Chapter sixteen
The morning sun found Fozzie pacing up and down the front porch, going over his monologue in his head, slowly trying to convince himself that it was perfect.
“Kermit will be so proud of me,” he said. “It’s good to know that he’s not even worried about the show. Or his mom.”
Fozzie sat down and the porch step and rested his chin on his hand. “How could he not be worried about his mom?” he wondered aloud. “I’d sure be worried about Ma.” He fell into troubled thoughts. “Gosh. Imagine if Ma was in the hospital. What if she was sick, or dying... Oh, I’d sit by her side until she was all better. Yes, I would. Just like she always does for me. And I’d bring her soup, and I’d read her stories, and I would take good care of her. I’d be there every step off the way. From the moment she got to the hospital. No, I’d even get there
before her!” He stopped. “Wait, how would I get there before her? I don’t know when she’s going to be sick. Someone would have to tell me. What if no one ever told me, and I didn’t get to her in time?”
He stood up and started pacing up and down the porch again. “Oh, poor Ma! All alone in a hospital bed, with no one coming to visit! No one taking care of her! And I, her only son, with no idea that she’s even been hurt!” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my poor mother! She-“
Suddenly he looked up, frozen, and then made a throwaway gesture with his hands. “She’s
fine,” he assured himself. “I’m just over-reacting!”
He hesitated, looked around, went inside and walked straight to the phone. He picked it up and dialed quickly. It rang once, twice, three times before the most familiar voice in the world to him finally answered.
“Hiya Ma,” he said, “It’s Fozzie...”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kermit sat under a tree and pulled his niece onto his lap. “Try it again, Rachel,” he said with a smile.
The little frog took a deep breath and concentrated. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... um...” she shook her head and looked up at her uncle.
He nodded. “Let’s try it this way,” he said. He drew a one in the dirt with his finger. “What number is that?”
“One,” Rachel said.
“That’s right,” Kermit said as he wiped the number away and drew another. “And what’s that?”
“Two,” Rachel said.
“Yup,” he wiped it away and drew another number. “So what number’s that?”
“Three!” she said, getting excited as he wiped it away and started drawing another number. “Uncle Kermit, is the next one four?”
“You’re catching on,” he said. “Yup, that’s a four.” He wiped it away. “And what comes next?”
“Five!”
“That’s right,” he said. “Do you know what a five looks like?”
Rachel climbed out of her uncle’s lap and slowly, carefully, drew a big five in the dirt. “Like that!” She sat back and looked at the lopsided number. “Sort of.”
“That’s a very nice five,” Kermit assured her. He wiped it away. “But can you show me the
next number?”
“Six,” Rachel said as she drew a six in the ground.
“Very good Rachel,” Kermit said, wiping it away. “And what comes after six?”
“Seven!” She drew a seven.
“And then?”
“Eight!” She added a curved line to the seven, turning it into an eight.
“Who taught you that trick?” Kermit asked.
“Mommy did!” she said, smiling up at him. She wiped it away. “And then comes nine...” She drew a nine in the dirt.
“That’s right,” he said. “And what comes after nine?”
“Ten!” She erased the nine and triumphantly replaced it with a ten.
“Very good Rachel,” Kermit said. “See, you’re already half way to twenty.”
She looked up at him. “But Uncle Kermit, what comes next?”
He wiped away the zero and drew a one where it had been. “That comes next,” he said. “That’s called eleven.”
“Eleven,” she repeated.
“Right.” He wiped away the one he had just drawn and replaced it with a two. “Now do you know what that number is?”
She looked at it, scrunched her face up, and shook her head.
“Well,” he said, “How many ladybugs came to the ladybug picnic?”
She looked up at him. “Twelve?”
“That’s right,” he said. “So what number is that?”
“Twelve.”
He nodded, wiped away the two, and drew a three in its place. “And that?”
She shook her head.
“Thirteen,” he said. He wiped away the three. “What’s the next number look like?” he asked.
Rachel reached down and slowly drew a four next to the one. “Is that right?”
“Yup,” he said. “That’s called fourteen.” He wiped the four away. “Then what?”
She drew a five where the four had been. “But what’s it called, Uncle Kermit?”
He smiled. “That’s fifteen,” he said. “Do me a favor, Rachel. Hold up ten fingers.”
She raised her fingers one at a time, counting as she went. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”
He nodded and lifted his own finger. “Eleven,” he said.
“Eleven,” she repeated.
He lifted another finger. “Twelve.”
“Twelve.”
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen.”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen.”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen.”
Kermit nodded. “Very good,” he said. He wiped away the five. “Then what?”
She drew a six next to the one. He nodded and lifted another finger. “Sixteen.”
“Sixteen,” she repeated.
He wiped away the six. “And then?”
Rachel drew a seven where the six had been.
He lifted another finger. “Seventeen.”
“Seventeen,” she repeated. She turned the seven into an eight.
He nodded and lifted another finger. “Eighteen.”
“Eighteen,” she repeated. She wiped away the eight and drew a nine. “And then nineteen?”
Kermit nodded and raised another finger. “Yup, nineteen,” he said with a smile. “And what do you think comes next?”
Rachel looked at the nineteen in the dirt, at her fingers, at his fingers, and then to her uncle’s face. “Twenty?” She asked excitedly.
He nodded. “That’s right!” He wiped away the nineteen and drew a twenty in the dirt. “Now let’s count again.”
She counted off on her fingers. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...” She waited for him to lift his fingers, then continued a little slower. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I did it, Uncle Kermit! I counted to twenty!”
“And you did a very good job, Rachel,” he said as he hugged her. “I knew you could.”
She jumped up. “I’m gonna go show Mommy!” she shouted proudly, and she bolted away.
“Show Grandma, too!” Kermit called after her. He laughed to himself as he watched her go. Sometimes it felt good to just teach his nieces and nephews. It reminded him of why he had gone to Sesame Street.
He shrugged, stood up, and walked towards the pond, wondering who he might see there, while a tiny pinprick in the back of his mind wondered about the theater.
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