LOOKING FOR MOM
The bag lady leaned over Winslow and whispered, "follow the smoke” .
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“Now I need to tell you a little about me. I’m a seven hundred–generation frog—Lithobates catesbeiana, if you want to get technical. My kind has been helping you poor humans for centuries. You know the story about the princess and the frog—it happened. Winslow’s mother was so kind to me. She made me hats. She tried to help with fly-food by putting decayed meat on the grass by the river. I saw her leave that night and suspected where she was going, because she had taken me there before. So my rribbittt conscience decided to help Winslow find his mom. I can understand most of what people say, but my native language is Ribbit Americanis. I should tell you that Winslow took me home that day. They found help for his mother by getting her into an institution for schizophrenia. She spent nearly a year there and, when released, got an apartment in Frenchtown. Winslow and his dad live in the same house and visit Mom often. Jessica comes to the house sometimes and stays in the guest room, but she likes the cave better. I’m the lucky one because his mom makes new hats for me every month, and Winslow is nice enough not to make me wear them. Life is good. Next time you see a frog, realize he/she is watching you, and you had better behave or we’ll . . . rrribbitttt.”