I Made It By Kara (AnyaLindir@aol.com)
I Made It Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me. I can only wish they did. They belong to the gods who are Jason Katims, the WB, and Melinda Metz.
Dedication: For Mrs. Fredricks, cause she believed. And for Em, as always, cuz she doves my foof. :)
Kip sat at his father's bedside, holding the old man's hand, rambling on about how his grandsons were doing. "And Eric played football yesterday. He kicked ass, just like you used to in college. I look at him, and I see you, Dad. Just like when I look at Mark, I see Mom..." But Martin Anderson never replied, never showed any sign that he heard the stories his son told, day after day. He just laid in eternal repose, a slack look on his worn face.
"I'll be right back, Dad. I need...I need some water..." And there was only so much that Kip could take, even though this was the second week he'd been sitting at his father's bedside. It was only a matter of time now, and saying that final good-bye...
As Kip hurried down the hallway to the restroom, his eyes burning, he noticed a tall, lanky figure slinking through the hallways. The young man wore dark jeans and a collared shirt, but his short hair stuck up towards the sky, and there was paint on his right elbow. Whoever he was, he was headed for his father's room. And he clutched an envelope in one large hand.
Kip shrugged and hurried on his way. Maybe this stranger would take over for a little while. Maybe the old man hadn't been forgotten after all.
He stood in the doorway, looking at the old man in the bed. Mr. Anderson looked older than he had eleven years ago. But they'd all changed. Probably himself most of all.
Michael Guerin sat down on the hard plastic chair next to the bed, running his fingers through his spiky hair. He opened his mouth, trying to decide what to say, trying to figure out why he was there. It's not like he meant anything to the old man. He was just one of the many students who'd passed through Roswell Elementary years ago.
But then he remembered a Wolverine costume, and a sketchpad that had almost started everything.
"I made it, sir." He took the piece of paper from the envelope in his hand and laid it on the bed. "See? It's a photocopy of my diploma. From the art school up in Albuquerque. I graduated, sir." He blinked, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I didn't hide the light."
He could still hear the graduation march sounding in his mind, Maria's alternate lyrics involving a purple reindeer echoing through the Pomp and Circumstance. He could smell the wet grass of the field, feel the way his shiny leather shoes sank into the spring mud. And in the crowd, where he expected to only see one person, he remembered the faces of the ones who'd come to mean the world to him: Isabel and Alex, ditching classes just weeks before their own graduations; Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who still saw it as their duty to invite him to dinner on weekends, and to look out for him; Amy DeLuca with the Sheriff, who'd finally come to terms with his attachment to Maria, even if she still called his apartment at random times in the early morning, to see if Maria was there; Mr. and Mrs. Parker, his bosses, who'd given him a nice bonus that helped him to buy books and supplies that first semester. But most of all, he remembered her green eyes, how bright they shone only for him, and that smile on her face that meant she'd always believed, even when he hadn't.
"They called my name. They actually said, Michael Guerin, graduating with honors. And it's a real degree--I checked. And there's even this art gallery that's interested in giving me a job and maybe showing a couple of my drawings. I made it, sir."
He propped the photocopy up on a vase of flowers, and pulled another piece of paper out of the envelope. It was a drawing of Wolverine, standing on top of the world, protecting a tiny dancing candle flame. But unlike the first one he'd given Mr. Anderson, this was was recent, the paper still white and crisp. "Neither of us hid the light, sir. She never stopped believing in me, even when I hurt her. And even when I stopped believing in myself. She always fought for me, no matter what." He moved his mouth a few more times, trying to find the words, but they just wouldn't come. "We both made it, sir. And it was because of you."
But the old man lying in the bed didn't say anything. And in his face, Michael couldn't find the principal who'd almost been more of a father to him than anyone else in grade school. If this man hadn't given him that drawing pad eleven years ago... If this man hadn't fought with the school board every time they threatened to send him or Maria off to Vista Verde...
"I wish I could do more for you. Max or Izzy could've given you a few more days...or at least the chance to say good-bye to your family. But this was the best I could do." He studied the wrinkled face for a long time. "You'll never know, sir...but thank you." And in a moment of tenderness that Michael would probably never show again, he kissed the old man's dry cheek quickly.
And then he hurried out of the room before he broke down and cried at Principal Martin Anderson's bedside like a girl, or like Max would.
And since he barreled out of the room so fast, he didn't see Kip standing just outside the doorway, tears streaming down his face. And he never saw the slight smile that creased the face of the old man, briefly reminding the world of what this shell of a man had once been.