For disclaimer on Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, please refer to chapter one.
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Chapter Four: Not This Year
Mac stared at the cold, crisp sky as he walked to Foster's. He had no idea how he managed to get himself out of bed, let alone out of the apartment. On one hand, he wanted to see his friends. On the other hand, he just wanted to be left alone. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to six. He decided to wander around the back of the house before going inside.
Walking over to the pool, he looked up at the large ladder in front of him, and started to climb it. Sitting down on the edge of the diving board, he hugged his knees to his chest, and started to rock himself back and forth in a bored manner. He mulled over the events that occurred in the past few days, then suddenly he thought of nothing except for the dark water. What was it like to be in there?
He leaned slowly forward. Slowly, slowly, until he leaned far enough over. As he let himself sink slowly further in the icy cold water surrounding him made his felt at peace. Just two minutes inside the pool seemed like a blissful eternity. Suddenly, he felt being jerked upwards, and was pulled out of his bittersweet paradise.
As he was brought up to surface and back onto the diving board, he shoved away the creature who had rescued him.
"YOU SAVED ME!" he screamed angrily. "WHY DID YOU SAVE ME? WHY COULDN'T YOU SAVE HER?"
He wrapped his arms around himself and started to sob hysterically. The life preserver-shaped friend, all fixed up, hung its head in shame.
"Mac!" Frankie called, as she and Wilt ran over and climbed up the ladder. Mac sat there, soaking wet, with his arms clutched at his sides.
"It's not fair," he sobbed.
Frankie turned to Wilt. "Let's get him inside," she told the tall figure in a low voice. Wilt scooped up the crying twelve-year-old and brought him inside the house.
Mac sat in front of the large fireplace with an enormous wool blanket wrapped around him. The dry clothes he had borrowed were slightly big on him. He stared at the fire flickering as Frankie walked into the room with a mug full of hot chocolate and mini marshmallows. "Your clothes are in the wash now. It'll be done and dried in a hour or so." Mack took a sip of his hot chocolate, wanting to thank the older girl, but could not manage to say anything.
"Mac, hear me out. I know how you feel. I lost my parents at a very young age. They went to a Christmas party, and I stayed here with Grandma. They got into a car accident on their way back home…" She cleared her throat.
"When I heard that they died, I couldn't think straight. I'm not sure if I even understood. I was barely two years old! As I got older, it got harder for me not knowing my parents. It was so hard for me to accept that they were gone."
Frankie blinked back a few tears, remembering when she was going through a difficult time without her parents at the age of fifteen, running up and down the street, as if she could escape her pain and fear. She ran until she could not run anymore, collapsing onto the sidewalk.
Mac continued to stare at the fireplace while sipping his hot chocolate.
"Valentine's Day was her favorite holiday," he finally spoke.
Frankie sighed silently. Valentine's Day was in three days.
"She said she had planned something special this year," he continued.
"Mac," Frankie sighed. "There's something I need to give you."
He looked up at her curiously before Frankie stood up to leave the room, coming back with the butterfly sticker-decorated, violet-colored plastic bin.
"Her mom said this is yours now," the young woman explained.
Mac put down his now empty mug and opened up the top. Inside was a small cardboard box wrapped with a red ribbon tied in an imperfect bow and pink hearts scattered on the paper. The tag had his name on it, and so he untied the ribbon and ripped off the wrapping paper. Lifting off the box top, he discovered a homemade scrapbook. He opened the book and saw picture after picture of him and his friends.
The note taped to the inside cover was the first gift she had ever gave him. It read, "To Mac, Thanks for being so nice to me all the time. Your friend, Goo."
He slammed the scrapbook's cover shut, and stood up, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Walking out of the room, Mac went up to the portrait room, looking up at the endless rows of pictures hanging high on the wall.
"P-please tell me you'll be taking those down," he said in a quivering voice, eyeing twelve framed Friend of the Month photos, all of which showed the same smiling girl.
"Mac…" the young woman started. "I know you really wouldn't want that… She wouldn't want that."
"I just can't take it anymore," the twelve-year-old muttered.
"We should be honoring her death," Frankie added.
"She shouldn't be dead at all!" he yelled angrily. "You're not suppose to die when you're fourteen!"
His head hung to the ground. "F-Frankie, I just want to be by myself right now."
She sighed. "I'll drive you home."
Rain began to pour down heavily on the sidewalk. Mac dragged the purple bin up the stairs of his apartment complex, creating scratches at the bottom of the surface. Pushing his way into his building, and into his bedroom, Mac deliberately dropped the heavy box to the floor. With his oversized, clean clothes soaked with rain, he climbed onto the lower layer of the bunk bed.
Clinging tightly to the Valentine-theme scrapbook, he stared at a photograph of himself and the dark-skinned girl with freckles and braided black hair.
"Goo," he sobbed, tears pouring down his cheeks. He clutched the picture with shaky hands, until he cried himself to sleep.
End of Chapter Four
Author's Note: This chapter and story was inspired by the song Not This Year, written and performed by Alyson and Amanda Joy Michalka (also known as Aly & A.J.).
10 September 2007