The Frog

THE FROG

Sam stared at the small black notebook sitting on the kitchen table in her mother’s home. It had only been a year since her father died, yet, to her, it felt like another life. She flipped the book open to the first page and read.

“Dear dad. This book is for your poetry. I hope you like it. When I have my own place, you can read to me what you have written. Love Sam.”

Why didn't I say more? Why didn't I know something bad was going to happen?

“Sam, you came. Happy Birthday!"

Of course Sam recognized her mother's voice coming from behind, but still, she jumped, dropping the notebook to the floor where it lay open as if begging to be read. To Sam it felt like a violation of his privacy. Was it because her mother was standing there right behind her, and if she wanted to she could read it? Or had her mother already read every word he had written and dismissed it? As Sam picked up the book, her mother brushed past her, tsking.

“Why are you so jumpy?”

“I gave this to dad, on his birthday. Why do you have it?"

“It’s just a book with a bunch of useless words in it. Hand me the ashtray.”

Sam picked up an ashtray from the stove. The pile of dead filters shifted, sending a puff of silt into the air. She emptied it and set it in front of her mother.

“Are you going to join me or just stare at me?” Her mother asked.

Sam sat across from her.

“Don’t pout Sam. It’s not attractive,” her mother waved a cigarette in front of her daughter as if a peace offering.

“You know I quit mom. For dad.” Sam pushed the ashtray closer to her mother. Her mother took another long drag.

“You always did love your father more than me. Even after he walked out on us.”

Sam raised her eyes. She tried to speak but she couldn’t hang onto words long enough to form sentences. Instead, they bounced around her empty skull, without meaning, like her father’s death.

“There is a present for you on the counter. You can also get me a beer. And the cake.”

Sam got up, grabbed two beers, the gift, and the store-bought cake. She set the items down one by one while reading the writing on the box.

‘Dear Sam: I finally did it. Happy Birthday. I love you.’

“This is from dad,” Sam said, slowly sitting down, “how long have you had it?”

“It was in his condo,” her mother said, bringing the beer to her mouth, “Your uncle sent a box of your father’s belongings after the funeral. I thought it would be a nice birthday surprise.”

“But he died on my birthday. A year ago.”

Her mother only nodded. Sam squeezed her eyes shut allowing her father’s death to unfold, yet everything that day in her head was soup. Sam didn’t witness the accident. She hadn’t seen her father lying on the ground, man turned to corpse in seconds. And because she had no visual reality of the accident, it lived inside her as a mishmash of chaos: her dad’s mouth screaming, his glasses flying off his head as his body was repeatedly plunged into and ripped apart by the Ford truck he was trapped in while being toppled down the cliff's edge.

The funeral had been closed casket, and even though Sam wanted to glance inside, she couldn't. Instead, she kept the kaleidoscopic images of her father's brutal death in front of her heart. As if to protect it. Not because she wanted to, she simply didn’t know how not to.

“Come back to earth,” her mother poked Sam in the ribs, stood up, and limped towards the kitchen counter. She grabbed a knife from the block and limped back, settling down with an exaggerated sigh.

“You’re arthritis?” Sam asked, downing her beer. Her mother nodded, lit another cigarette, and watched her daughter open and remove an origami frog from the box.

“That’s useless,” her mother sighed, tipping the last of the beer into her mouth.

“I always wanted him to make me a frog,” Sam said speaking to herself as her surroundings became background noise. “He said it was too hard, and every time he tried it turned into something else. But he was right, he did it.”

She twirled the frog around picturing her father’s fingers working the paper, caressing each fold, the tiny legs, the hands. There were dark spots drawn in pen, black beady eyes, and even a flash of pink.

“It has a tongue!” Sam exclaimed, the awe of a child rippling through her.

‘PULL ME’ the tongue read.

She pulled and the frog popped open like a puff balloon. She unfolded the paper, smoothing the edges and lying it on her lap. She turned it over.

“What is it?” Her mother asked, smoke snaking towards Sam. Sam closed her eyes and spoke with held breath.

“It’s a drawing,” of the place dad and I used to go to when I was young. When we were happy. Sam stared at the drawing letting her imagination bring her into that place. She touched the oak tree and watched birds play in the stone fountain. She felt her bare feet walk across the forest ground and she sat next to her father on the cool stone bench. And she felt safe, something she hadn’t felt since his death.

“That can’t be all there is. A stupid frog. What else is in the box?” Her mother asked, this time jabbing her daughter with her elbow.

Sam flinched while her stomach pulled inwards, a sensation she often thought of as backward butterflies colliding into each other. She wanted to be alone, maybe in the back bedroom where her father tucked her in at night before her mother started getting jealous. But Sam got up, walked to the fridge, grabbed two more beers, opened one and drank while walking back to the table. She lifted the green tissue paper out of the box and gasped.

Her mother half stood to look inside and dropped her jaw, “Sam,” she said exchanging her cigarette for a bundle of one-hundred-dollar bills.

“What is this?” She asked. Her eyes were wide as she looked at her daughter waiting for an answer. But Sam just stared. Her mother sighed, picked back up her cigarette, and started counting.

“There are 50 bills in this stack,” she said, looking at her catatonic daughter. She shrugged and pulled the remaining money from the box. She took her time counting the bundles and once finished, whistled sharply.

“There’s $20,000 here.” She stood up and sat back down immediately as if the money might disappear if she left it. “How did your father get this? How dare he keep it from me. Why would he give it to you?”

“I don’t know. There isn’t a card,” Sam said, staring at nothing.

“Let’s celebrate!” The mother picked up the knife and pulled the cake towards her. She cut two slices, placed a ‘19’ candle in one, and slid it towards Sam. She lit the candle and waited for Sam to blow it out. Sam blew. They ate cake. Sam picked up the deflated frog. Maybe it was supposed to be a card. She scrutinized the drawing.

“There’s a red X by the creek. It’s a map!” Sam said, dropping her fork and bringing the paper closer to her face.

“I suppose you’re going to disappear too now,” her mother said, pushing her plate away and lighting another cigarette.

“Dad didn’t disappear, he died. And you were the one who wanted a divorce,” Sam said, clenching her hands into fists into hands into fists. Her mother stared at her, hard.

“Do you think his accident was my fault? It was your birthday.”

Sam opened and shut her mouth several times. She stared at her lap. The rage inside her threatened to come out yet the belief that it was her fault closed her throat. She didn’t have the energy to fight it. It would only lead to more fighting and she would feel guilty once home, knowing her mother, like her, was alone. She was here to celebrate her birthday. She wouldn’t have to do it again for another year. She couldn't wait for the day she could stop doing it.

Sam picked up her father’s black notebook and the money, placing it in the box. She closed the lid feeling her mother’s eyes on every movement. They sat in silence for a time until her mother broke.

“There are a lot of things I need too you know."

“I know mom,” Sam said, fiddling with her fork.

“I think I deserve some of that money."

“Sure mom,” Sam said.

“This has been exhausting. I need to rest. Will you bring me my pills?” Her mother rose and walked away.

Sam took her mother’s medication and a glass of water to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited until the mother fell asleep. And then she left with the box, locking the front door behind her. On her way past the garage she grabbed a small shovel.

Within an hour Sam was in the drawing in real life. She sat on the bench pressing her body into its coolness. The sun warmed her shoulders while self-doubt flogged her stomach. It’s not a treasure map you idiot. It’s a waste of time.

She stood up, shook her head, and followed the map to the X. There was the rounded curve in the creek. The grey boulder. The small protruding lump of dirt. She dug until the shovel hit something hard. She scraped away clumps of dirt and pulled out a small metal box. She opened it and on top was a card with a painting of a cat.

She read the words aloud, so she didn’t feel so alone.

“Happy Birthday Sam. I hope you liked the game. Do you remember the first time we came here?”

“I do,” Sam said, sitting up tall.

“You were 8. The frogs were loud. You decided they were singing for us. We ate sandwiches and talked about snakes and cats. You said you wanted to be a veterinarian but was afraid mom would say you weren’t smart enough. But you can be whatever you want. You figured out my stupid treasure map!”

It’s not stupid dad.

“I know $20,000 isn't much but I want you to do whatever you want with it. But don't give any of it to your mother. She has plenty, I still give her alimony support. I love you Sam. I am sorry things couldn't work out between your mother and I but you will always be my little girl.”

Sam looked around feeling the wind and listening to the trees, the birds, and the small creek that flowed into the river miles away. She then honed in on the ribbiting frogs. She placed the card back into the box and pulled out a small cloth bag. Inside was a locket with a picture of her and her father, holding hands.

She put on the necklace. She tore a piece of paper from her father's notebook and wrote:

“Dear dad. I miss you so much. Thank you for the money. I am going to travel like you and I always talked about doing. I will go to school after. I will visit here often so we can be together. I love you too. And mom will never tear us apart. I will always be your little girl."

She rolled the piece of paper and stuck it into the frog’s mouth. She stood up, removed her sandals, and waded into the water. She set the frog on a lily pad, detached the stem, and watched it drift off. She lifted her head to the sky and allowed herself to cry knowing she couldn’t drift off so easily.