybe she meant to take this list to the store herself, and she just forgot to take THOSE off when she gave the list to him-had to be something like that. After all, he was a GUY, and guys just can't walk into a store and buy…THOSE, could they?
"Hey, buddy, you mind? You're blocking the whole aisle here! I need to get through so I can pick up some cereal for my kids!" The man's voice broke through Wilt's mental ramblings. 'Oh, sorry, sorry…I didn't mean to be in your way, sorry! I'll just move to another aisle, if that's OK!" Wilt smiled at the man, hoping that his voice didn't sound as nervous to the other guy as it did to him, but managing to catch the man's muttered response nonetheless; "Yeah, how about move to the aisle with the SOAP while you're at it!" Wilt became acutely aware, on top of his OTHER dilemma, that he really should have taken the time to at least take a quick bath before leaving.
How was it that a simple trip to the supermarket, a favor for someone he cherished so much as a friend(if not more), was suddenly threatening to turn into the Shopping Trip From Hell, thanks to that very cherished friend?
Frankie Foster felt a whole lot more confident as she re-entered Mr. Herriman's office, where the rightfully impatient Cottingham family still awaited, their smiles a bit more forced now. Mr. Cottingham looked at his watch, then at the clock on the wall, then at Frankie, and raised an eyebrow. Jr. Cottingham, the kid with the basketball jersey…what's his name…Kyle? Keegan? Oh, yeah, Kevin…looked up hopefully at Frankie and asked, "Did you find him? You found Wilt, didn't you? That's why you took so long, right?"
"Well, uhm, Kyle, you know things go," Frankie started, her confidence beginning to wane just a tad, "I uh, couldn't find him. Nope. Sorry. Wilt's not here…looked everywhere…inside the house, outside the house…I guess I forgot that I sent him to the store this morning. So, he's not here. Can I interest you guys in any of the other Imaginary Friends, though? I mean, we got a LOT here, and I'm sure that there'll be one or two…."
"But I want WIIILLLLTTT! I don't want some other Imaginary Friend, I want HIIIIIIMMMMMM!" Kevin Cottingham clutched his basketball to his chest like a spherical security blanket, and began to whine, his face turning bright pink.
"Oh, honey", his mother turned to comfort him, as Mr. Cottingham spoke up. "You mean we drove for eight hours to adopt an Imaginary Friend who's not here? Well, surely he'll be back soon, right? I mean, it was just a trip to the store, how long can THAT take?"
"Oh, I'm afraid it's gonna take him a loooong, long time", Frankie answered, hoping that the guilt she felt over lying to them didn't carry through to her voice. "It was a like, specialty store, or something."
"A 'specialty store'?"
"Yeah, a specialty store, of some sort, you know, like, out-of-state? I mean, I'd expect him back sometimes around like, midnight tonight, you know, if you guys wanna like, get a hotel room and come back in the morning or something", Frankie added, trying to sound helpful, while at the same time hoping that they wouldn't actually be so determined to leave with Wilt as to do just that. "I can help you find one, if you'd li…."
Poor little Kevin's bottom lip, by this point, had started to quiver uncontrollably, and his height notwithstanding, he proved that he was, after all, just a little kid, probably a very lonely little kid who got picked on a lot at school for being so tall and so obsessed with basketball that he had to carry one around with him all the time. Frankie's heart sank; like any compassionate adult, she hated to see a kid hurt or upset. As Kevin's eyes began to turn red and well up with tears, she found herself trying to console him, "Noo no no, PLEASE don't do that! Don't cry! Awww, man, I'll think of something, just let me take another look, OK? Maybe Wilt got home early, just let me check one more time!" With that, she turned and ran out of the office once more, her feeling of victory vanished, NOW she had TWO problems on her hands, trying to keep Wilt from being taken away, and at the same time, trying to keep a little boy from being hurt and disappointed; make that THREE problems, if you counted dealing with her own personal guilt for having caused that disappointment, through her own selfish motives. DAMN! Why did life have to be so complicated?
Life could not have been more complicated for Wilt at that moment. Of all the setbacks and unpleasant decisions he'd faced in his 32 years, THIS was the worst, the absolute pits. He had aimlessly pushed that grocery cart all over the store for what seemed like hours, methodically picking up the other items on the list as he happened to wind up on the aisle where they were kept, while at the same time, avoiding ONE particular aisle like the Plague, the aisle where those…things were. He'd passed in front of it several times, but had refused to so much as glance down it, lest somebody notice him and question his reasoning for doing so. It was almost as if, in Wilt's mind, a similar sign to the one on the magazine rack was prominently displayed across the opening to that aisle, like a harbinger of doom, "NO MALES ALLOWED UNLESS YOU WANT EVERYONE TO QUESTION YOUR MASCULINITY!" Periodically, Wilt would stop and look at the list again, hoping that they would just GO AWAY, and pondering such things as Why would she DO this to me? Did she MEAN to put THOSE on the list? What if she's still trying to get back at me for that jellyfish thing at the beach? She WAS awfully mad, but would she really do THIS? Am I THAT terrible an Imaginary Friend? What if I just don't buy…THOSE, and show up without 'em? What then? Will she hate me even more? What if she really you know, NEEDS THOSE, and I don't bring 'em? Wilt sighed. This had to be one of the most difficult things that life had ever thrown at him, bar none, and he'd had a LOT of things thrown at him by life. If it had been anyone but Frankie who'd given him that list, he probably would have figured a way out of this by now…probably. But, this WAS Frankie, and while Wilt tended to be in denial as to what she meant to him, he had to acknowledge, deep down, that there was something special there, or at least, he sometimes liked to feel that there was. That particular feeling had once been quite strong (had been?), and there'd actually been a time, in the not-so-distant past, when Wilt could have actually believed that she was The One, that One Special Kid that every Imaginary Friend at Foster's dreams of, that kid who would take him for her own, never outgrow him, who would need him just as much as his creator had once needed him, and THEN some. Wilt frowned at himself for letting such thoughts cross his mind. NO, it was not meant to be, and never was, and never will be. She DID outgrow you, after all, and now, she wants a REAL man, someone to make her happy and buy her stuff and someone she won't have to be ashamed of, or explain to her friends, not some Imaginary Friend who's all…who's all…
"…broken!" The child's voice jarred Wilt out of his thoughts, nearly making him drop that list he clutched tightly in his fist. "Yeah, and he kinda STINKS, too", added the other child, as the two siblings accompanied their mother down the aisle next to Wilt, all three wrinkling their noses at him.
Wilt gritted his teeth, not because of what they'd said about him; he deserved it, every bit, but at his own weakness and indecision. He HAD to do this; he OWED Frankie that much, and he could not, WOULD not, let her down. Any guy who was as weak as he was at the moment DESERVED to go down that Forbidden Aisle, dammit! Taking a deep breath, filling himself with revolve, Wilt turned his shopping cart around, and headed straight for that one place in the store he'd tried so desperately to stay away from, refusing to let his step falter, or his eye blink, even as he looked up to the little sign that foretold of what he'd find there: Baby Needs, Incontinence, FEMININE HYGIENE PRODUCTS. It's now or never, Chicken-Man! He began pushing the cart down the Forbidden Aisle, like a proud soldier marching off to face certain doom from the enemy sniper fire, refusing to glance left or right at the Huggies or the Depends until he stood right where he knew THEY would be.
Frankie Foster, meanwhile, was having no less of a problem to deal with back at the house. As she paced up and down the hall, she frantically wracked her brain for a way out of this, a way that would suit everyone. Think, think, THINK! What can you do so this poor kid, who just wants somebody to help him play basketball, won't have to go home crying his eyes out and his parents won't hate you? WHO would a basketball-loving kid…basketball playing kid…basketball…BASKETball…BasketBALLLLL..head…
"Basketball HEAD! That's IT!" a bright shining light of an idea seemed to blaze into existance over Frankie's head as she exclaimed out loud, to no one in particular, until she noticed the light, that is. "Ahg, BULBY! Would you cut that OUT! Geesh, man, you're always sneaking up on people!"
"Well, excuuuuse ME! I was just tryin' to HELP! See all the thanks I get around here!" shouted the light bulb-shaped Imaginary Friend, who always did have that annoying habit of suddenly going on over people's heads just when they happened to have a really brilliant idea, as if he thought it was some sort of joke or something. He extinguished his light and drifted away down the hall, muttering to himself about "ingrates".
Frankie didn't waste any time pondering Bulby's hurt feelings, though. She had more important fish to fry, "fish" that would hopefully get HER out of this hot water she'd gotten herself into.
Moments later, she was once more heading towards Mr. Herriman's door, only this time, she was not alone, though she wished her companion would try not to be so freakin' SLOW about it. She turned and looked behind her, prompting, "Would you try to hurry it up a bit? I mean, they have been waiting for a long time, and you don't want them to loose patience and leave, do you?"
"Oh, NO 'm'am, I don't want THAT! I just can't hardly believe that a family is here who really wants to adopt ME; I'm so happy, I'm 'bout to cry, tha's all!" The formidable giant lumbering along the hallway behind Frankie wiped a tear from his basketball-shaped face with one of his enormous fingers, sniffling. "Well, try not to cry all over the Cottinghams, how about it; it tends to make a bad first impression" reminded Frankie to her colossal companion. To be perfectly honest, Frankie wasn't sure this would work; this guy, after all, was NOT Wilt. Far from it, in fact, in spite of the obvious basketball references. Frankie was just hoping that this would solve everyone's problem; the kid would get his basketball-loving Imaginary Friend, the father wouldn't feel that they'd wasted the gas to get there, the "homeless" Imaginary Friend would get a new family, and she'd get to keep Wilt. For now, at least. Frankie had to admit to herself that she'd be glad to see this guy go, really. Not that he was any trouble, aside from having an appetite like the proverbial Bottomless Pit; he'd never done or said anything to her, personally, to make her dislike him. Still, she'd found it a bit difficult to be civil to him, to treat him equally and fairly, as she was supposed to treat all the Imaginary Friends at Foster's. It wasn't because of anything he'd done or said to HER, but because of what he'd done to WILT. Sure, even Wilt insisted to her that it had been an accident, that the dude hadn't really MEANT to hurt him, and that all was forgiven, but Frankie had a hard time buying that. This "dude" had once hurt someone she cared about very, very much, hurt him really badly, nearly killed him, in fact, and not just once, but twice. Try as she might, Frankie just couldn't put that fact out of her mind. She, for one, would not be disappointed to see him go. This just has to work, it HAS to! Frankie breathed a silent prayer that her plan would go over with the Cottinghams, knowing that after she'd done something so deceitful as to send Wilt away from the house, with instructions to purchase something that she KNEW he'd balk at, so as to keep him from being adopted by what was probably a very loving family, she really didn't deserve for her prayers to be answered at all. Opening the door to the office, she was greeted not only by the Cottingham family, but by Mr. Herriman, who'd apparently completed whatever task had taken him away from his office for awhile. He did not look pleased.
"Miss Frances! How can it be that I send you on as menial a task as to locate Master Wilt and bring him to my office forth-wit, and over half and hour has passed, and you still have failed miserably in that endeavor? These poor people have driven eight – long- grueling hours (he paused in between the words for dramatic effect) just to adopt the Imaginary Friend of their son's fondest dreams, only to have you dilly-dally about with your head wrapped in a towel! This is BEYOND mere absurdity! Have you any excuse for your most unprofessional behavior?"
Frankie subconsciously reached up and touched her forehead, rather surprised that she did still indeed have the towel wrapped around her head. She'd been so caught up in her situation that she'd forgotten all about it, but there was still the issue of the Cottinghams to deal with.
"Look," she began, "I still can't find Wilt. I don't know where he is, honestly; I'm sure he's just…you know, about and around somewhere, but I DID think of someone that I think you'll like just as much. He's REALLY into basketball, too, and he's been really upset lately that no one would want him because he's such a sports fanatic", she added, laying it on thick as the Cottinghams glanced at each other and at Mr. Herriman. Turning to the hallway behind her, she motioned for her companion to enter the office, though it was a bit of a squeeze for him to fit through the door. Smiling her most pleasant smile, Frankie introduced the (hopefully) potential adoptee to the family; "OK, everybody, this is Fou….I mean BIG Larry!" As the recently-christened "Big" Larry started to protest, she gave him a not-so-gently kick to the shin, prompting him to keep quiet, eliciting a muffled "owie" from the giant. Towering over the rest like Mount Everest, Larry stood beside Frankie, and cleared his throat. "Uh, hi, y'all" he said in his booming voice.
Mr. Herriman began to say something in response to this latest change of game plans, prompting Frankie to step over to him and whisper under her breath, reminding her supervisor of how much Larry ATE, how many pieces of furniture he'd broken just by sitting on them, and the near-priceless antique chandelier he'd smashed to bits by walking into it. "Ah, yes, I see your point," Herriman softly agreed, "it would indeed be to our financial benefit not to have this walking food processing unit in our midst!"
The Cottinghams, for what seemed like an eternity, just stared up at Larry, jaws collectively dropping. Larry rubbed his massive hands together, and smiled nervously, waiting for at least one of them to say something. Mrs. Cottingham was the first to speak. "Well, uhm…I have to admit, he sure is BIG!" She gave a slight laugh, glancing at her husband, "What do you think, honey? Do you think he's maybe…a little…you know, TOO big?" Frankie felt her hopes sink. This would not be the first time that a family had turned down the chance to go home with Larry because of his imposing size, and he knew it, too. Young Kevin, though, came to the rescue, just as his father started to say something. "Hey, are you a Boston Celtics fan? That's my favorite NBA team!"
Larry found his voice once again, "Matter of fact, I sho' am! That's MY favorite team, too!" He proudly indicated the green jersey he typically wore. "My creator was a big fan, too; tha's why I like 'em so much!" As the youngster walked up to him, the giant bent down to shake his hand in that enormous mit of his, able to somehow exercise remarkable gentleness in spite of his bulk and strength. Regardless of how she'd felt about Larry previously, Frankie could not help but to feel that warm feeling all over, that she got whenever a perfect match between an Imaginary Friend and an adoptive child was made. Having become more acquainted with the immense Imaginary Friend, Kevin's mind was made up. The other basketball-loving Friend he'd come for in the first place was quickly forgotten. Turning to his still-hesitant parents, he exclaimed, "THIS is the one I want, I KNOW it! Can't we PLLEEEEEAAASSSE take him?"
"But how we will get him HOME?" asked Mr. Cottingham. "Will he even fit in the mini-van?"
"Oh, I can make myself fit!" exclaimed Larry in a show of self-support. "Y'all'd be surprised how little a space I can squeeze my big ole' butt into; shoot, y'all can strap me to the roof like a trophy eight-point deer if y'all want to and just let it ride!" Mrs. Cottingham giggled a bit at the thought of this huge individual riding strapped to the roof; "Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary. We'll just have to scrunch up for the ride, won't we, hon?" She elbowed her husband, who still seemed a bit stunned by Larry's bulk, or maybe just a bit confused by his accent, so different from the usual West Coast linguistic fare. "Uh, well…", he hesitated, eliciting a round of pleas from both his wife and son. Knowing he was outvoted, he caved in with a resigned sigh. As Larry and the Cottinghams talked among each other, both Mr. Herriman and Frankie stood by, looking quite pleased. No matter what the circumstances, it always made them feel good to see a Friend go to a new home, and this match really seemed to click. It was only a matter of signing the paperwork, now, and giving Larry time to pack his meager personal belongings. Larry would be out of the way, the Cottinghams would be happy…and best of all, mused Frankie, Wilt would still be here. That is, IF he ever got back from the shopping trip! She'd figured that that one little item would hold him up a bit, just long enough for her to do something about the Cottinghams, but now, Frankie was really beginning to worry a bit if maybe there was some other reason for Wilt's delay in returning.
There. He was actually standing there, on the Forbidden Aisle, and found himself staring, his mind trying to get itself in gear, at what seemed like row upon row of products he'd never, not in his wildest dreams, would have guessed he'd actually have to buy. It just wasn't natural, not for a GUY, to have to think about these things! Just for starters, Frankie had only listed a product type, rather than a brand name. Were there THAT many differences in the various brands? And, who KNEW that there were so MANY different kinds? Were there that many differences in…in…do NOT go there, bro'! Wilt's one inner voice prompted him. He gazed up and down the vast selection, noting that in addition to those types of products, MALE uh, protective gear, was being displayed on the same shelves. Now since WHEN did they start putting THOSE in with the ladies' stuff? There was also quite a selection of lotions and oils, and Wilt couldn't stop his mind (or WAS it his mind?)from wandering a bit.
"First time, huh?" The question jarred Wilt out of his momentary little flight of fancy, causing him to jump, with a loud intake of air. "WHA? Oh, I'm sorry," he chuckled nervously, hoping that the middle-aged, tattooed man who'd come up behind him, also pushing a shopping cart, hadn't been there TOO long. Wilt must have had a look of total "whatdyaMEAN,firsttime" on his face, since the guy smiled reassuringly. "Look, don't sweat it, buddy. I been in your shoes-well, maybe not YOUR shoes, 'cuzz if you don't mind sayin' so, you got some BIG friggin' feet, I'm tellin' ya! But hey, look, I know the sitch, right? You just got settled in with your ole' lady, and she sends you to the store to pick up some plugs, right?"
Wilt was actually surprised that the guy had come close, but started, "Well, yeah, only she's not my…what I mean is, she isn't…or I don't THINK she is, anyway…I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"Hey, man, like I said, I been there, done that. All us REAL guys gotta go through this sooner or later. It's like they're TESTIN' us, seeing what we're really made of, if we'll really go through with it or not. Know how I deal with it? Just think of it like this: people see you walk up to that check-out with a box of these, and they know, there goes a REAL guy! Wanna know HOW they know? 'Cuzz only a REAL guy would be buyin' THOSE, 'cuzz that means he's got a CHICK waiting at home, right? And if he's got a chick, that means he ain't one a those sissy manicured, hot-waxed pretty boys who can't hit a lick at a snake, 'cuzz he might chip a nail or somethin', but a real, honest-to-goodness, red-blooded, sports-watchin', hard-workin', down-n-dirty MAN!"
"You know, I never thought of it that way," Wilt responded, after taking a moment to actually take in what the man had just told him. "You're right, though! I'm definitely not any hot-waxed, or manicured somethin'-somethin'; shoot, I don't even HAVE nails!" He shouted, almost defiantly, causing several other shoppers who were passing by the aisle to stop and look his way, blinking in confusion at the moment of male bonding taking place in front of the feminine hygiene products and adult diapers. Wilt felt inspired, though, and failed to notice them. He was SO gonna DO this! "I am SO gonna pick up these, these, uh, THING-A-MAJIGGIES, and put them in MY shopping cart, and go up to THAT checkout, and, and…show everyone in this store that they're lookin' at a REAL guy…er, make that an IMAGINARY guy, if that's OK!"
"That's the spirit, man! Make your brothers PROUD!" The anonymous tattooed stranger smiled, than pushed onward, leaving Wilt once again alone in the Forbidden Aisle. His determination was stoked, though, and even without the emotional support, Wilt found the courage to turn around, face the enemy, or rather, the box, head-on, and pick up the first one to catch his eye and very nearly slam-dunk it into the shopping cart. THAT'LL show 'em who da MAN! Head held high, chest puffed out, he fairly strutted to the check-out, pushing his cart, those Thingamajiggies no longer a threat to HIS masculinity, uh-UH. He was gonna show 'em, all right! Wilt headed for the "Express Lane", and just his luck, the person right before him was just paying, so that meant he wouldn't have to wait long. It did briefly cross his mind that maybe the Thingamajiggies he'd grabbed up in a fit of male pride weren't the right kind, but hey, HE was the man here, and Frankie would just have to deal with it, either that or come bring them back and pick up the right kind herself, but at least he'd show that he could pass the "test", right? Right? Reaching the checkout, Wilt tried not to think too hard about the contents of his shopping cart as he began handing the items one by one to the cashier to be scanned. Somehow, the box of Thingamajiggies wound up being the last thing in the cart to be removed for scanning. Wilt smiled at the woman behind the counter, hoping he didn't look too much like an idiot. She never even looked up at his face. She passed the box over the scanner, but instead of that familiar little "ding" that indicated the item had been successfully scanned, there was nothing. Not a sound. She tried again. STILL nothing. Her face began to assume a sort of "Oh, no" look that plainly said, "I've got two more hours before I can leave work and I do NOT have time for things that don't have price codes on them!" Wilt's pride and courage were beginning to seriously fade by this point, as his quick and unassuming get-away from the store was being delayed, and somehow, it didn't seem like everyone in the store was upholding him as a fine example of virility just because he had a box of THOSE in his shopping cart. The woman turned the wretched box over and over in her hands, looking for something that would indicate the price, and failing to find whatever she was searching for, she reached for the little microphone beside the cash register. OH, NO…Wilt's one good eye flew open wide as he suddenly realized what she was going to do, but even as he reached out to stop her, her voice blared out over the store's PA system like voice of Doom itself-
"PRICE CHECK NEEDED FOR TAMPONS ON EXPRESS LANE TWO! REPEAT, PRICE CHECK NEEDED FOR TAMPONS ON EXPRESS LANE TWO! OVER!"
To Wilt, it seemed as though the store had become a giant decompression chamber, all the oxygen having been suddenly sucked out, leaving a vacuum. It would have almost been funny, since for some odd and totally random reason, he thought of those old "E.F. Hutton" commercials he'd seen back in the '70's, when he still lived with his creator, in which there'd be two people in a very crowded and noisy place, talking about finances, and one would say, "well, MY broker is E.F. Hutton, and E.F. Hutton says…" and then this silence would fall across the whole place as every person there stopped talking at once and turned to hear what E.F. Hutton had to say. It was JUST like that, with every last person in the store seeming to stop in his/her tracks, and turning to look at whoever was trying to buy a box of no-price tampons on Express Lane Two, and that unfortunate person just happened to be Wilt, now sweating bullets and shaking like a 10-foot-tall VERY red leaf. For a moment, Wilt seriously contemplated either running out of the store, without one single item he'd been sent for, or crawling underneath the shopping cart and curling into a fetal position. On second thought, he realized he was way too tall to fit underneath the cart, and on third thought(what limited thought he was capable of under the circumstances), he realized that no matter how bad this was, no matter what the terrible cost to him and his pride, he could NOT let Frankie down. He couldn't just stand there, and be the object of everyone's ridicule though, so he did the next thing he could think of-grabbed the box in question from the cashier's hand, before anyone could come collect it for the price check. With a volley of "Sorry's", he quickly ran back to the Forbidden Aisle, carrying that damned box, in the hopes of exchanging it for one that DID have a price code on it somewhere, at the same time, thinking, what if NONE of them have prices, and she has to call it out for every single one I bring?
He'd also been REALLY hoping that the Forbidden Aisle would be devoid of other shoppers, but to Wilt's absolute horror, there was a woman there, right where he and that son-of-a-female dog, lyin' piece of trash-talkin', no-help piece of work had talked what seemed like hours ago. Panting, Wilt had to skid to a halt to stop himself from literally running her over. She turned and looked up at him, not really surprised or startled, actually, but with an expression that seemed to suggest this sort of thing happened to her all the time. Wilt's mind went blank; there was absolutely nothing in his experiences, in his rationale, that he could call upon to deal with this situation. Here he was, nearly out of breath, standing in front of a total stranger, a woman no less, on an aisle in the supermarket where guys really had no business unless they'd been shopping for baby stuff or adult incontinence supplies and accidentally passed those by, and he was clutching a box of something that a guy REALLY had no business clutching. There was simply nothing he could say, or do, but to stand there in front of the woman and look like an utter and complete idiot, which is exactly what he felt like. For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them just looked at each other, as though trying to assess an opponent's strengths or weaknesses. Wilt was conscious of his jaw moving up and down, almost spastically, even though no sound came from his mouth beyond one pitiful little squeak. Finally, it was the other person who decided that this silence really had gone on long enough, and it was time to break it.
"I'm not in your way, am I? If you need to find something…"
Wilt found his voice, more or less, though he was terribly dissatisfied at the way it sounded, or what it had to say on the matter. "I…I…sorry…but I…just…need to…need too…need to…uhhhhhh, put this BACK! Yeah, put this back. That's it. That's it and…uhhhh…get..aNOTHER…". He saw the woman's eyes track to the "this" in his hand, saw her eyebrow go up another notch. She didn't have to say a word for him to know what question was surely on her mind. Desperately glancing away, with a nervous chuckle(even though there was nothing humorous about this situation at all to Wilt), he hastily shoved that little cardboard box onto a shelf, not even bothering to note if it was back with its own brand name or not, and tried to smile, completely unable to look the woman in the face. He had no clue what to do next. There was no way he could make his hand actually reach out and pick up another box, let alone check to see if there was a price on the damn thing. About the only thing worse that could happen at this point, he thought fleetingly, was if he threw up, and the way his stomach was feeling, that seemed to be a possibility that couldn't be ruled out.
"Hey, look", said a friendly voice, breaking him out of the mental fugue state his mind was trying to retreat into, "I think I know what's going on here" the woman's "WTF" expression changed. "Let's see if I got this right: some young lady, probably someone who means a lot to you, sent you to buy those for her; am I right?" Wilt still couldn't talk, but he glanced briefly at her, then at the floor, rubbing the back of his head, and gave a slight but still-noticeable nod. "OoooKay," his companion responded, "NOW at least we're getting somewhere. Yeah, I can see how that would be a tad stressful, for a guy, at least for the first few times!" She laughed a bit, though not in a way that suggested she was really making fun of his plight. "Tell you what," she continued, "If it's that much stress on you, why don't you just give me the money for it, and I'll go purchase the box myself and you can meet up with me in the parking lot to pick it up, or I can just buy the box and you pay me back for it when we get to parking lot? How does that sound?"
Wilt could hardly believe what he was hearing! Could it be that there really was a sensible way out of this? "I'm sorry, but you'd really do that? For ME? I think that would be….oh, MAN, wait! I'm sorry, but I don't have any cash on me, just my gir…I mean, Frankie's checkbook, and I know you won't just take a personal check from a total stranger. Besides, I don't think there are many checks left, and I still have to pay for the other stuff I got." Man, and it looked like this was going to work, too. Then, out of the blue, WILT had an idea. He didn't know HOW his brain had managed under its current working conditions, but somehow, it did. "Hey, how 'bout we do this," he offered before the woman could even respond to his lack of cash, "how 'bout you tell me something YOU want to buy, that costs about the same as uhm, these uh, Thingamajiggies here," Wilt paused for a deep breath after mentioning said Thingamajiggies, then carried on. "I can buy it along with the other stuff I came to get, and YOU can buy thooooosseee,", he gestured towards the items on the shelf beside him, "THEN we can just trade up in the parking lot, even-Steven, if that's OK!"
"You know, I think that'll work fine for me!" answered the woman, whose name Wilt had never even asked.
"Great!" he practically leapt up with joy and relief. "Now, just let me know what it is you want me to pick up for you, and…"
The woman thought for a moment, then smiled, "Well, you know, my husband is a big sports fan, and while I do pitch a bit of a hissy fit about every now and then, there's this magazine he really wants. You know, the one with all those models in those skimpy swim suits? I'm sure they have it out now on the magazine stand, and the price is probably about the same as a large box of these. Maybe I'll just surprise him with a copy this year, so he won't feel the need to sneak around and buy it, how about that?" She paused a moment, as if uncertain of how to approach this next part, then added, "And, no offense, hon, but whatever cologne you're wearing? You might want to consider another brand, 'cause this one's just not working for me!"
Her hair now dried and combed and pulled back into its usual pony tail, Frankie was now free to really worry about Wilt. She'd known it would take him a good long while, once he saw what was on that list. That had, after all, been her real purpose for putting that on the list in the first place. She had a pretty good "stock" in her own bathroom, so it wasn't like she actually needed more, but of course, she knew Wilt had no way to know that. Even though her bit of deceit had actually worked out in the long run-Foul Larry got adopted, Keven Cottingham got to go home with a new Imaginary Friend that he really seemed to hit it off with, and best of all, Wilt got to stay a bit longer, at least-Frankie still felt a pang of guilt over what she'd done, and what she'd no doubt put him through. What if he finds out the real reason why you sent him to the store? What if he's so late because he's mad at you for sending him to buy THAT? Will he be hurt to know that the guy who busted his arm and nearly killed him has been adopted, while he's still here, still without that one kid he believes is out there, somewhere, who really needs him? Frankie sighed to herself as she walked back downstairs to the kitchen, trying to reconcile with her own conscience about what she had done. It WAS selfish, after all, to try and keep Wilt to herself, especially since she'd never told him about how she felt. She knew that to Wilt, as to all Imaginary Friends, having a kid to care about them, and in his case, to depend on them like a big brother or even almost like a parent, meant more to him than anything. Wilt had even passed up a golden opportunity to go live forever with his now-famous, and now-very RICH, creator, just so he could still have a chance of being adopted by that one kid whom he was still confident was either out there somewhere, waiting to find him, or whom Wilt was sure would be born some day, and who would need Wilt at some point. In the 20-plus years he'd been at Foster's, overlooked by countless kids and parents, Wilt has somehow managed to hold onto that hope, that one day, he would find this kid, whoever he or she was, and be able to make a profound difference in this child's life, as he'd done for his own creator, over 30 years ago. It saddened Frankie to think that if she told him how she felt, it would seem like she was interfering in what Wilt no doubt believed to be his true destiny, and that she might have already deprived some kid of the chance to have the greatest Imaginary Friend in the whole world. She knew that she had to keep a professional distance between herself and the tall, red, wonderful being, lest it be all the more painful when that inevitable day came that she really had to just…let him go. When there wouldn't be any impromptu shopping trips with unmentionable items on a list to stall for more time, no Foul Larry to substitute, just…just…good-bye.
As he walked down the sidewalk that paralleled Wilson Way, Wilt kept his gaze downwards, pensive. Even though he was relieved to have actually made it, actually to have found a way to save face AND his masculinity, while at the same time, delivering the requested goods, thanks to the kindness of a stranger, he still had many unanswered questions. WHY did she send HIM to get THOSE…THINGS? Was she mad at him? Or, as that tattooed guy suggested, was she doing it to "test" him in some way? If so, what exactly was she "testing" him for? Everyone seemed to suggest that girls did this to guys who were their BOYFRIENDS, or husbands, even, not just to "just-friends" sorta guys. What did THAT mean, then? He knew that Frankie didn't-and never would-think of HIM in that way at all…would she? Naw…Wilt was under no illusion that he was not what Frankie wanted in a guy, not even close. Why WOULD she actually want an Imaginary Friend for a boyfriend, let alone marry one, and ESPECIALLY one who was less-than-perfect, physically, with a stump for an arm and a blind, wonky eye? Wilt felt bad for even considering anything so ridiculous, even though there'd been many times that he'd dared to hope-hope that maybe, just maybe, Frankie might one day see him as perhaps a bit more than "just a friend". Those hopes had been pretty high back when she was a high school senior, and he'd even gotten some totally stupid notion in his head that maybe SHE was "the One", that one kid who'd take him in as her own Imaginary Friend, whom he could help and always be there for, even if she was no longer a little kid. But then, she'd gone away to college, and when she came back, things had changed between them. Wilt knew why, of course. Frankie had seen enough of the real world to know that she needed a real MAN, a man to provide for her and care for her and their children, NOT an Imaginary Friend. That's all he would ever mean to her, nothing more, and that really, Wilt thought, is how it's meant to be, so he knew that he just had to resign himself to that fact, in the same way that he'd resigned himself to looking in the mirror and seeing himself with only one arm, and a busted, useless eye, and black suture scars on each side of his face, where once he'd seen two strong and agile arms, two perfect eyes, and a face free of scars and pain.
Standing over the kitchen stove, stirring a large pot of stew for that evening's meal, Frankie tried not to hard to think about how close she'd come to losing Wilt, at the same time, growing increasingly concerned that he still hadn't shown up. Hearing the back door open, though, and a familiar sneaker-step, she looked up, her demeanor improving considerably. She didn't want WILT to know, of course, what had transpired that day while he was gone, that someone had actually come looking to adopt him, nor did she want him to know that she'd actually gotten worried about his safety when he'd been gone far longer than she'd anticipated. She decided to scold him a bit for having taken so long.
"Wilt! It's been HOURS! I waited and waited, and finally had to start supper without the rest of the ingredients! What TOOK so long, anyway, GEESH!
Wilt froze in his steps. He's been debating whether or not to confront her in some way about that one particular item, and why she'd sent HIM to get it, but he decided to play it cool and act like it was just another shopping item. She was clearly aggravated with him, rightfully so, and it was useless to bring up something that would probably just start an argument and upset her even more.
"I'm so sorry, Frankie," he began, though his voice sounded flat and not very sincere, "there was a big crowd,..and I sorta ran into some people, you know…and wound up runnin' my mouth." He looked at a spot on the floor somewhere off to the side of her, as he handed her the bags from the store. "I hope I didn't cause too much trouble-guess time just sorta slipped away from me. Anyway, here's the stuff you wanted and…" Wilt leaned over to reach into his right sock, pulling out her checkbook, "here's your checkbook. Receipt's in one of the bags; sorry, I didn't have anything to write the amount in the checkbook with, if that's O…." Wilt's speech was cut off right in between the "O" and the "K" by something totally and absolutely unexpected. The red-haired young woman, who had just expressed her irritation with his lateness seconds before, suddenly stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a strong embrace. For a moment, Wilt just stood as through in shock, not knowing how to react to this, but his arm, as though developing a mind of its own, found itself snaking around her shoulders to return the hug, even if he didn't understand the motive behind it. Finally, Frankie whispered a heart-felt "thank you" in Wilt's ear, and disengaged the embrace. She knew if she kept it up, she'd wind up breaking down in tears and confess everything. Either that, or she'd do something REALLY stupid, like kiss him or something. "Oh, man, would you look at this stew! It's about to boil over, I swear! And you…you really COULD use a shower before we eat!" She pretended to fan the air in front of her, as though to dissipate Wilt's yard-work aroma.
"Yeah," he added, with a chuckle, "guess I better do that. Don't want the other diners passin' out at the table; they might start thinkin' it's your cookin' they smell, and somebody's libel to call the Health Department to come down here!"
"OK, Mr. Funny Man! You just go ahead with that shower before I pass out, how about it!" Frankie fanned the air now with a pot holder for added emphasis.
Wilt turned to leave, his aggravation from the day's shopping escapade quickly vanishing as the two of them joked around with each other, then looked back over his shoulder, "See ya later, if that's OK. At SUPPER, I mean."
Frankie watched him leave as she stirred the contents of the pot. Yeah, it's OK…it's MORE than OK. And it will be, for one more day, at least.
Finis