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Ruahnna
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The Muppet Dormitory was usually bustling with activity at all hours, but as the semester break—and finals—approached, some residents have become a little more subdued. The residents of room 20 were no exception, and if the truth were know, Kermit might have been relieved to open the door to a dark and quiet sitting room. He slipped quietly through the door, shut it behind him and tiptoed toward his own room off the hallway on the far left of the room, but the little kitchen, where a light was on over the sink, was calling to him. He hesitated, balancing on tired flippers, then turned toward the lure of the florescent light. Kermit glumly supposed a moth would be too much to hope for at this hour, but there were probably leftovers.
If Kermit had been clairvoyant, he would have known that his room-mate, Ruahnna, was seated in one of the two lime tweed recliners whose tall backs hid the occupants from the sight of anyone coming through the door. He had, on more than one occasion, been glad that the occupant (or occupants) of those chairs were not visible from the door, and thinking about Piggy made him blush and look nervously toward the far right-hand hallway were she and Ru had rooms.
But Kermit was not clairvoyant. If he had been, he wouldn’t have found himself in the predicament that he was in now. He rounded the corner of the recliner, and Ruahnna’s dry Southern drawl caught him and almost made him jump out of his skin.
“There’s hot chocolate,” she said without looking up. “And some of those cold cuts that you like.” Kermit gave a yelp and a hop that made Ru remember that he was, after all, a frog.
‘Sheesh,” Kermit complained, his slim-fingered hands pressed to his swiftly pounding heart. “Are you trying to scare me to death?” He moved his hands to his non-existent hips and looked at her pale hands, poised over the laptop but not moving. “How’s it coming?” he asked, his voice wry.
“Just peachy, dear,” she said, grimacing in a way that belied her words. “How ‘bout you—what class is keeping you up so late studying?
Kermit looked quickly toward the kitchen. “You said there were cold cuts? The ones with—“
“Aah aah ahh!” Ru cried. “I don’t ask, you don’t tell.” She smiled to soften the barb. “But yes—Geno called and said some more of the cold cuts you like came in earlier today, so Fozzie stopped off after class.”
Good ol’ Fozzie, Kermit thought tiredly. He’d have to remember to thank him.
Kermit decided he must have looked as forlorn as he felt, for his room-mate gave him a long, slow look, closed her hibernating laptop and walked to the kitchen.
“I need a break,” she said. “Come on—let me make you a sandwich.”
Kermit looked up at her gratefully. “How about a couple?” he asked. “I could eat at—“
“Aah! No askie! No tellie!” she cried. Kermit wondered irritably if she was going to put her fingers in her ears and la la la at him next, but contented himself with humpfing and crossing his arms across his chest.
“People are so weird,” he muttered, but he came and sat down all the same.
Ruahnna smiled and busied herself in the kitchen. It is a small kitchen, and it is possible to stand in one spot and reach most everything. She untwists the bread tie and pulls out a couple of slices of dark rye bread, which she procedes to slip into the toaster. Kermit started to remind her he liked his bread toasted lightly but saw that she had already changed the gauge. While the bread toasted, she set out mustard and two kinds of pickles.
“Hot chocolate? I’ve got the teapot hot…”
Kermit did not want caffeine. “Got any herbal tea?”
Ru frowned. “Not my usual cup of tea, but I think there’s some peppermint.”
Kermit nodded. “Sounds great,” he said, but added morosely, “I could use a little more pep.”
Kermit’s roomie leaned on the counter and studied his face, not happy with what she saw. Her tone was firm, but her voice was gentle.
“So, you aren’t going to tell me what class has got you so het up? It’s not like you to sweat the books.”
It is nice to be known—comforting and welcoming. It is also NOT nice to be so well known. Kermit started to speak, but stopped himself by taking a big bite of his sandwich. He chewed determinedly, like a fellow in an ad—“Frog eating a sandwich with gusto,”—but after a moment, his expression gradually goes from distracted by what he doesn’t want to say to distracted by the taste and texture of the sandwich. His eyes take on a dreamy contented look, which was, sadly, temporary. While he was chewing, swallowing and his stomach was rejoicing, Ru slipped another sandwich onto this plate to take the place of the rapidly disappearing first one.
Piggy’s right,” Ru said thoughtfully, looking at Kermit’s lean face. “You look thin. C’mon—confession is good for the soul. What are you so worried about?” She hoped to jolly Kermit out of his mood with food and a hot beverage, but he evaded all attempts at contact like a pro. For just a moment, Ru spared a pitying thought for Miss Piggy, who had born the brunt of his evasion for years.
At last, when the second sandwich was showing serious signs of consumption, Kermit muttered something indistinct, something that might have included the word “failing” in it.
Ru raised a sardonic brow. “You want to run that by me again?” she asked.
Kermit chewed defensively, his shoulders hunched like a fighter.
“Not really,” he muttered.
This time his churlishness was met with mystification. “What on--?” Ru began, but Kermit interrupted her.
“You’ll laugh.”
Ru was so surprised she sat back in her chair, and her expression changed from exasperation to concern and surprise. “Why would I laugh if you were failing a class?” she asked. She had often been teased by her roomies for her tender heart, and Kermit’s reticence did not make any sense. “C’mon, sweetie,” she wheedled. “Just tell me. Maybe it’s not too late to get a tutor.”
TO her surprise, Kermit covered his face with his hands and let out a groan.
“It’s humiliating.”
Ru might be forgiven just one moment of horrified speculation. Having seen the muppets perform for years and years had steeled for, well, all sorts of things, but if Kermit felt like what this was was truly humiliating, then it probably was. Nevertheless, she tried to make her voice firm and matter-of-fact.
“Oh, come now. It can’t be that bad—um, can it?” Her voice squeaked a little on that last, while visions of things other than sugarplums danced wildly in her head. “What could YOU be failing that would be embarrassing?” As soon as the words left her mouth, the thought “Pig-wooing 101" popped into her head but she stuffed it back down grimly without comment.
“Hmphumph.” Kermit looked terribly dejected.
“Um….”
At last, the hateful information could no longer be contained. The words burst out of Kermit as though propelled by Gonzo’s cannon. “Hip Hop!” he practically groaned. “I’m failing Hip Hop!”
Protestations to the contrary, there was a terrible moment when his roomie was afraid she might laugh after all, thereby banishing her from the beloved walls of Room 20 and from the friendship she so cherishes. Luckily, the moment passed with nary a peep escaping her firmly pressed lips.
Ru took a deep breath. “Um, so…so you’re failing…Hip Hop.” There, she had managed to get it out. Finally, however, the inexplicable nature of what she’d just heard mades itself felt, and she just had to ask. “Kermit, I…um, look—not to be rude or anything, but why on earth did you sign up for…oh.” Comprehension flooded her face. “Oh,” she said again, biting the inside of her mouth to avoid further commentary.
Kermit’s cheeks are scarlet, and his eyes are defiant over his blazing cheeks. He is desperately afraid that she will laugh at him, that she won’t pity him and help him, but his fears are unfounded. Although there is just a hint of teasing in Ruahnna’s voice, her tone is gentle.
“Kermit, honey,” she said, her drawl becoming more pronounced in moments of tenderness. “What—exactly—did you think the class was going to be like?
Kermit’s posture was so stiff he could rival Sam the Eagle, and his voice was tinged with the same stiffness. “I don’t see how that’s relevant NOW,” he said primly, his voice vibrating with indignation. “But I'll tell you what is relevant--if my freestyle routine doesn’t kick butt, I’m going to flunk.”
Ru digested this piece of information for a moment. Kermit was not as grade-obsessed as some of the inhabitants of the dorm, but it was a point of honor to him to do well in class. It was, in fact, a point of honor to him to do well in anything he committed himself to. She probed for more clarification.
“Flunk flunk--or get a bad grade flunk?”
Kermit’s voice was flat. “Flunk flunk. It's pass/fail.”
Oh. It was bad.
His roomie’s voice was carefully neutral. “Oh. Do you want to show me your routine, um, now?”
Kermit looked around nervously, first toward Piggy’s room and then toward Fozzie’s. “No. Um, not really,” he said firmly.
“Kermit….” Ru’s voice was firm. Kermit was capable of great stubbornness, but he had, quite possibly, met his match here.
“Okay, okay—but you have to promise not to laugh.”
Bad indeed.
Ruahnna nodded soberly. If she had not laughed before, she could keep a straight face now--no matter what. “Okay, Kermit. Show me what you’ve go so far.”
Fed, cheered and resigned, Kermit got up out of his chair to comply.
Aside from the fact that most people would label you crazy for doing so, the average person knows that taking out your own appendix is not a good idea. Some jobs require professional, and this seemed to be one of them.
Ru went trolling for experienced—and hopefully discreet—help. Rizzo had been willing, but otherwise indisposed. His final project for “Maze-solving 202” was giving the little rat nightmares of his own, and Ru scratched his name off the list. The next name was Clifford’s. His name had actually been at the top of the list, but Rizzo’s room had been geographically closer. Ruahnna was thrilled to find him not only available, but willing. Not to mention that he would help Kermit with his hip-hop routine! (Just kidding! Just kidding! I have no serious designs on Clifford.)
“Um, how bad we talking here?” he had said, hands on hips.
Ru pursed her lips and looked carefully up and down the corridor. “Um, do you remember the “Kermit UnPigged” album, when Kermit performed “Wild Thing” on the ukulele?”
Clifford’s sigh was eloquent. “Okay,” he said. “So we’ve got our work cut out for us. Can he—can he do the moves?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” Ru said. “It’s just, you know, not pretty.” She gave him her best optimistic smile.
Oh, Clifford thought. It was bad.
“And what’s in this for me?”
“Our undying gratitude?”
There was a moment of profound silence. Ru sighed and broke eye contact first.
“Um, free pies for a month when we get back?”
“You make sweet potato pie?”
“Um, not yet, but I can scare up a good recipe.”
“What about peanut-butter pie?”
“Deep dish.”
“Okay,” Clifford said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “I’m in. Let’s get to work.”
It was impossible to keep something like this hidden from Fozzie and Piggy once Ruahnna knew. It wasn’t that she was incapable of keeping a secret, but simply that their lair, Room 20, had been transformed into a highly-specialized work station designed to facilitate the right culture for dance. In short, they had had to push all of the furniture to the edges of the room, and to get to the stove, you had to wind your way around both the sewing machine and the coffee table. Still, it was only temporary, and Ru had made brownies and blondies to bribe away any complaints.
Kermit, dressed in dark blue sweats with lime green stripes down the side, looked ready for anything. Until he moved. Then, what should have been a testament to confidence in physical prowess transformed suddenly into literally hobbling insecurity. Luckily, it did improve, and Kermit showed Clifford what he had learned both in isolated movements and the current (sad) state of his own freestyle routine.
After Kermit had gone through the routine he’d created, Clifford stood in deep concentration and an even deeper funk and thought for a long time. Nervously, Ru appeared at his elbow with expresso and hot brownies, and Clifford ate and drank absently, still lost in thought.
When the caffeine had worked it’s magic, he straightened from his slouch and began to nod.
“Okay,” he said. “First of all, the routine you have is whack.”
“Is that—is that good?” Kermit asked anxiously.
“No,” Clifford said, and Kermit slumped.
“However,” the tall muppet said encouragingly, “I think we can fix it.”
“Oh, goody,” said Kermit.
Clifford looked at him. “Stop saying ‘goody,’ man,” he demanded. “I feel like I’m in a Shirley Temple movie.”
Abashed, Kermit subsided.
“Okay, show me your lead-off again,” Clifford said. “We’ll work on that, first.”
If Kermit had been clairvoyant, he would have known that his room-mate, Ruahnna, was seated in one of the two lime tweed recliners whose tall backs hid the occupants from the sight of anyone coming through the door. He had, on more than one occasion, been glad that the occupant (or occupants) of those chairs were not visible from the door, and thinking about Piggy made him blush and look nervously toward the far right-hand hallway were she and Ru had rooms.
But Kermit was not clairvoyant. If he had been, he wouldn’t have found himself in the predicament that he was in now. He rounded the corner of the recliner, and Ruahnna’s dry Southern drawl caught him and almost made him jump out of his skin.
“There’s hot chocolate,” she said without looking up. “And some of those cold cuts that you like.” Kermit gave a yelp and a hop that made Ru remember that he was, after all, a frog.
‘Sheesh,” Kermit complained, his slim-fingered hands pressed to his swiftly pounding heart. “Are you trying to scare me to death?” He moved his hands to his non-existent hips and looked at her pale hands, poised over the laptop but not moving. “How’s it coming?” he asked, his voice wry.
“Just peachy, dear,” she said, grimacing in a way that belied her words. “How ‘bout you—what class is keeping you up so late studying?
Kermit looked quickly toward the kitchen. “You said there were cold cuts? The ones with—“
“Aah aah ahh!” Ru cried. “I don’t ask, you don’t tell.” She smiled to soften the barb. “But yes—Geno called and said some more of the cold cuts you like came in earlier today, so Fozzie stopped off after class.”
Good ol’ Fozzie, Kermit thought tiredly. He’d have to remember to thank him.
Kermit decided he must have looked as forlorn as he felt, for his room-mate gave him a long, slow look, closed her hibernating laptop and walked to the kitchen.
“I need a break,” she said. “Come on—let me make you a sandwich.”
Kermit looked up at her gratefully. “How about a couple?” he asked. “I could eat at—“
“Aah! No askie! No tellie!” she cried. Kermit wondered irritably if she was going to put her fingers in her ears and la la la at him next, but contented himself with humpfing and crossing his arms across his chest.
“People are so weird,” he muttered, but he came and sat down all the same.
Ruahnna smiled and busied herself in the kitchen. It is a small kitchen, and it is possible to stand in one spot and reach most everything. She untwists the bread tie and pulls out a couple of slices of dark rye bread, which she procedes to slip into the toaster. Kermit started to remind her he liked his bread toasted lightly but saw that she had already changed the gauge. While the bread toasted, she set out mustard and two kinds of pickles.
“Hot chocolate? I’ve got the teapot hot…”
Kermit did not want caffeine. “Got any herbal tea?”
Ru frowned. “Not my usual cup of tea, but I think there’s some peppermint.”
Kermit nodded. “Sounds great,” he said, but added morosely, “I could use a little more pep.”
Kermit’s roomie leaned on the counter and studied his face, not happy with what she saw. Her tone was firm, but her voice was gentle.
“So, you aren’t going to tell me what class has got you so het up? It’s not like you to sweat the books.”
It is nice to be known—comforting and welcoming. It is also NOT nice to be so well known. Kermit started to speak, but stopped himself by taking a big bite of his sandwich. He chewed determinedly, like a fellow in an ad—“Frog eating a sandwich with gusto,”—but after a moment, his expression gradually goes from distracted by what he doesn’t want to say to distracted by the taste and texture of the sandwich. His eyes take on a dreamy contented look, which was, sadly, temporary. While he was chewing, swallowing and his stomach was rejoicing, Ru slipped another sandwich onto this plate to take the place of the rapidly disappearing first one.
Piggy’s right,” Ru said thoughtfully, looking at Kermit’s lean face. “You look thin. C’mon—confession is good for the soul. What are you so worried about?” She hoped to jolly Kermit out of his mood with food and a hot beverage, but he evaded all attempts at contact like a pro. For just a moment, Ru spared a pitying thought for Miss Piggy, who had born the brunt of his evasion for years.
At last, when the second sandwich was showing serious signs of consumption, Kermit muttered something indistinct, something that might have included the word “failing” in it.
Ru raised a sardonic brow. “You want to run that by me again?” she asked.
Kermit chewed defensively, his shoulders hunched like a fighter.
“Not really,” he muttered.
This time his churlishness was met with mystification. “What on--?” Ru began, but Kermit interrupted her.
“You’ll laugh.”
Ru was so surprised she sat back in her chair, and her expression changed from exasperation to concern and surprise. “Why would I laugh if you were failing a class?” she asked. She had often been teased by her roomies for her tender heart, and Kermit’s reticence did not make any sense. “C’mon, sweetie,” she wheedled. “Just tell me. Maybe it’s not too late to get a tutor.”
TO her surprise, Kermit covered his face with his hands and let out a groan.
“It’s humiliating.”
Ru might be forgiven just one moment of horrified speculation. Having seen the muppets perform for years and years had steeled for, well, all sorts of things, but if Kermit felt like what this was was truly humiliating, then it probably was. Nevertheless, she tried to make her voice firm and matter-of-fact.
“Oh, come now. It can’t be that bad—um, can it?” Her voice squeaked a little on that last, while visions of things other than sugarplums danced wildly in her head. “What could YOU be failing that would be embarrassing?” As soon as the words left her mouth, the thought “Pig-wooing 101" popped into her head but she stuffed it back down grimly without comment.
“Hmphumph.” Kermit looked terribly dejected.
“Um….”
At last, the hateful information could no longer be contained. The words burst out of Kermit as though propelled by Gonzo’s cannon. “Hip Hop!” he practically groaned. “I’m failing Hip Hop!”
Protestations to the contrary, there was a terrible moment when his roomie was afraid she might laugh after all, thereby banishing her from the beloved walls of Room 20 and from the friendship she so cherishes. Luckily, the moment passed with nary a peep escaping her firmly pressed lips.
Ru took a deep breath. “Um, so…so you’re failing…Hip Hop.” There, she had managed to get it out. Finally, however, the inexplicable nature of what she’d just heard mades itself felt, and she just had to ask. “Kermit, I…um, look—not to be rude or anything, but why on earth did you sign up for…oh.” Comprehension flooded her face. “Oh,” she said again, biting the inside of her mouth to avoid further commentary.
Kermit’s cheeks are scarlet, and his eyes are defiant over his blazing cheeks. He is desperately afraid that she will laugh at him, that she won’t pity him and help him, but his fears are unfounded. Although there is just a hint of teasing in Ruahnna’s voice, her tone is gentle.
“Kermit, honey,” she said, her drawl becoming more pronounced in moments of tenderness. “What—exactly—did you think the class was going to be like?
Kermit’s posture was so stiff he could rival Sam the Eagle, and his voice was tinged with the same stiffness. “I don’t see how that’s relevant NOW,” he said primly, his voice vibrating with indignation. “But I'll tell you what is relevant--if my freestyle routine doesn’t kick butt, I’m going to flunk.”
Ru digested this piece of information for a moment. Kermit was not as grade-obsessed as some of the inhabitants of the dorm, but it was a point of honor to him to do well in class. It was, in fact, a point of honor to him to do well in anything he committed himself to. She probed for more clarification.
“Flunk flunk--or get a bad grade flunk?”
Kermit’s voice was flat. “Flunk flunk. It's pass/fail.”
Oh. It was bad.
His roomie’s voice was carefully neutral. “Oh. Do you want to show me your routine, um, now?”
Kermit looked around nervously, first toward Piggy’s room and then toward Fozzie’s. “No. Um, not really,” he said firmly.
“Kermit….” Ru’s voice was firm. Kermit was capable of great stubbornness, but he had, quite possibly, met his match here.
“Okay, okay—but you have to promise not to laugh.”
Bad indeed.
Ruahnna nodded soberly. If she had not laughed before, she could keep a straight face now--no matter what. “Okay, Kermit. Show me what you’ve go so far.”
Fed, cheered and resigned, Kermit got up out of his chair to comply.
Aside from the fact that most people would label you crazy for doing so, the average person knows that taking out your own appendix is not a good idea. Some jobs require professional, and this seemed to be one of them.
Ru went trolling for experienced—and hopefully discreet—help. Rizzo had been willing, but otherwise indisposed. His final project for “Maze-solving 202” was giving the little rat nightmares of his own, and Ru scratched his name off the list. The next name was Clifford’s. His name had actually been at the top of the list, but Rizzo’s room had been geographically closer. Ruahnna was thrilled to find him not only available, but willing. Not to mention that he would help Kermit with his hip-hop routine! (Just kidding! Just kidding! I have no serious designs on Clifford.)
“Um, how bad we talking here?” he had said, hands on hips.
Ru pursed her lips and looked carefully up and down the corridor. “Um, do you remember the “Kermit UnPigged” album, when Kermit performed “Wild Thing” on the ukulele?”
Clifford’s sigh was eloquent. “Okay,” he said. “So we’ve got our work cut out for us. Can he—can he do the moves?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” Ru said. “It’s just, you know, not pretty.” She gave him her best optimistic smile.
Oh, Clifford thought. It was bad.
“And what’s in this for me?”
“Our undying gratitude?”
There was a moment of profound silence. Ru sighed and broke eye contact first.
“Um, free pies for a month when we get back?”
“You make sweet potato pie?”
“Um, not yet, but I can scare up a good recipe.”
“What about peanut-butter pie?”
“Deep dish.”
“Okay,” Clifford said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “I’m in. Let’s get to work.”
It was impossible to keep something like this hidden from Fozzie and Piggy once Ruahnna knew. It wasn’t that she was incapable of keeping a secret, but simply that their lair, Room 20, had been transformed into a highly-specialized work station designed to facilitate the right culture for dance. In short, they had had to push all of the furniture to the edges of the room, and to get to the stove, you had to wind your way around both the sewing machine and the coffee table. Still, it was only temporary, and Ru had made brownies and blondies to bribe away any complaints.
Kermit, dressed in dark blue sweats with lime green stripes down the side, looked ready for anything. Until he moved. Then, what should have been a testament to confidence in physical prowess transformed suddenly into literally hobbling insecurity. Luckily, it did improve, and Kermit showed Clifford what he had learned both in isolated movements and the current (sad) state of his own freestyle routine.
After Kermit had gone through the routine he’d created, Clifford stood in deep concentration and an even deeper funk and thought for a long time. Nervously, Ru appeared at his elbow with expresso and hot brownies, and Clifford ate and drank absently, still lost in thought.
When the caffeine had worked it’s magic, he straightened from his slouch and began to nod.
“Okay,” he said. “First of all, the routine you have is whack.”
“Is that—is that good?” Kermit asked anxiously.
“No,” Clifford said, and Kermit slumped.
“However,” the tall muppet said encouragingly, “I think we can fix it.”
“Oh, goody,” said Kermit.
Clifford looked at him. “Stop saying ‘goody,’ man,” he demanded. “I feel like I’m in a Shirley Temple movie.”
Abashed, Kermit subsided.
“Okay, show me your lead-off again,” Clifford said. “We’ll work on that, first.”
