Kermit sees the look on my face. He interprets it.
“But I wouldn’t worry.”
I lean in. “Why’s that?”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he tells me.
Ask, “What’s that?”
Kermit lowers his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. He stares with red, cloud eyes.
“Most of these things are total bullshit. It’s probably not even real. But people love to imagine.”
I laugh.
“You’re kidding me, Kerm.”
He drops character, intentionally.
“You mean to tell me that you don’t believe these theories?”
Kermit smiles. He straightens the wrinkles in his shirt.
“Nah, but no one else really does, either.”
Study his face. Trace his smile lines with my eyes.
“People want the story,” he says. “The fiction, you know? We crave it, elevate it.”
Kermit, I do not know him. We are not really friends. Don’t forget.
“I guess, I just always thought—“
“What?” the Frog asks. “That I’m cracked?”
“Well.”
“The biggest mistake we make is thinking we know what’s going on inside someone else’s head.”
The song ends. A Modest Mouse song begins.
Nothing new has ever happened.
“We can never know that.”
Take it in. Live with it.
“Sorry, man,” I say.
“Forgiven.” He adjusts himself in the recliner. “You in some kind of trouble?”
“Researching a paper,” I tell him. “You want another beer?”