Prince Charming

I am, most assuredly, not a prince. If you kiss me, I will continue to be exactly what I am, which is not a prince. Although I have not been alive for very long, I know this to be true. Some other things I know to be true are as follows:

1. I was born in a small creek which winds serenely through a patch of untamed woods until lazily spilling out into a river some five miles or so away.

2. I have no idea what “miles” are or how far they might be.

3. I am very good at making myself sound knowledgeable.

4. I am also very good at making lists.

5. I am most definitely no longer in this small creek winding serenely through a patch of untamed woods.

6. I am, however, in water. There is a stone near me, and plenty of grass and flowers strewn about. It is actually quite cozy.

7. I must escape.

I was relaxing, perfectly content, upon my favorite lilypad when I was abruptly kidnapped by something tall and loud called “Maggie”. This creature, whose hair clatters with large beads and whose neck is adorned with a cacophonous rainbow of talismans depicting various insects, now insists on calling me “Prince Charming” and is constantly trying to kiss me on the head. My name is not Prince Charming. My name is Frog. I gave it to myself, thank you very much. It captures all of my most important features: my froginess, my frogativity, my froglination, and, of course, my frogutory frogutativeness. “Prince Charming” says absolutely nothing about me.

I’ve managed to avoid her smooches so far, but I am afraid I do not know how long I can keep this up. She often comes close to my glass cell and simply looks at me, sometimes for minutes at a time. I’m not sure why she does this, though it is, to be honest, rather flattering. I am quite exquisitely frog, after all. I am the most frog out of anyone I know. But, despite her apparent admiration, she clearly does not understand my frogliniacy; She is still going on and on about turning me into a prince, and it is frankly quite insulting. If I could speak, I would tell her this. But, alas, she is not advanced enough as a being to understand my most glorious, frogulatious language.

Shh… She is coming.

She flings open the door and marches right over to my jar-jail, jingling and clattering the whole way. “Hello little Prince!” Which is still not what I am. “How are you today?” Obviously I can’t respond, but, if I could, I would tell her that I am rather peeved.

“Jenna B. was mean to me again today, and I don’t know why. She pushed me on the playground and ran away. I didn’t tell the teacher though ‘cause I didn’t want her to get in trouble ‘cause she was my friend before.” I haven’t heard of this Jenna B.… I suppose it won’t hurt to listen for a bit. Maggie is, for all her flaws, quite a rapturous storyteller.

“It’s sad because she’s friends with Jenna S. now even though she’s mean. I don’t know why she’s friends with her and not me but when I came back to school this year they were sitting together at lunch and so I asked her to come sit with me and she said she was sitting with Jenna S. and I said that Jenna S. was mean and then Jenna S. started crying and Jenna B. got mad at me and I got in trouble with the teacher for making Jenna S. cry.”

I can’t speak in a way she would understand, of course, but, if I could, I might say something like this: It sounds like Jenna B. isn't being a very good friend to you right now. I’m very sorry about all of that trouble, it can be so hard to navigate friendships sometimes.

“I still have Morgan and Maggie M. and Lydia and Lucas P. but Jenna B. used to be my best friend and she lives right down the street so we used to play all the time but now she’s mean so I have no one to play with unless my other friends’ parents will drive them to my house. I really want her to be friends with me again but she won’t even talk to me so I don’t think we’ll make friends with each other again.” Her lower lip starts to tremble, and a fat tear starts to swell against her lower eyelids. I find myself unable to resist my instinct to comfort her.

Maggie, sometimes people just need space and time to figure themselves out. Maybe Jenna B. isn’t sure who she is or what she wants, and this is why she decided to try out being friends with Jenna S. Maybe by refusing to support this exploration, you inadvertently pushed her away. Have you tried apologizing to Jenna S. and being friends with the both of them?

“You’re right, Mr. Prince.” This startles me a bit. Did she really hear me? “I’m so lucky to have a frog friend like you.” She smooshes her face against the glass and grins at me. A "frog", she called me. Not a prince. But a frog, and a friend, and good enough as I am.

I take a pause. Then, I wish you the best, dear Maggie.

She smiles at me as the ripened tear loosens itself from her eyelid and rolls down her cheek. “I love you Prince Charming.”

I am not a prince, of course. But perhaps I am one to Maggie. And perhaps I can be both a prince and a frog, too. Perhaps that is okay.

I love you too.

The next day, Maggie, Jenna B., and Maggie's new friend, Jenna S., pile into her momma's great steed—a magnificent beast named "Honda"—and take me out to the small stream which winds serenely through the untamed patch of woods and they gently set me down amongst the grass near the bank. “Goodbye Prince Charming!” calls Maggie as she waves at me through the window of their car. Her friends echo this most cheerful farewell, and my little frogituous heart is made quite full with their affection.

Goodbye, Maggie. Goodbye, Jennas. Goodbye, momma. Goodbye, Honda.

It was a pleasure knowing you.