Authors note: A little somethin’ different today. This might be a children’s story or it might just be nothin’. You decide.

Ma says toads are magical but ain’t no reason to fear ‘em. She says people make up stories bout what they don’t understand all the time and I should be thinkin’ for myself. All I know is the big brown toad livin’ beside the cobblestone well at the edge of our garden does a whole lot of sittin’ and starin’. I like him and I think he’s got eyes for me too.

I ain’t had a friend in a long time and I get to thinkin’ toad is the answer. When nobody is lookin’ I pull off all the flies from the sticky trap in the kitchen and put them in the pocket of my calico dress. It’s hard work and I don’t get all the pieces, leaving behind bits of legs and wings, but I don’t think toad will mind. He seems a likable fella.

He’s not like me at all. I’m either “makin’ too much ruckus” or “I’m so quiet I could scare a ghost out a grave.” Nobody much wants me around. I try to be middle-like. Brother was middle-like. He’s gone now and all my parents have left is me. Ain’t none of us happy bout that.

With a basket of wet laundry under her arm I see Ma headin’ behind the house to where the rope is for dryin. She don’t see me though because I’m slippin’ quiet-like behind the trees and through the hedges. I want to keep this meetin’ secret—just me and toad. Nobody else needs to be botherin’ about us.

When I get to the well the toad is where he always is, tucked close against the ancient crumbling rocks. He sits half in and half out of a smelly green puddle of mud and slime. You’d miss him if you didn’t look twice even though he’s as big round as Ma’s Sunday loaves.  Ca-mo-frog. I move closer and curtsey low-like.

“Fine day for a meetin,” I say. “Fine day indeed.”

Toad says nothin’. I find a flat rock for our table and move it slow-like until it’s positioned close to his round chin. I lay my pink and white lace handkerchief out like a proper tablecloth. I use a couple strawberry leaves as plates heaping them with flies for toad and blueberries for me.

Squatting low, like toad, I pull my dress up to my waist exposing my thin legs covered in mosquito bites. We stare at each other for a long time waitin’ for the other to say somethin’. A crow laughs in the pine tree.

“Rude,” I say.

Toad says nothin’. I eat the blueberries but toad doesn’t touch the flies. I try a few topics of conversating—weather and the like but he stares ahead uninterested in me or the meal I brung ’em.  I wonder if I got it all wrong. Perhaps instead of a friendly toad he’s a wishin’ toad. Like a genie or somethin’.

“You a wishin’ toad?” I whisper.

Toad says nothin’ but I close my eyes tight and make my first wish anyway. I’m concentrating hard but when I open my eyes toad is lookin’ past me and into the forest. With a small “croak” he leaps into the air splashing mud all over my calico dress. I’m about to give him a talkin’ to about Ma’s and keeping dresses clean but he’s hopping away and disappearing into the forest.

“Wait!” I cry.

Maybe I got it all wrong again. Maybe he’s a kissing toad! One kiss and he’ll turn into a prince and whisk me off to a palace for a life of happily ever after. That’s got to be it! I walk on silent tiptoes until I’m close enough to grab him with both hands. He’s heavy and slippery but I hang on tight and force him toward my face.

“Let…me…kiss…you!” I scream. 

He doesn’t cooperate but I manage a kiss anyway right on his toad lips. Nothin’ happens except my dress gets dirtier. I drop him, wipe my mouth on my arm, and spit into the dirt. Not only did I not get a friend but now I’m gonna get a paddlin’ cause of my dress. Double probably for leaving the yard. It’s not fair.

Since brother left I’ve been trying not to breathe too hard or too soft or my parents get to cryin’, yellin’, or hittin’. I can’t do nothin’ right. Wish I’d fallen in the river instead of brother, but Ma says I shouldn’t be sayin’ such awful things. I wish I could be doing and sayin’ nothin’. Can’t be wrong if you ain’t here no more.

The sun moves across the sky and I follow toad. I don’t even know why anymore because all I’m doin’ is thinkin’ about how my chest has felt since brother left; the hole sittin’ right where my heart should be. Pressing fingertips to my chest, I wonder if a heart really can be broken into pieces or maybe it disappears when you get to hurtin’ too bad.

An excited voice makes me jump.

“Are you a friend of toad too?”

A girl stands in front of an identical cobblestone well to the one in our yard. The puddle here is more grey than green. She’s wearing overalls and pressing her bare toes into the mud.

“I am,” I say. Her eyes are the color of the sky.

“I’m Addie,” the girl says holding out her hand.

“Kate,” I say and we shake.

We get to talkin’ and walkin’. Addie doesn’t have any friends either. We decide we should be best friends. We pick wildflowers and make crowns. Her Ma gives us fresh lemonade and her Pa says he’ll let my folks know I’m safe. We play until the stars come out. On the walk home, I stop by and find toad beside our cobblestone well. Real quiet-like I tell him “thank you” but toad, toad says nothin’.