The following was written while we were locked down in May of 2020. I walked an average of 5.5 miles a day that May. I think the casual pace and the routine of spending a lot of time outside seep around each word and through the entire story. Maybe some loneliness too. I felt a strong sense of connection with the reader when I wrote this. Sharing my stories on FB became a way to feel part of a community during what could have been a lonely time.
It rained most of yesterday, so I didn’t get out to walk until it was nearly dark. It was warm. I was happy that it finally stopped raining. I wandered for a long time. It was wet. Ponds seemed to appear out of nowhere. A neighbor boy told me he caught a fish on the sidewalk. He told me this in front of his parents AND a cop, so I felt certain it was true. If a boy can catch a fish on the sidewalk, I guess it isn’t strange that frogs are everywhere making frog noises. West Sandwich Road sounded like a forest swamp.
It was hard to avoid getting my feet wet walking in the dark. I disliked water soaking my socks and squishing between my toes with every step. Just as my feet would begin to dry out, I would blindly step into another puddle. I stayed out anyway. I decided it was fun.
This little guy was so still that I thought he was a leaf. I impulsively scooped him up. He wriggled in protest, so I gently put him down. He hopped just out of reach and stilled. He blinked at me. I don’t really mean blink because I don’t think frogs have eyelids, but blink is a good word because it’s what humans do when we try to focus on something confusing, especially in the dark. We blink.
(Note: I just googled frog eyelids, and apparently, they have three: an upper one to keep their eyes clear of debris, a lower one that doesn’t move and one to completely cover the eyeball when they are underwater. Now I am confused about frogs blinking. For the sake of the story, I will carry on.)
Anyway, the frog and I were not/blinking at each other from a distance when I thought about how fun it would be to take a picture of me kissing him. It would be a great profile picture. I’m single after all and don’t forget I was embracing kid Kim.
I looked at him, trying to figure out a strategy for such a feat. I didn’t really want to bother him again. I also thought about the Frog Prince storyline. There are many versions, but in each, the princess is spoiled, and more importantly, the frog is not worthy of her in his frog form. That’s kind of sad. I changed my mind. “You are perfect just the way you are,” I said as I walked away.
Sometimes the goofiest thoughts are interesting to ponder. I can’t turn a frog into a prince or a human into a “better” version of himself by kissing him. Jeez, the stories we are told as children! No wonder we think we can love someone into being who we want them to be. Even if I could, why would I want to? Who am I to decide a man is better than a frog or this version of a man is better than that version?
I walked home thinking all these thoughts. I wondered if my frog friend had a story to share that night? “I was minding my own frog business when a giant scooped me up. I was scared. I thought she was going to eat me. She blinked at me, weird, she only had one pair of eyelids.”