PEEPERS
by Gail
Slowly the wet grass parted and the pair of greenish eyes narrowed as they gazed around the small pond. A tiny, unsuspecting frog sat on the tip of a branch that hung precariously over the murky, green water. The eyes, finding their target, focused intently on the prey and moved in slowly for the capture.
With muscles tensed, and eyes now wide open, the hunter lunged toward the branch, slipping slightly on the moist ground.
(ker-plunk)!
With hardly an ounce of seeming awareness, the little amphibian plopped into the pond and disappeared from sight as easily as if it were a drop of water.
"Oh, darn!!"
The would-be hunter stood up and stamped a sneakered foot on a rock near the edge of the pond and promptly lost her balance on the slippery surface. She suddenly found herself following in the footsteps, (or ripples, as the case may be), of her intended prey - right into the water .... but with far less grace.
The pond wasn't deep but the slimy dark mud at the bottom made it hard to get up and she fell back in more than once. Once-white sneakers were now an interesting mix of green, black, and brown as were the once-clean legs and shorts. The glass jar she had been holding floated on the surface of the pond, although water was beginning to seep in through the holes she had punched in the metal lid, threatening to send it to the bottom. With a quick step forward, she reached down, scooped up the jar and scurried up the bank of the pond.
"I almost had that frog - I can't believe I slipped - what an idiot... ," she thought and berated herself for her all-too-apparent clumsiness.
She fought down her natural desire to continue the hunt, knowing that she had to get home early today.
"Don't be late for your sister's recital, please...." She could still hear the pleading tone in her mother's voice.
Punctuality was not her strong point - she really didn't want to be late all the time nor was she trying to - it was just that she got so engrossed in things and she forgot the time. But now today, she thought confidently, it would be different. Today she would be on time ... to everyone's shock and amazement. Her praises would ring through the house tonight.
Yes, there would be joy in "Mudville" once more. (Had she had a mirror, she would've seen how appropriate the word "Mudville" actually was.)
She left the secluded little pond and hiked back to the main path in the park that bordered her home. But, as she walked past the park's bike rack, she noticed that most of the bikes were gone.
Desperately, she twisted her watch around on her wrist, and even though it was clouded with moisture, she could still see enough of the face to know that she was late again.
"Darn!" She broke into a run, holding the empty jar in one hand and fending off low-hanging branches with the other.
She never did see the rock in the path until just after she tripped over it and went airborne. The jar dislodged itself from her grasp and was propelled toward the pavement just ahead....the same pavement she would shortly meet herself.
"This is really gonna hurt." She thought, as she saw the jar crash in a million pieces in front of her.
So, she braced herself for the inevitable ----- which never came.
She had no idea who it was but someone grabbed her arm and halted her forward momentum. However, with her usual grace and aplomb, she managed to swing her free arm around and accidently hit her rescuer in the head knocking him backward. Since he was still holding on to her at the time, both fell down in a tangled mass of arms and legs. She started to laugh, which was usually her first impulse, but stopped abruptly when she realized he wasn't laughing.
She managed to sit up and shake her head to clear it. All of a sudden she felt two eyes staring at her and instantly jerked her head in that direction. Then she saw him, a young boy, roughly about her own age, maybe 9 or 10 years old, crouching in front of her and holding a hand over the reddening bruise on his face where she'd hit him.
"Are you OK," he asked, "why were you running? Is someone chasing you? Do you need help?"
"I - I'm OK", she stammered, "I was just trying to get home in a hurry. I spent too much time at the pond trying to catch frogs and now I'm going to be late for my sister's piano recital ..." Then she paused for a moment and added , "However, I should be right on time for another lecture on punctuality."
"Why didn't you just leave earlier if you knew you had to be home," he said with a matter-of-fact innocence. "And what was so important about catching frogs anyway?"
She kind of just looked at him sideways and shook her head . "Oh, brother", she thought, "is this kid for real??" But she answered him in far more more civil manner than she felt, saying - "I don't know....I'm just curious about things, living things especially. I would've taken the frogs home to study them up close, you know, examine them, observe them - then, I'd find out what kind they were, - then...."
"Peepers." he said.
"What?"
"Peepers. I've heard people call the frogs around here 'peepers'." he said again.
"That's cute ," she replied, rolling her eyes at him in her mind, "but I was thinking more like their scientific name - like genus and species...understand?"
"Oh, ... yes, I do. I know all about different species." If he picked up on the "dig" she gave him about the "cute" name,, he never acknowledged it. But he continued, "So, in studying them, what exactly would you do to them? Would you hurt them, you know, dissect them ...?"
Did his already serious face look - concerned? What is with this guy, thought Sloan - we are just talking about frogs, right?) - "Hurt them? No, no, .... I mean I would learn what I could by watching them and reading about them, then I'd put them back in the pond."
She saw his face almost relax into something that hinted at a smile. It was then that she noticed the bruise on his face and impulsively put her hand out to touch it. He started to draw back from her, so she apologized for smacking him and asked if it hurt much.
"I'm sorry I did that to you. Maybe you could stop at my house, it's right near here, and my mom could take care of it for you."
"No. I'm fine," he countered. "But I'm afraid it's getting pretty late and didn't you say you had some place to go, ... a recital, I think, ... maybe you should go home now before you get more than just a lecture."
"The Recital! I'm in for it now and look what a mess I am!" She moaned out loud, as she noticed the mud-caked clothes and the skinned knees for the first time. "You're right, I gotta go.... are you sure you don't want to stop by my house and get a bandage or something."
She was hoping he would say "yes" since it might give her an alibi for being so late or at least delay the inevitable lecture. Mom would never yell at her in front of a visitor. But he just shook his head "no."
"Hey, I never thanked you for what you did," she blurted out suddenly. "I'm sure you saved me from getting quite a few stitches....."
"You're welcome."
"Well, maybe I'll see you in school or something."
"I doubt it, I'm not from around here. I'm only, ...uh, visiting."
"Oh. Well, anyway, my name's Sloan, what's yours?" She asked as she started to push herself up from the ground.
His outstretched hand appeared in front of her, offering to help her up. But just as she reached for it, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet in one swift motion.
Startled, Sloan fell back to the ground and looked up to see piercing blue eyes glaring down at her. The blonde woman must be his mother, she thought, and boy, she does not look happy. Sloan heard the woman say to him something about not getting involved, ... observing only, .... your shirt is a disgrace, .... and then she forcefully led him away toward the street where a large black car was parked. Sloan suddenly felt bad for him and knew he was going to get it from his mother. And it was probably her fault - she had smeared all her mud on his clean white shirt when she fell on top of him. She gave an involuntary chill as she pictured those cold blue eyes boring into her.
"Talk about if looks could kill, .... " Thought Sloan. Now she felt bad for all the things she thought about him. She wished somehow that she could've helped him in some way ..... Then she realized that she didn't even know his name.
"Wait", Sloan yelled at his retreating figure, "you never told me your name."
He turned around, stared at her for a moment, then mouthed something almost inaudible to her . In another instant he and his mother were gone.
"What did he say -- Ted? Tom?" Too bad she couldn't hear him. Well, what did it matter now ... he was gone and she had no idea where he was from. She'd never see him again......strange kid, she thought, but nice.
"Sloan,...Sloan,....SLOAN! Where are you, we're almost ready to leave." Now THAT she heard as Sloan's mother's voice snapped her back to reality. It was now time to face the music - in more ways than one. It was at times like these that she wished she was all grown up and there would be no one to bug her about being late.
"SLOAN-N-N!" ..... Reality bit her a second time and Sloan took off like a shot out of the park. She ran across the street to her house, taking the stairs to her room two at a time.
Focusing on just getting ready, she thought no more about about the little boy she met in the park that day. Maybe someday in the future, they would meet again .... She would see those clear blue eyes looking into hers and the memory of their first encounter would all come flooding back to her. And then again, maybe not......