Chapter One
Scooter protectively clutched the paper to his chest as all the others swarmed around him.
"IS IT FROM KERMIT?" Fozzie shouted, nearly tackling the go-fer.
"No," Scooter said, "But it's
about Kermit!"
"READ IT! READ IT!"
"What's it say?"
"Is he okay?"
"What happened?"
"Read it, Scooter, read it!"
Scooter curled over the paper and read it quickly. "It- it says he got a Purple Heart!"
"Purple Heart?" Pepe said. "Si, but uh... Kermin is a frog, hokay? So whouldn't he have a
green heart?"
"No!" Clifford bonked the prawn's head. "It's a
medal, shrimp! It's a medal given to soldiers who've had a-" He stopped, realizing. "Who've... had an-"
"An
injury," Miss Piggy gasped.
"WHAT?"
"Oh no!"
"How bad is he hurt?"
"Scooter, what's it-"
"It doesn't say," Scooter interrupted. "All it says is that the Purple Heart has been awarded to Kermit the Frog!"
A nervous silence fell.
“Is Uncle Kermit okay?" a quiet voice asked.
All eyes turned to Robin, who was stiffly staring from his seat in Sweetums' hand.
"He's
gotta be," Fozzie said, ever faithful. "He- he
couldn’t…" He didn't finish the sentence. "I mean, they would
say if he…" He turned to look Robin square in the eyes. "He's fine," he said firmly.
Robin clung to the hope that luminated his eyes.
The reinstatement of the draft had hit some homes harder than others. Hollywood as a whole had been particularly bitter when Kermit had been called in for active duty. Kermit hadn't been all too pleased, either, but he hadn't uttered a word of complaint- in public, anyway. The War on Terror had escalated beyond imaginable heights, and every country with any sort of power now had troops somewhere in the Middle East. Some said the end was in sight. Some said the fight had just begun. Everyone finally agreed that the only accurate name for this war was World War III.
With Kermit overseas, the Muppets were left very much to their own devices. They supported the troops at every opportunity- anything to keep Kermit safe, they would say- and they looked forward to every e-mail their beloved leader sent. He never said where he was, or used other soldiers' names, but he still managed to say a lot. He wrote of a life of constant explosions, unidentifiable food, and total unpredictability. "It feels just like home!" he would tease, but it clearly didn't. In every e-mail, he would tell them he missed them, and if ever a Friday came that he couldn't access a computer, he would sit down and write Fozzie a letter, and Fozzie, who would have been checking his e-mail every minute or two, would sit down and write a letter to Kermit.
"Some folks here keep a bible over their chest, inside their uniform," Kermit once wrote. "I keep a stack of your letters, and the picture you sent that Robin drew." Fozzie wrote a lot more letters from then on.
But whether Kermit wrote a letter, e-mailed one person, or e-mailed all of them, there was one line that was always included and always the same. "Please give my love to Robin."
Though his uncle was overseas, the young frog had stayed at the boarding house. They would say it was for school, but the Muppets knew that it would have been next to impossible for Robin to communicate with Kermit from the swamp. So he stayed where he was, read every letter twice, and asked anyone and everyone to mention when he did well on a test or earned a new merit badge. When Kermit heard of these accomplishments, he never failed to write how proud he was of his nephew, and ask that it be passed on. He made a point of writing to Robin, too, of course, and these letters to Robin were the only letters that did not include the standard, ever heart-felt line, "Please give my love to Robin." In these letters, he could send his love himself.
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"Do you think he's hurt bad?" Fozzie asked, wringing his hat in his hands as he paced.
Rowlf sighed, curled up on a large beanbag in their room. "It would explain why we haven't gotten e-mails lately," he said gloomily.
"No," Miss Piggy said. She was leaning against the wall by the window, looking at her toes and tapping her foot. Her visits to this room, at this hour, had become commonplace. "They would tell us," she insisted. "They would tell us if was... hurt... badly."
Fozzie looked at her. "How bad do you have to be hurt for a Purple Heart?" he asked.
She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. "That's what scares me," she confessed shakily.
Rowlf sat up slightly. "Well, he can't be hurt
too bad," he said. "If it was something worth worrying about, they would tell us."
“But shouldn't they tell us anyway?" Fozzie asked urgently.
After a moment of silence, Miss Piggy sullenly whispered, "Yes."
"What difference does it make if they should or not?" Rowlf said. "They didn't."
Fozzie sighed heavily and flopped down to sit in Rowlf's doggie-bed. "What do we do now?" he asked.
Miss Piggy quietly perched herself on top of a low dresser and watched her feet lightly swing. She thought for a moment. "What would Kermie do?" she whispered.
Fozzie looked up, his eyes suddenly refilled with hope. "He'd keep believing," he said.
"He'd find a bright side," Rowlf agreed, lifting his head.
"He'd find hope," Miss Piggy added, smiling faintly.
"And that's what WE'LL do!" Fozzie decided.
"He wants us to be happy," Miss Piggy said thoughtfully. A pensive silence lingered in the room, and she dispelled it with a sigh. "I wish we could
talk to him," she said.
"Yeah," Rowlf nodded. "It'll be tough to sleep tonight, only knowing what we know."
Fozzie set his chin in his hand. "Maybe we should write to him," he said. "Sometimes that helps."
"E-mails are faster," Miss Piggy said.
Fozzie shook his head. "Letters are better for him."
Rowlf exchanged a quiet smile with Miss Piggy, but they knew the bear was right. "Let's write some letters then," he said.
"I've got pen and paper!" Fozzie said, scrambling to his feet.
"I have some stationary in my room," Miss Piggy said as she slid off the dresser. "I'll write mine there."
"Whatever makes you comfortable," Rowlf said as Fozzie handed him pen and paper before scurrying back to the doggie-bed to write.
She stopped and turned at the door. "Good night, Fozzie. Good night, Rowlfie," she said.
"Sleep tight," Rowlf said.
"Don't let the bed-bugs bite," Fozzie added.
Miss Piggy smiled. "Thank you," she said softly, and she slipped away.
Rowlf thoughtfully tapped his pen against his chin. "How long has Kermit been gone?" he asked.
"Nine months, three weeks, and six days." Fozzie looked up. "Why?"
Rowlf nodded towards the door. "She still says thank you."
"What- when we talk to her?" Fozzie said.
"But only in here," Rowlf observed.
Fozzie shrugged. "Well," he said, "
We wouldn't go in
her room. Maybe she's just being polite."
Rowlf nodded. "I don't blame her for wanting to talk."
"She doesn't have a roommate," Fozzie said. "I wouldn't want to be alone at night, with Kermit in the war."
"Yeah, that's when the worry comes," Rowlf agreed.
"Speaking of worry," Fozzie sighed, "I'm surprised Robin hasn't come in with a nightmare yet, but I guess he might've gone to Sweetums tonight."
"He might not have fallen asleep yet," Rowlf pointed out.
Fozzie thought for a moment. "I think I'll go check on him," he said. He stood up and left the room.
Kermit's door was open. Fozzie looked in, as always, but passed that room to ease the next-door open and peer inside.
Robin was curled up in his bed, his hand on a worn picture of Kermit and Robin reading together. He was sound asleep.
And so was Sweetums, except that he had curled up on the floor, where he was now as peaceful as a baby... a very big baby, but a baby nonetheless.
Fozzie smiled and turned to go.
"Fozzie?"
...Well, maybe Robin wasn't sound asleep after all. Fozzie turned back to the little frog. "Yes Robin?"
"Do you think..." Robin hesitated. "Do you think Uncle Kermit was at... at that place on the news? Where... where the bad guys made little kids fight?"
Fozzie sighed, tiptoed around Sweetums, and sat down on Robin's bed. "I don't know, Robin," he said. "But- probably not. I mean, last we heard, Kermit was... Well he was a long way away from there."
Robin quietly fingered his picture. "When will he come home?" he whispered.
Fozzie laid a furry hand over Robin's. As much as he hated the question, he hated the answer even more. "Someday, Robin," he sighed. "Someday."
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