The Life You Want

The sky growled. Emma hurried to get this round of planting done before the storm. Her fingers unearthed a worm with a clump of soil in her raised bed and she silently thanked it for the work it was doing to benefit her garden. A welcomed raindrop kissed her nose, gently urging her to gather her garden tools and save the rest for another day. Another clap of thunder, much closer this time, was the final persuasion. She quickly grabbed her gear along with the buried treasure she’d found and jogged to the shed.

Emma chuckled. Buried treasure. She’d dug out a canvas bag from the earth but didn’t want to waste precious dry time with it. Under the shed’s protective roof, she slowly pried open the drawstring. Hoping for Krugerrands or a rare stamp, she peered inside.

Huh. She reached in and pulled the object out. A stuffed frog. Something nibbled the edges of Emma’s memory. She’d had a toy frog when she was little. Ribbit. Ribbit’s fate was that of many children’s toys. Either donated or simply thrown out by parents who felt their usefulness was done. Emma didn’t believe this unearthed frog was Ribbit. But it sure looked like it if her memory served.

Huh, she thought again. She dug through the canvas duffle, hoping for something more treasure-like but it was empty. Only the lime green frog had been buried. Weird.

It was early afternoon, but Emma had skipped lunch in favor of planting and her stomach was unhappy. The frog was abandoned among cracked pots and potting soil in favor of a sandwich. Emma dined to the soothing drum beat of the steady rain and let her mind wander back to the frog. Was it the same one? How could that even be possible? She’d only been out here a couple of years. When her husband Elliot died, she took the insurance money, bought the property, and dragged a dream into reality. She always wanted to live on land, eat what she grew and protect herself from the pettiness of other humans. Her husband was a people person on steroids. She’d faked a socialite life long enough. There wasn’t one person in their circle who didn’t think she had lost her mind. They all thought she’d work through her grief and rejoin society. Truth be told, she’d loved Elliot but now, she finally loved her life.

The Frog. Was it hers? Pshaw! That she was even entertaining the thought was absurd. But the feeling nagged. She retrieved the toy from the shed and set it on her kitchen table. It was well loved but not falling apart. Emma jumped when the thunder clapped. She jumped again when the phone rang.

Wireless service could be spotty, and Emma kept her landline. She didn’t want to be left isolated in case of an emergency. But nobody called her. Not even pesky telemarketers.

“Hello?”

“Put it back.” Emma slammed the phone down. It had been an eerie, scratchy voice.

Emma awoke in a daze. The best napping happens during a rainstorm and the shock of the phone call left her with a debilitating weariness. She’d been dreaming. A child of six or seven at a party…clutching a green stuffed toy, crying. Mean kids, teasing. She shook off the drug-like fog. A dream. No, a memory. The adrenal rush of sudden clarity. She’d been on this property as a child. Her childhood home wasn’t far from here and her family had attended an event. She’d had her favorite companion. Ribbit. Emma was never outgoing. She wasn’t shy, she just preferred her own company clothed inside her own imagination. Emma had practically been a gift to the other children looking for a target.

She’d run off with her toy and settled at a creek with her tears, hating her existence. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? Even as a child, she just wanted to be left alone.

The memories rushed in like waves. She recalled the silver haired woman – Aunt Agnes or some such – who offered comfort.

“I hate them,” Emma remembered telling Aunt Agnes. “I wish everybody would just leave me alone.”

“Someday, you’ll have the life you want,” the woman had told her.

“How?” Children don’t understand the hindsight of experience. She wanted a guarantee. Agnes had told her a secret. She had to make a SACRIFICE.

“You must give up something you love. I’ll make sure you have the life you want.”

That was how Ribbit was parted from Emma. She didn’t ask Aunt Agnes what plans she had for Ribbit. Emma was too young for it to occur to her to ask. Now she realized the frog had been buried on this property, the same property she had come to own.

Life had moved on and Emma forgot all about the party, the unpleasant kids, the silver haired woman. But the sacrifice had apparently remained. But there was something else. She held the frog and pushed herself to remember.

“There will be another sacrifice one day. This is your bargain.” Emma had no idea what that meant but of course, she nodded, accepted.

When the phone rang again, she answered right away.

“Why should I put it back?”

“You have nothing else to give.”

Emma nearly stopped breathing. She had the life she wanted. And she realized her Elliot’s accident wasn’t an accident.