I Spoke as a Child Chapter 10, a foster's home for imaginary friends fanfic

I Spoke as a Child

George Pollock, Jr.

Part 10

"My mom also said," Mac continued in the bedroom, "you could get sick … if that guy had an illness …"

Frankie blinked. "That's right, Mac. But I hope that doesn't happen."

"Was he sick?"

She chuckled nervously. "Yeah, but not in the way you're thinking of, kiddo."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. We don't know if he has any illnesses. Not yet. I was told they took blood from him at the jail. They'll check it for any diseases. And they took blood from me at the hospital, and they'll check that, too."

"When will you know something?"

"A few days."

The boy glanced down. "Bloo thought you had a disease."

Frankie's eyes flared, and her words came rapid-fire: "WHAT? What did he SAY? Who'd he TELL, Mac?"

Her barrage surprised him, and he waved his arms to clear out the confusion. "Just me, Frankie, just me! He heard Madame Foster tell guys to stay away from you! He thought you could make guys sick! That's all!"

She calmed slightly but still fumed. "I swear … the next time I see that little spore …"

"Little what?"

"Never mind."

"OK …" He thought. "But … what if you do get sick?"

She was quiet, then shrugged. "I don't know. … If that happens, we'll see what I'm sick with. Then we'll see what we can do about it."

"What if you can't do anything about it?"

A sigh. "Well … that's just the way it'll be. Sometimes in life, there aren't happy endings. I'm sorry, but it's true."

He looked down again. For a long moment. Then his question was soft and frightened:

"Frankie … could you die?"

A deeper sigh. "There are some diseases he might have that could kill me, Mac. I won't lie to you about that."

She began to sound like a teacher, analytical and factual: "There's one that has no cure. There are medicines I could take to live with it for years and years. But I'd die of it eventually. Actually … that disease would leave my body unprotected, and some other illness would sneak in and kill me. That's the simplest way I can explain it."

She watched as he processed the information, his head still bowed. The boy tried not to react, but soon she saw the tiniest quiver in his chin. He lifted his face, and moisture had built along the lower edges of his eyes.

"Frankie," he said, fighting the emotion that was trying to come out, "please … don't die …"

"Mac …" She said his name as if it were a reassuring hug. "I don't want to. And I haven't gotten the test results yet. I could be just fine. I hope I'm OK, but if they say I'm sick, I'll deal with it. But … I'll probably cry, too ..."

Her teacher persona returned. "But I think you're old enough to know that we all die someday. You, me, Grandma, your mom, Terrence. All of us."

He sniffled. "What about Bloo …?"

"Well … you're his creator, right?"

"Yeah."

"So when you die, your imagination will … end, right?"

"I suppose."

"And so the … life … that Bloo has – what makes him even just walk around – what'll happen to it?"

He didn't respond. He had done the math, didn't like the answer and didn't want to respond. Until: "How do you know?"

Frankie tried to be kind. "Mac, haven't you ever wondered where all the really old imaginary friends have gone? They're here one day, and the next, they're gone?"

"I don't know." He sounded stubborn.

"Think about it."

He said nothing.

"I'm waiting, Mac."

When he spoke, it was as if he were giving up a precious shield he didn't want to part with. "Their creators died …," he conceded, "… so they did … too …"

"Yes …" The teacher in the young woman sounded relieved. "I could tell you that all day, but it's better you accept it yourself. That's part of growing up."

He fidgeted in the chair. "Does growing up mean you hurt people, too, like that guy hurt you?"

"Well … there's hurting people physically and hurting people emotionally. How that guy hurt me was physical violence. Violence isn't automatically part of growing up. It shouldn't be, anyway. But you can hurt someone's feelings without meaning to, right?"

"Yeah …"

"We all do that, Mac. Can't escape it. It's part of being human."

"But why would he hurt you? He didn't even know you. I mean, he knew who you were, but …"

She waved a hand gently. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, things happen in the world that don't make any sense. But you just accept that they happen, and you go on with your life. You try to, anyway."

He was still unsure. "So you think it was OK for him to hurt you?"

"Oh, no, Mac. That will never be OK with me. I told you: He attacked me. It was a crime. But I accept that it happened. I can't change that. I can't unmake it, no matter how much I wish I could. It's something that happened to me. It's a part of me now. That'll be true for the rest of my life."

"Until you die?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes. Until the day I die …"