"YOU'RE THE GIRL from next door," commented the five-year-old blonde.
The statement came as less of a surprise than his voice, which was unexpectedly nasal, or that of his appearance. After all, she hadn't been inconspicuous in her recent—and daily—watching of him from her bay window. She looked the boy, who had come from the pew across the aisle to sit next to her, in his eyes. Blue as the skies. Not that day's perhaps (it was gloomy and drizzling outside) but blue nonetheless.
"I am," she finally replied. She sounded raspy from a dry throat that hadn't spoken in a while.
"Hi. I'm Frenkie," said the boy, who swiftly added, "with two 'e's."
Her brain worked nimbly.
"Ada; with two 'a's."
The wide, golden-retriever, smile on his face leaked a laugh. She followed suit and decided to shake the hand he'd extended. Then, after he had sat back down, and it was just the hustle and bustle of readying a confirmation ceremony between them, asked curiously, "How come you're always inside? Why don't you come out and play with us?"
There was usually no "us," for Ada had observed in the past fortnight she'd been lucky enough to stay in the comforts of her own bedroom that it was always just him, a football, and a grand amount of back yard for a slight boy. Unless, of course, that was what he meant. Regardless, it was quickly removed from consideration.
"Bad things happen when I go outside," answered Ada.
The sadness in her voice did not belong to a girl of four; it couldn't have. So much so it should've been illegal. But it was only later—much later—that Frenkie would realize, that he would have thought better of prodding on, though he might have anyway. He was unpredictable like that.
"What kind of bad things?"
"Sometimes it hurts here." Ada indicated her chest. "Sometimes it becomes hard to breathe. Sometimes everything is blur and then it goes dark. Then Mommy and Daddy have to take me to the hospital.
"I don't like it there. It's cold; there's a weird smell—like the bathroom after it's cleaned; the nurses poke me with needles; they tell me to be brave and say it won't hurt one bit, but that's a lie—it always hurts; then they put wires in me; there are so many everywhere; after that the doctors come and they say I can't go home; they make me stay in bed all day and they say I have to take all my medicine like a good girl so that I can get better, but that's also a lie—sometimes the medicine makes me sicker; other times they just make me sleepy but it's hard to sleep there—the bed is uncomfortable, the machines are so noisy, and I don't have Minnie."
By the end of the story, the hem of Ada's cream-coloured frock was frayed in one section where she had begun to pick whilst she was first questioned. Frenkie listened as he was taught: attentively and patiently. He listened to every word that was uttered with a calmness that mismatched the complaint, a remoteness that contradicted the grievance, until the last that held such sentiment he heard it there and then.
"Minnie?" Frenkie had an eyebrow raised but Ada didn't see. She was still fiddling with the loosened threads.
"Minnie Mouse," she explained. "She's my best friend. But Mommy doesn't allow me to bring her outside. She says Minnie won't like it if her dress gets dirty."
"I have Mickey at home," said Frenkie, and Ada finally gave him her attention. "Do you think they want to be friends?"
She grinned. "They can be best friends! And then they can be married and live happily ever after!"
Frenkie laughed at the exclamation, nodding. "Let's bring them next time! We can play inside if you can't go out," he suggested.
"Do you like video games?"
YOU ARE READING
HEARTACHE | F. DE JONG
Fanfiction〝Hi. I'm Frenkie; with two 'e's.〞 〝Ada; with two 'a's.〞 Her eyes were green, the colour of the pitch on which he lived and breathed. Her smile was a kind of wide, it made one forget all the tears she ever had to cry. Her laugh was not the most melod...
