(A brief tip of the hat to Prawnie and Beau, for stamping their respective seals of approval on a few paragraphs of this chapter that I was especially nervous about, and an extra tip of the hat to Prawnie for suggesting a character for the final scene of this chapter. Also, a reminder to keep the teddies on hand. That is all.)
Chapter Eleven
Kermit had been sleeping on the hospital bed, curled up beside Robin’s flippers. He was awake now, listening to the steady beep of his tiny nephew’s heart monitor. It was dark in the room, and the spiked green lines on the screen glowed over the bed.
He held very still, wondering what had woken him. Had there been some subtle change or inconsistency in that steady beep? Maybe there was something stirring in the hallway again… He had lost track of how many times he’d already been woken up by nurses tonight. But, no… this was something else, it seemed…
He sat up and looked around. Sweetums was curled up on the floor, like a massive sort of rug on the cold tile. Fozzie was in the crayon-print upholstered chair, clutching the hat that now bore more resemblance to a rag than a hat. And Jimmy—
Jimmy! Jimmy had been perched on the windowsill, leaning against the cool glass. Now he was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?
As quietly as he could, Kermit slipped off the bed, pausing to touch a soft kiss to Robin’s forehead before he tip-toed around Sweetums. He turned to the doorway, shielding his eyes at first to let them adjust to the light. He crept out into the hallway and looked around.
The nurses’ castle was quieter now, it seemed. A woman in cupcake-print scrubs was walking down the hallway, examining a clipboard in her hands. She glanced up and gave Kermit a strained, encouraging smile as she passed him. Kermit peered down the hallway and finally spotted his brother. Jimmy’s head and shoulders were slumped, his flippers dragging on the tile floor as he stared at the red, yellow, and blue striped wallpaper and the framed watercolor painting of a scene from Snow White.
Kermit glanced over his shoulder at his nephew before quietly stepping into the hallway and hurrying after his brother. “Jimmy?”
Jimmy flinched, looked at his brother, and immediately began to squirm as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, uh…” He coughed, glancing at his flippers. “I was just, uh… I was…”
Kermit frowned as he came to stand beside him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Jimmy stared down at the tile. “…Well, I… It was… um…” He sighed and fell silent for a moment, gathering himself. “…It’s hard for me to stay in there, for so long,” he said quietly, shifting his weight, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “It’s…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at the painting of Snow White.
Kermit carefully looked at his brother’s face, glanced at the picture, and looked at his brother again.
“…It’s like… he isn’t there,” Jimmy finally whispered. “Like my son isn’t there.”
Kermit was quiet for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. “It’s hard, with the machines,” he said softly. “But Robin
is there, Jimmy. He’s still fighting.”
Jimmy looked at his brother, at the utter firmness in his brother’s face and shoulders, at the unshakable faith in his brother’s voice. He looked down at his own hands, and then at his flippers. “…Kermit?” he whispered. “…Do you believe in God?”
Kermit made no attempt to disguise his surprise. “Why do you ask?”
Jimmy did not look up. “…I’m not sure if I do,” he whispered. “And I wonder, if… that’s… how
you can be so strong.”
Kermit hesitated for perhaps half a second before he instinctively pulled his brother into a tight, firm hug, giving his jaw no time to drop. “…I believe in
your son,” he whispered firmly, his voice feeling harsh in his own mouth. “I believe—in love, and miracles, and I believe that—a little—prayer, now and then, never hurt anybody.” With one final squeeze, he held his brother back by the shoulders and stared into his eyes to see if this had, perhaps, somehow helped.
Jimmy silently stared back at him. “…You believe in Robin,” he whispered.
“I believe in Robin,” Kermit firmly, quietly repeated.
Jimmy was silent again for a long moment before his head drooped and he stared down at the cold tile. “…I can hold onto that,” he whispered.
Kermit nodded and wrapped a supportive arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Ready to go back in?” he asked, turning them towards room 396.
Jimmy’s flippers didn’t budge. He squirmed, and then rubbed the back of his neck when Kermit’s arm fell away. “…I… I think… I’ll stay in the waiting room, for the night,” he said softly.
It was Kermit’s turn to silently stare.
“I’ll come back, in the morning, of—of course,” Jimmy said uneasily. “But I—I…”
Kermit took a deep breath and slowly nodded. “Do what you think is best,” he whispered, and he turned and went back to room 396.
Back in the dim room once again, Kermit silently picked his way past Sweetums by the green glow of the heart monitor and sat down on the bed, silently looking past the IV and the feeding tube and the oxygen mask and the heart monitor to watch his nephew. He lightly touched the precious little ball that was resting by his nephew’s side, and then gently wrapped Robin’s uninjured hand in both of his.
“…
I’m here, Robin,” he whispered, and he leaned over and touched a kiss to his nephew’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jimmy quietly walked into the waiting room and looked around. Here, the wallpaper was blue, and covered with rainbows and suns and fluffy white clouds. Pictures hung all around the room… paintings and drawings of smiling children, two inspirational posters, plenty of artwork that had been made by children… The carpet was covered in brightly colored shapes, and the furniture was all bright and colorful…
He walked to the back corner of the waiting room and sat down at the play station, picking up a wooden block and turning it over and over and over in his hand. He looked at the dark window, sighed, and leaned against the wall.
His son, his youngest son, was just barely alive, buried under those strange contraptions… Leaper wasn’t taking it well at all… Their other children were all at home, in the swamp, presumably safe and sound… What would happen to Robin?
The Muppets could be loud and raucous and crazy. They could jeer and insult each other. They could be dangerous. Yet all of them had been here today, and they would all be back tomorrow… Leaper didn’t seem to notice that these weirdoes had more love and support than the two of them had ever provided for Robin. He envied that, and frowned at the bitterness… He tried to think about his other children.
What would happen to Robin?
He looked at the block in his hand. It was a small yellow square—not a cube, but a thick square—yellow like little Robin’s cast.
He sighed, dragged himself up, and curled up in the corner of a cheery red couch, turning the block over and over in his hand.
Huge, heavy questions silently rolled through his mind, like a paint-covered marble in a box with blank paper. He watched the questions roll this way and that, silently turning the block over in his hand. There were questions about Robin, about Leaper, about all of their children, about… much bigger things… about his own parents, and…
Behind him, nurses and aides and the occasional doctor shuffled through the halls. A hospital never slept. There were low murmurs of conversation, discussions about medication and therapy and picky eaters and allergies and tomorrow’s puppet show for the healthier patients, and if only they could bring that music teacher back some time… There were brief consultations around the nurse’s castle, and a phone rang, and the intercom paged Dr. Scope.
The background noises were soothing. He was grateful for every disruption from his thoughts.
It was a long time before he fell asleep and the square yellow block slipped from his hand to the bright red couch cushion.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“You’re doing real good today, Tanya,” Lew Zealand said the next morning as he rubbed down the fish that had just come back to him. As he did every morning, every afternoon, every evening, and every night, he was practicing his boomerang fish act in the upstairs hallway of the Muppet Boarding House. “If we keep
this up, maybe Mr. the Frog will let
us be in the
show this week! …
If he leaves the hospital.”
On this thought, Lew Zealand froze, and then gave his bucket of fish a thoughtful look. The door beside him opened, and he looked up as Clifford stumbled out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes, not yet wearing his sunglasses.
“Is there gonna be a show this week?” Lew asked him.
Clifford froze and stared at him. Then he yawned and stretched. “Ask Kerm,” he said, dragging his feet towards the bathroom. “Or Scooter, or… somebody.”
“Well,
you’re sort of in charge,” Lew reasoned.
“
Ha!” Clifford shook his head and trudged on, adjusting his robe.
“Do
you think there’ll be a show this week?” Lew persisted.
“Man… just throw the fish,” Clifford grumbled. “Haven’t even had my coffee…” He knocked on the bathroom door.
“DON’T COME IN!” Animal called out. They heard a flush.
Another door opened, and Bobo scurried out, tied in a towel and holding his scrub brush and rubber duckie. “Did I beat the line?” he asked, hurrying down the hallway.
“Not quite,” Clifford mumbled, leaning against the wall. On the other side of the door, water was running.
“Hey, Mr. Bobo?” Lew Zealand said. “Do you think there’ll be a show this week?”
Bobo shuffled to a stop and looked down at him. “…Are you in line for the bathroom?”
“Oh, of
course not! I was just practicing my boomerang fish act. See? I throw the fish a
way! And they come
back to—“
“Take that as a no, then,” Bobo said, and he passed the boomerang fish thrower and hurried on to get in line behind Clifford.
Lew sighed and looked down at his bucket of fish. “…I wonder if Mr. the Frog will cancel,” he said quietly.
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