Chapter Eleven
She woke up on some strange contraption known to some as a bed.
"Are you okay?" a young voice asked, carefully enunciating each word, trying to conquer his own accent.
She blinked and persuaded her eyes to focus. A young boy was looking over her, his face bright and eager and helpful. ...Words... He was speaking... She could understand that... She could talk, too...
"You speak Een-glish. Yes?" The boy looked hopeful.
Yes, but she hadn't spoken in a long time. She'd been far too busy listening. "...Wa-- ...water?" she croaked. Talking hurt.
The boy's face lit up. "Water!" He vanished, and reappeared with a bowl in his hand. "Here is water," he said. He helped her sit up-- much to her chagrin, though she didn't bother show it-- and poured some water into her lips.
Water. Sweet, sweet water...
He gave her little sips at a time until the bowl was empty, and then he set it aside. "Are you okay?" he asked again.
She nodded and sat up a little more. Oh... So that was why the boy had helped her. She was weaker than she'd thought.
But this wasn't home. This wasn't her destination.
She would not stay here long.
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Kermit sighed a heavy sigh and stretched out on his log. Home sweet swamp.
He wondered what, exactly, had made him think that being away from the Muppet Boarding House would make tomorrow any easier.
Tomorrow, it would be exactly one year since he had seen her.
...Why hadn't he brought the gloves? Why had he left them under his pillow?
He missed those gloves.
...No. He didn't miss the gloves. He missed
her.
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The next morning, a little red plane landed at Los Angeles International Airport. It belonged to someone who knew someone who knew someone whose son had found Miss Piggy. The owner knew how to avoid customs on the way out of his country, which was a good thing, since it probably wasn't the same country she had started in, and her passport was stamped with a different country.
He had charged her, of course. In fact, he had taken every dollar she had, which... perhaps wasn't as much as he thought it was, but it was certainly a considerable amount.
He'd had the consideration to offer her another form of payment, which did not require any money. She had turned it down for several reasons. One, morals. Two, physical strength. Three, she just wasn't interested.
Before she had left, the family that had found her had made a pair of sandals for her. No more bare feet. That was nice.
But she was on her own to get through customs to get into the United States of America.
The old man in the uniform looked at her passport.
He looked at her.
He looked at her passport.
He looked at her skin, tainted darker with all the dirt, and at her clothes, so baggy and filthy now, and at her hair, so matted and dirty and tied away, and at the way her bones seemed to stick out, with so very little between them and her skin...
She looked at her passport picture, and then looked up at him and smiled the way she had smiled for that picture.
He looked at her. He looked at her passport.
He picked up a stamp and stamped a page of the passport. He handed it back to her, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "Get yourself to a hospital," he whispered.
She stared up at him for a moment with pure gratitude in her eyes, nodded quickly twice, and hurried on. Talking was still uncomfortable, and besides, she couldn't think of much to say to that.
Not that she had any intention of going to a hospital, as he had recommended. She could barely even comprehend what a hospital was.
Instead, she started walking.
It was remarkable. She was walking on the ground, and yet, there was sunlight. Bright, blinding sunlight. Flat, even, clear ground.
Still, she glanced around, eyes and ears at all times alert for any and all danger. Cars were very dangerous to pedestrians.
She also found that she was constantly reminding herself that plants around here were not to be eaten. They likely had pesticides and fertilizer sprayed on them, both of which were toxic to non-plants.
Plants were also not to be used for depositing waste.
Her eyes and ears remained alert, alert, alert. Danger? Safety? Friend or foe?
Street signs. She knew where she was going. How odd.
Street. Street. Street. Street. That one.
House. House. House. House. House. House. Lots of houses.
...There. That one.
She stared at it.
She was tired. And weak. And probably in no shape to still be standing. But she wasn't there yet. Almost. Almost.
She walked up to the porch. Steps. Now that was odd. She slowly walked up the steps. She crossed the porch. She opened the door. She stepped inside. She closed the door.
...Okay. She was here.
She sat down, curled up into her usual ball, and instantly fell asleep.