removed his hat as he approached her. It was a stunning thing to see someone usually so vibrant, so ferociously glamorous in such a humble state. She was sleeping, pale and quiet under the thin hospital blanket. Her head was wrapped tightly in a bandage with only a few blond curls escaping and there were two IV’s running into her arm. One held a clear fluid, the other, blood.
Her ears had been left exposed to the air and they showed a sort of before and after picture of the effects of the accident; one ear, delicately curved, fleshy and pink and healthy; the other, still pink, but marred by an angry red line punctuated with tiny black stitches. The jagged tear, where earlier it had spoken of an impact too violent for truth, now seemed somehow more ghastly and more real since it had been treated. Shock’s sweet, mercy-filled, emotional delay was slipping past them while their courage lagged behind, still panting for breath.
Muffled sobbing reached Gonzo’s ears and he looked over. Then, he looked down. “Oh, Rizzo.” He tugged the little fellow against his leg caring nothing for the cold, wet pudding. “Easy there, tough guy. I know it looks bad, but remember, she’s going to be okay.” Rizzo shuddered against his leg, choked sobs giving way to quiet sniffles.
Fozzie moved quickly to Piggy’s side, the compassion that was so much in his nature sparking a boldness that was not. Shyly, he picked up her bare hand, the one that had not been pierced by a helping needle. “Oh,” he whispered sadly, “your hands must be cold without your gloves.” With all gentleness, he chafed her fingers lightly.
Piggy stirred at Fozzie’s touch, eyes flickering open as she inhaled slowly. “Did I miss my cue?” Her voice was clearer, stronger than it had been after the accident, but her eyes were still blearily unfocused. Gonzo would have given up “Gary,” his favorite flamethrower, to feel that it was really Miss Piggy peering out from under the swathes of fabric, instead of this sleepy-eyed stranger.
Fozzie evidently did not share Gonzo’s misgivings. His face lit up with a radiant smile, pure sunshine on this dark day. “What? You, miss a cue? Not likely.” He hesitated, thinking, and then... “You’re an excellent speller, wocka, wocka!”
“Oy, brother.”
“Fozzie, maybe this isn’t the best time.”
“Oh.” The bear cringed, and would have apologized, but Piggy was smiling gently at him.
“Fozzie, you’re silly.” She squeezed his hand with perfectly manicured fingernails. “Speller, hmm, that’s cute.”
“You must have gotten her in her sense of humour, buddy.”
“It’s the medicine... has to be.” Gonzo shook his head. “Oh, I hope it’s the medicine.”
“It is not. Piggy just recognizes a great joke when she hears it.” Fozzie replied, still beaming at her. “How’s your head?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never been there,” came the utterly serious, spacey reply.
A beat, and then Fozzie burst out laughing; his own particular sense of humour was tweaked, but there was more relief than mirth in the sound. “Ah, ah! You see? That was fuuunnnyyy!”
Piggy winced at the loud sound, and the bear quieted, amusement knocked out of him as suddenly as it had appeared.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at him solemnly for a moment then touched his nose playfully. “That’s s’okay.” Perking up, Miss Piggy lifted her head and took in the room, acknowledging Gonzo and Rizzo with a giggle. “I see you!” She trilled brightly. “I mean, moi sees you... vous.” All three of her visitors exchanged uneasy glances. “Where’s Hilda? I have to talk to her about my dress for the show tomorrow. I- moi simply cannot have those fluffy things following me around again.”
