199 lines
5.2 KiB
Plaintext
199 lines
5.2 KiB
Plaintext
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THE FROG PRINCE
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Andrew Varga
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Copyright 1992
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I plunked my tray down as I slumped into the booth.
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Factory-modified foodstuffs entombed in plastic.
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Exhausted, and it was only noon. I'd been to five
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businesses that morning, resume in hand, proudly, even
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boastfully locating employment.
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Truth is, I'd gone out begging for someone to read
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the damned thing.
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What would my wife say when I came home empty-handed
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again? She'd smile bravely at my story, but I knew I'd
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catch the ugly desperation roaming around behind her eyes.
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And my insides would crumble again, like an old brick
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building in an earthquake.
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"May I sit down?"
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I looked up into the face of the ugliest old man I'd
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ever seen. I can't say that he was shabbily dresses, but
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he was as close as one could come to it. But the truly
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surprising thing about him was his face. It was almost as
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though some wicked witch had tried to turn him into a frog
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but had somehow forgotten part of the incantation and the
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spell only partly took hold! The Creature from the Black
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Lagoon without the gills!
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"All the other seats are taken," he said quietly as I
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sat there gawking.
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All I could do was nod.
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"Thank you very much," he said with genuine sincerity
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and a twinkle in his eyes.
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I quickly turned my attention to my unappetizing
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sandwich, trying to hide my shocked surprise.
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I heard his tray touch my table, and the rustle of his
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clothes as he sat down. I glanced up just as he removed
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his hat. His large bald head was covered with big brown
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splotches, like what you'd find on a spotted toad. As I
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hastily returned to my meal, I noticed that the only thing
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on his tray was a plastic cup filled with black coffee.
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His silence made me look up again. Two fingers were
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missing from one of his hands. They were folded and his
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head was bowed. This awful looking creature was praying!
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Wanting to get away as soon as I could, I took a bite
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and began stuffing my sandwich back into its thermoplastic
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tomb.
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He glanced across at me and smiled. Those eyes. So
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bright. So out of place.
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"Care for a little conversation?"
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I was appalled. Can't he see that I'm trying to
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ignore him? I tried to speak but ended up spitting food
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on myself.
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Embarrassed, I nodded.
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He handed me his napkin and started to speak. I did
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my best not to listen. Some story about war and Berlin
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and an orphanage and America.
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Then it hit me. This ugly old man was telling me his
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whole life story! I stared in disbelief. The alarms in
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the back of my head were beginning to go off. I felt, no
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I knew, I had to get out of there.
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I began listening in hopes of finding a break in his
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story, so that I could excuse myself without being too
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rude.
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"And then," he said, sitting erect with pride, "I was
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taken in by Father Pete who ran the school for the blind."
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How fitting, I thought, and gave a smug smile. I
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tried to get a word in, "You must have felt...."
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"Like a frog out of water?" His smile broadened.
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Again I was reduced to silence as he continued his
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story.
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He'd studied to be a priest he told me, but no parish
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would have him.
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"That's when I met my wife, Belinda, you know." He
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told me about his family, how in spite of their problems
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their love grew and blossomed, and filled his life with
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joy.
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And then later how they were all lost in a fire.
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He told me about abuses he'd suffered for that which
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he could not change, how he'd suffered and wandered and
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suffered some more.
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And all the time smiling with that sparkle in his
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eyes.
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How every one of his problems was surmounted and put
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to rest in the past, with faith and a prayer.
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I spent the afternoon listening to that man. Listening
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yes, and learning, too.
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At home I fought back the tears as I kissed my wife at
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the door, bent down and, still smiling, gave my daughter a
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big warm hug.
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True beauty, and yes, happiness, thanks to God, are
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always, always found on the inside.
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3
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