Looking for Mom: The Bag Lady Leaned over Winslow and Whispered, "Follow the Smoke” .

By Les Ewen

Now I need to tell you a little about me. Im a seven hundredgeneration frogLithobates catesbeiana, if you want to get technical. My kind has been helping you poor humans for centuries. You know the story about the princess and the frogit happened. Winslows mother was so kind to me. She made me hats. She tried to help with fly-food by putting decayed meat on the grass by the river. I saw her leave that night and suspected where she was going, because she had taken me there before.

So my rribbittt conscience decided to help Winslow find his mom. I can understand most of what people say, but my native language is Ribbit Americanis.

I should tell you that Winslow took me home that day. They found help for his mother by getting her into an institution for schizophrenia. She spent nearly a year there and, when released, got an apartment in Frenchtown. Winslow and his dad live in the same house and visit Mom often. Jessica comes to the house sometimes and stays in the guest room, but she likes the cave better.

Im the lucky one because his mom makes new hats for me every month, and Winslow is nice enough not to make me wear them. Life is good. Next time you see a frog, realize he/she is watching you, and you had better behave or well . . . rrribbitttt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493172375

Book preview

CONTENTS

Chapter One The Frog

Chapter Two Which Lizabeth

Chapter Three Mom’s House

Chapter Four Day Eight

Chapter Five Trapped On Board

Chapter Six Hospital Madness

Chapter Seven With A Little Help From A Friend

Chapter Eight The Island

Chapter Nine The Island Up Close

Chapter Ten What’s Next?

Chapter Eleven Morning Problems

Chapter Twelve Big Mouth Talks

CHAPTER ONE

THE FROG

W INSLOW FOUND THE frog sitting on his mother’s bathrobe down by the river. The bathrobe was wet, dead leaves covering part of the left sleeve. It had been a week since his mother had disappeared. His mom had always been different, but if she took her pills, she was his best friend. He looked at the dead grass where his rowboat had been. The beat-up skiff had been missing ever since the night his mom had left. Where was she?

A frog suddenly leaped into Winslow’s lap and then jumped into his hand. Was this the same frog that his mother had put a little hat on last week? It looked into the boy’s eyes. Did the frog know what he should do next? He thought it might.

Winslow walked toward his house that stood on a hill overlooking the Passidan River. It was then that he saw George, the bully who lived across the street. George came down the path like a tank. When he saw Winslow, he changed direction slightly and homed in on him. Winslow knew it did no good to run – George always caught him. He jammed the frog into his pocket and sank to the ground, waiting to see what George would do to him this time.

Whatcha doin’, Slow? George asked as he looked down at Winslow. The nickname, Slow, fit Winslow, who was slow to react, slow when he ran, and to the kids in school, slow in the head.

Nothing, Winslow said.

George kicked some dirt on Winslow’s pants.

I asked you a question, George said as he kicked Winslow’s foot this time.

I answered you, Winslow mumbled.

George grabbed Winslow’s right ear and lifted him off the ground. Maybe this will help. George spat warm guck, which dripped out of Winslow’s ear and down his neck.

Let me go, jerk! Winslow punched him, but his arms were too short to reach George’s stomach.

Finally, George let go and Winslow crumpled to the ground.

"Ribbibbittt."

What’s that? You got a frog? Let me pull its legs off.

Winslow jumped up and pushed George as hard as he could. The teenager lost his balance and fell backward. Winslow ran for his house. He had to save his frog.

He took the back steps two at a time. There were thirteen of them. He stumbled at the top when he ran out of pairs. George had many run-ins with Winslow’s mom and dad, so he didn’t follow Slow.

The back door was open, and Winslow raced in. His dad was lying on the couch, watching television as usual. The room looked better now that Winslow had cleaned up the broken dishes that covered the carpet the morning after his mother had left. Dad said somebody broke into the house and messed it up. Winslow guessed it was George and his gang. What jerks!

Dad, look what I found. He took the frog out of his pocket and held it over him. The frog jumped. It landed on his dad’s head.

"Riiibbbiiittt."

Get that thing out of here. Jeez, Winslow, get me some lunch.

Dad used to be so much fun. They would go fishing on weekends when he got home from his job, teaching at the high school. But when Mom disappeared, his dad changed. He called in sick, and there was no more fishing, no