just another tiny noise

they were small themselves, jane and victoria, but the frog was even smaller. it was sick, they could tell by the strange, helpless noises it was making from the muddy bank of the creek that ran behind jane's grandmother's house. they were taking big strides across the high grass and didnt hear the tiny noises until they were very close to the water.

poor thing, jane said, and knelt in front of it, keeping her hands in her lap.

jane was always on the verge of tears but she rarely cried. she was only five, and because measuring someones capacity to cry at any moment is an unscientific and vague thing, no one noticed. random things would create a lump in her throat, a burning in her eyes- the sight of her teddy bear balancing on her pillow, his head flopped backwards. her mother's eyes behind her glasses, tired and sagging. a man sitting in a booth alone, his hands holding each other underneath the table. she would feel the tenuous cord being yanked at slightly by these images and would blink until the feeling passed through her, escaping from her toes and back into the ground. victoria, her best friend since kindergarden began, knew when the cord was being pulled inside of jane. though she didnt understand it, she was used to it by then.

i wonder whats the matter with it, victoria said, still standing.

the frog didnt look hurt, but the noises coming from somewhere (they couldnt identify a mouth opening or closing) were shamlessly desparate, an obvious attempt at communicating pain. victoria pulled a thick blade of grass out of the patch behind her and gently poked his rubbery skin with it. the frog didnt move.

should i tell gramma? jane said as looked up and met victorias eyes.

jane's grandmother loved animals. there wasnt much else that she loved, that jane knew of at least, but she softened when she talked about animals. animals, she said once, they dont disappoint you. they only leave when they die, and thats usually more your fault than theirs. jane's grandmother chained smoked cigarettes that she pulled out of a crocehed pouch and said curse words like "son of a bitch," words that jane's mother didnt use, even in traffic. jane was staying with her for the summer because her mother decided to take a break for awhile. she needed to go to the beach, she told jane one morning. she needed a break, was all she said, and jane didnt ask what that meant because she already knew. she knew that it had to do with dinners so quiet the only sound was metal on porcelain, days passing with no word from her father, kleenex all balled up in the bathroom trashcan. she knew it had nothing to do with her. it was her father that she needed a break from, not her.

i dont know, victoria said. would she know what to do?

im not sure. i dont.

maybe we should put him in the water, maybe thats the problem.

victoria was rarely afraid. though jane felt a stabbing empathy for the frog, she would be too scared to pick it up. it was the sense of unpredictability that animals and other adventures had that scared her. she understood the vulnerability of her five year old body. she knew that like the cord, her body could snap at any moment. victoria flew over fences, she had scars all over her legs and she didnt wince when she had splinters pulled out of her hands. she jumped on trampolines and climbed the jungle gym's cold metal bars. she had a farm of earthworms in her backyard and played with them everyday. jane tried, she was frustrated by her innate fear, but it always ended up that either she just simply couldnt do the things victoria did, or she could but had no fun while doing them. she considered this her biggest fault.

victoria kneeled on the soft earth, letting her kneecaps make craters in the dirt. she extended one finger and stroked the back of the frogs back. it didnt move, but kept making the whining, yelping noise.

"i feel so bad for it, jane." her face was very close to the frogs. her brows furrowed a bit as she just looked at it. "what could be so bad?"

"hey little froggie...tell us whats the matter," jane whispered, the lump in her throat forming like cotton candy around the paper stick. she couldnt leave until this frog was ok.

"i'm going to try putting it in the water." victoria scooped it up with both of her hands. the noises stayed the same as she dipped it into the mossy greenish water. she opened her hands a bit to see if it would take off but it didnt, so she kept her hands underneath it. she lowered it under and for a second the noises stopped, and it was so shocking that jane and victoria darted looks at each other but said nothing. "this isnt working." she put it back on the ground.

"maybe its just sad," jane said. "but i hope its not that because then we could do nothing for it."

"maybe its lonely and it just needs for us to talk to it some." victoria put her face in front of the frogs again and said "hi mr.frog. im victoria. this is jane. jane's grandmother lives here. jane does too, for right now before her mom comes back." the frogs noises didnt lessen.

jane, who had been squatting, leaned forward and dug her bare knees into the dirt right beside victoria. she too put her face in front of the frogs.

"oh froggie we wish we knew what was wrong with you. i was so sick once that my fever was 104 and they thought i might die. do you have a fever?" as jane was talking there was a distinct drop in the intensity of the frog's sobs.

"did you hear that?" she asked victoria without turning her head to look at her. "i think he really just wants us to talk to him."

jane hadnt talked to her mom yet that day. she usually called around dinner time, and jane couldnt eat until she did. there was nothing more calming than the sound of the phone ringing. she wanted to crawl into that sound and stay there forever, the undulating brrrrrinnngs, the shrill noise that meant-- its still ok. shes somewhere, just not here. every day it was the same, she would go all day feeling fine, feeling her usual self, but when the phone rang and she heard her mothers voice she would realize in a relentless torrent all at once how lonely she had been. she would make things up to talk to her about, to delay hanging up and having to start all over again. that day, when her mom would call, jane would tell her about the frog and how she and victoria nursed it back to health. how they saved it.

"i wonder if its a girl? mrs. froggie? have you lost your family?" again, the noises quieted. victoria went on to talk about a story she read where the bird lost his mother and asks everyone he meets "are you my mother?"

"we just need to keep talking. i dont think he cares what its about," victoria said and started telling another story, this time about a whale. during the story the frog was almost silent, and when it was done, he gave one single yelp.

"he's talking back to us jane."

it became apparent to jane, her nose almost touching the frog, that there was no way they werent communicating. there was no way that the frog didnt know they were there, didnt know they were trying to help him. this made the lump grow, and she decided then that they would save the frog, no matter what.

they talked to it about kids at school, they told it stories, they stroked its sticky back. the frog still made noises, but when they were talking he was almost completley silent, and would give an exclamation of approval after they stopped. if they just kept on, eventually he would be well enough to hop away. they just had to keep talking.

jane thought of how she would tell the story to her mom that evening. if she would tell her mother all of the funny stories they told him, or all of the names they came up with. she wondered about her mothers reaction, and what she could add about the story to maximize it.

telling her mother the story of the frog, jane realized, would take a few minutes. a few minutes only to explain the grotesque dispair of the frog and their valiant efforts to save him. a few minutes to explain the terror both jane and victoria silently hoarded inside of themselves when the sliver of what could be entered their minds- the frog could not get better, and then what? then they leave it there, screaming after them as they padded their way back to jane's grandmother's house? kill it somehow so they dont have to listen to it? drown it so its screams cant chase after them? telling the story, even if she included those fears, even if she recreated the stories the best she could, would only take a few minutes. and she would be looking at the peeling floral wallpaper, the lopsided wooden chair, as she said the words into a plastic device. and then, that would be the conversation for the day and there wouldnt be another one until after she went to bed and woke up again, after she ate breakfast and watched tv, after she played with victoria and scraped her knees, after she came across something else that tugged on her cord and nearly unravelled the spool of thread inside of her, keeping her together.

"listen," victoria said, her eyes widening. "listen i think he just said something! it sounded like a word!"

"no," jane said as she stood up and brushed the wet dirt from her knees. "its just another tiny noise."