By Eleanor K. Sommer and Paul B. Hoffhein
It was approaching midnight. Clint and Lonnie Brandon sat on the cabin’s top step discussing the sun’s reflection on Lake Tippicanoe. They were arguing about whether it was still the sun’s reflection once it had bounced off the large sphere orbiting the earth.
“Tha’s sure purdy. Idn’t it,” Lonnie slurred.
“That is bootiful,” Clint finally agreed.
“Yea, and so is Lorraine,” Lonnie moaned.
“Forget about it, Lonnie. Least stop yammering about it long enough to enjoy a beer with your ole brother.”
Lonnie made a face and started to say something else, but Clint cut him off.
“Shut up and give me ‘nother one of ‘em beers.” Clint didn’t want to hurt his younger brother, but they’d already been over what Lonnie’s wife was doing to Lonnie, and there wasn’t a thing either of them could do about it. At least not right then, anyway.
Lonnie pulled a bottle from a rusty pail filled with slushy ice water and slid it across the step toward his brother. Clint rolled his empty down the steps — thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, plop. It rolled a bit farther and with a clink joined the dozen or so others that lay near an old cypress tree stump.
“You boys gonna stay out there all night?” came a voice from one of the other cabins.
“Aw, Ma. We’re just catchin’ up,” Lonnie answered. And then under his breath, “On all the beers we’ve missed. Hee, hee, hee.”
“Think she can hear us all the way over there?” Clint whispered as he tilted back his head for a long swig. Lonnie strained to hear conversation from any of the other cabins that dotted the shore near the lake and held the rest of the Brandon family that had gathered for the annual reunion.
“I think Ma could hear a frog fart,” Lonnie giggled. Clint froze mid-swallow, and then a mouthful beer spewed across Lonnie’s lap.
“Hee, hee, hee,” Lonnie giggled as brushed the foam off his shorts.
“Raagh, raagh, raagh,” Clint gagged.
Lonnie looked at his brother. “You sound just like frog.”
Clint wiped a palm across his mouth. “By God, I do, don’t I. Hell, we could even be frogs. This here lake could be our pond, and we’re on a king-sized lily pad. We’re the kings of the pond.”
Clint scooted forward on the step, clumsily pulled his feet together, and spread out his knees. Lonnie eyed him warily as he straighted out his back and puffed out his chest.
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet,” went Clint.
“Hee, hee, hee,” went Lonnie.
“Come on, Lonnie. You do it too. No. Do it right. The way I am. You gotta move your knees out more.”
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.” Clint just kept it up until Lonnie stopped laughing long enough to add a few feeble noises of his own.
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
The boys kept at it for a long time. A cabin light went on and then off. They didn’t care, they were having a great time.
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
I’m here
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
Hey, you two!
“Ribbet, ribbet, ribbet, ribbet.”
“Peeper, peeper, peeper.”
CAN YOU HEAR ME?
“Huh?” said Clint.
“Peeper?”
“Peeper, peeper?”
Finally. Can you hear me now?
“You hear that?” Clint said.
Lonnie drew his knees together and looked at Clint. “Hear what?”
Me. Stupid. He’s talking about me. You loon.
“Looky there. Look at that big-ass frog.”
Lonnie peered through the darkness and just on the other side of the mess of empty beer bottles sat an over-sized frog. “Yea, I see him. And he’s lookin’ right at us.”
How would boys like a lot of money?
“Huh?” said Clint.
“How much?” said Lonnie.
Lonnie inched forward on the step to get a better look, but he went too far. Thud went his butt on the next step.
If human’s had wings…
“It seems like that frog’s talkin’,” Clint said rubbing his face.
“It sure does,” Lonnie said shaking his head from side to side in a useless attempt to clear the fog produced by the numerous beers he had consumed.
They glanced at each other, and then their eyes locked on the frog.
Listen to me. You guys can be rich. Famous even. Whatever. Pay attention. Hey?
“He… sure… is big,” Lonnie said.
“LET’S GET ‘EM,” Clint suddenly yelled, springing from the porch and diving for the frog. He was too late. Clint landed face first in the dirt, but he wasted no time getting up and making another useless lunge. Lonnie leaped off the porch and joined him.
They spent several hopeless minutes chasing the frog, and then Clint decided they’d have to use their heads.
“Lonnie,” he gasped. “Go around. Lonnie. No. Stay on the other side,” he said gesturing wildly until Lonnie responded. They moved in a circle trying to surround the frog. It looked like victory for the Brandon brothers until the hammer and anvil maneuver.
“Now,” Clint yelled as they both dove for elusive amphibian. That’s when the hammer, Clint’s head, hit the anvil, Lonnie head.
They lay motionless in the grassy bank along the lake.
O.K. Now that you two have calmed down maybe you’ll be polite enough to listen me. After all you did invite me here. Hmmm. Where do I begin. Let’s see. Oh yes. I’m a magic frog. You will never catch me. So stop trying.
Clint lay on his back and after a while he opened his eyes to a star-filled sky. Some of them were spinning faster than others. He closed his eyes again.
So you called me, and now I will grant you one wish. One wish. Not one each you understand. One.
Lonnie, who was crumpled on his side, struggled up to his hands and knees and puked.
Very well. You needn’t decide right away. Just before this time tomorrow. Make a wish, and it will be granted. That’s all. You guys got it?
Clint moaned and clutched both hands to his head.
Ah yes. Very good question. Of course there’s a hitch. No free lunches you know. Once the wish is granted, someone here will have to take my place. You see once I’ve done my job — granted the wish. I’m free. Off duty. Someone else has to become the magic frog.
Lonnie mumbled. “What’re you talkin’ bout Clint?”
No, it’s not a difficult job. Nothing much to do but hop around the lake until you’re called. Sort of like a vacation. Well that’s it. Speak up when you decide. I’ll hear you.
Clint managed to get himself upright. “Lonnie. Lonnie. Get up.”
“Whah happen’?”
Clint pulled Lonnie to his feet, but they needed each other to maintain forward motion. “I think this night’s over.”
“Thank God,” Lonnie agreed.
The next morning delivered the kind of crisp southern air that signals the end of summer. But it wasn’t long before a blanket of sun warmed the chill, and thirty-four members of the Brandon family meandered from their cabins and gathered around picnic tables. Two were noticeably absent.
“Todd, go wake up your uncles. Tell them they’re going to miss our last meal together. Not that I imagine they’re hungry,” Vera Brandon said as she filled plastic cups with orange juice.
Todd wasn’t happy about being chosen for this chore, but he lumbered over to Clint’s cabin. After knocking unsuccessfully on the door, Todd nudged in open.
“Uncle Clint. Uncle Clint. Grandma says get up. And go get Lonnie too,” Todd announced, glad to pass on that task. Todd sprang off the porch and headed back toward the food.
Clint rolled over, massaged his head, and realized morning was giving way to noon. Hot sun was pouring in the cabin window. He struggled to get up and walked in slow motion over to the next cabin to wake up Lonnie. From the looks of the bed, Lorraine must have slept somewhere else.
“Come on, Lonnie. Wake up,” he said as he none too gently nudged Lonnie’s shoulders. “Let’s go for a swim.” Clint had decided the lake was as good as shower.
He pulled Lonnie to his feet and pushed him toward the door.
“Uggggh,” was all Lonnie could manage.
Not long afterward, the Brandon family was startled by a large splash and two yelps from the lake.
“I guess they’re up or that’s the biggest and loudest fish we’ve ever had up here,” Vera said as she turned to watch her sons splash around in the cold water.
After a while, Clint and Lonnie climbed out of the lake and collapsed in a heap on the dock. As the water trickled off their skin, a breeze stirred and caused a few ripples in the water. The cicadas hummed in the trees.
“That’s it. No more drinking,” Clint said as he swatted at a wasp.
“You said that last year,” Lonnie said, batting at another wasp. “Sure are a lot of wasps this year.”
Clint wasn’t listening. “You hungry? I wonder what’s for lunch.”
“It’s called brunch, stupid. Yea, let’s go.”
They ambled up to the picnic tables and as Clint was toweling off his hair and Lonnie was pulling on his jeans, Lorraine strode past with a plate of food.
“For us? “ Clint asked.
“Nice of you guys to help,” she frowned, plunking down a platter of food and brushing aside Lonnie’s hand as he reached out to touch her shoulder.
“Not now, Lonnie,” she murmured.
“Guess you boys didn’t sleep well last night,” came the raspy voice of Grandpa Brandon through a thick cloud of pipe smoke. “Me neither. Damn frogs were louder than your grandma’s snoring!”
“I don’t think they were trying to sleep Grandpa. More like ruin everyone else’s,” Lonnie’s wife said more than sarcastically.
“What’s that?” Clint said pointing to the table.
“Frogs’ legs,” Grandpa Brandon said. “Lots of them. Tommy and Bill and your Dad gigged them real early. Your mom’s been cleaning them all morning.”
“Frogs’ legs!” Lonnie said and rushed up behind Clint. “Frogs. The frog?” Clint and Lonnie stared at each other and then at the stack of crisply fried plump legs on the table.
“No way, Lonnie” Clint stopped him, fearing he’d tell the story and embarrass them both.
“But, Clint… Don’t you remember last night?”
“Yea, I remember we were both drunk as skunks. And that’s all,” Clint shot back at his brother.
“You should have seen the one we couldn’t catch. It was huge,” their nephew Tommy piped up.
“How big?” Lonnie asked as he and Clint exchanged glances. Clint didn’t say anything, he just stood there trying to recall the blur of the previous night’s adventure. Was that frog real? he wondered to himself.
“It’s true,” their dad came to Tommy’s defense, fearing they wouldn’t believe Tommy because he was only seven.
Before Clint could ask Tommy anymore about the frog, Ma Brandon strode toward the tables, announcing, “O.K. Let’s eat,” as carried out the last of the meal: two huge plates of home-made chocolate chip cookies.
Lonnie didn’t say much while they ate; he just stared woefully at Lorraine, who ignored him, except when he passed her the plate of legs.
“How can you eat those. I just hate those little slimy things,” she drawled.
“They taste just like chicken, Lorraine. Try one,” Lonnie offered.
“No, thanks. Yuck.”
Luckily for most families, reunions are short. Otherwise the fun might wear off and everyone would realize why they live so far apart to begin with. Once brunch was digested and everyone had another swim, the various members of the Brandon family was ready to head to their individual points on the compass. Some near, some far.
Goodbyes took up the rest of the afternoon. As usual Clint and Lonnie were last. They dallied near the lake.
“You know what Clint? You know what I really wish?”
“Wish? WISH? Lonnie, don’t make a…”
“No let me say it Clint. I wish Lorraine would love me. Really love me. Like she did in the beginning. Before she met that guy.”
“Geez Lonnie. You just… made a wish. Do you know what that means?”
“Yea right. You gonna turn into a frog or what?” Lonnie punched Clint on the arm and let out one of his goofy laughs. Then he got a serious look on his face and stared off toward Lorraine.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Lonnie said.
Clint felt strange as he followed Lonnie to the cars. He tried to remember what the stupid frog had said or if it had been a boozy hallucination. Clint stopped by his cousin Charlie’s pick-up and peered in the sideview mirror. No warts, he observed. He stuck out his tongue. It looked the same size. Safe for now, he thought.
Damn it. His little brother made a wish. Now what?
“Clint, honey what’s the matter?” It was his mother. “You look a little green around the gills. I think you boys drank too much.”
“Right Ma,” Clint said as he tried to get Lonnie’s attention, but his brother was making googoo eyes at Lorraine. Clint watched in horror as Lorraine returned Lonnie’s advances. Clint inched closer to them.
“Lonnie, sweetie, this sure has been a nice weekend. I haven’t felt this good in long time. I even forgive you for getting so stinkin’ drunk.” Her words tumbled out like like sweet taffy — stretched and sticky. Lonnie put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head against him.
Clint felt dizzy. He gasped for his breath.
Suddenly Lonnie was slapping him on the back. “Well, bro, this is it. See you next time. Ribbet and all that stuff. Hee hee hee!”
Clint watched Lonnie get in his car and realized Lonnie wasn’t going to do anything. Wasn’t going to help him.
Lonnie pushed open the passenger door for Lorraine and watched the delicate curve of her tan leg as she stepped into the car.
Maybe this time it’ll work out, he thought. Before she sat down, she stopped and swatted at something. Then she slid into the car.
“Wasp?”
“No,” Lorraine said and opened up her hand to stare at the fly she had caught.
How’d you do that?” Lonnie asked. His gaze changed from appreciative to astonishment as he watched her bring the fly near her mouth and inspected it closely before tossing it out the window.
“I don’t know, “ Lorraine shrugged. “But I do know I’m sure going to miss this lake. I wish we could stay a few extra days. Lonnie, honey, it’s not that far; let’s come up next weekend. Just us. O.K.?”
Someone else was also admiring Lorraine’s shapely legs. Off in the reeds at the edge of the lake, a really big frog sat smiling to himself.
It won’t be long now, he thought. I sure did hate to mislead them boys. I mean how was I to know what they were gonna wish. I did my job. Besides it sure gets lonesome up here, and from the looks of it, that Lorraine sure is a kicker.
