The Squirrel

The Squirrel

There was an eerie stillness in the woods, even as their feet crunched along the fall maple leaf remnants, left strewn about carelessly. On their way to the pond, Ginger eyed Molly’s beautiful new scarlet red scarf that was effortlessly lounging on the nape of her brown, wool coat. Even at ten years old, girls had a way of corralling their envy into a vial of jealousy. It was an inevitable station on the railroad of life.

As Ginger looked up at the darkened, eerie clouds that were suspended above their beloved Mill Creek Pond, the semi secret place where childhood youth took a turn in the course of life, she shamelessly whacked a stick on the tree soldiers that were laid out among the path.

She and Molly had been friends since they were tiny toddlers in nursery school. They were chums as long as Ginger could remember, since she saw Molly’s epic red, long, curly locks blazing across the four square pitch. They laughed together, played together, ran from snakes crossing paths at their North Carolina woods together, and screamed at ghoulishly clad people at Halloween time together in their lively cookie cutter house lined street.

Molly was five when her parents and brother were killed in an earthquake in Peru while volunteering at an orphanage. She didn’t even blink when told of the harrowing disaster that claimed most of her family, she just calmly took hold of her grandmother’s hand and moved into the over cushioned grey house filled with antiques and stuffed animals. Her grandmother Delilah kept them from her kids outgrowing phases. Molly was particularly fond of a red squirrel that had fat, puffy cheeks and a curly tail. At school, during recess, she would try to feed the real ones nuts from off the ground. She wasn’t successful, but she kept trying.

As they neared Mill Creek pond, the dark clouds above began to grumble. A slew of leaves flew by Ginger, just as they were rounding the bend by the Oak tree and acorns hurled themselves down like miniature missiles that the squirrels may have been a party to. Ginger smiled, as she loved the awaiting catastrophe that wind and rain or snow would bring, as they cleared the way of the seemingly perfect life that a warm, summer day spelled for most people who had sunshine in their hearts. It was more of an ode to life, she thought, because life wasn’t always sunny and full of green grass. Mrs. Miller would be proud of the big words she was learning in her public school elementary class.

“Hey Molly! Wait up!, she insisted, as the wind and temperature were both changing, ready for the disatrous event. When she rounded the corned and the frozen, beautiful pond came into view, she eyed Molly out of the corner of her eye. Molly was bending toward the ground with her arm outstretched and a clap of thunder roared overhead through the gray, moving clouds. As she got closer, she realized that her hand looked brown, with a stripe from her red gloves showing. Gasping, Ginger caught up with her and realized that it was not her glove, but in fact, a brown, furry squirrel. Molly turned toward Ginger, a huge smile beaming across her face, “Look, Molly, my mother told me it would one day happen, and it did.” Sure enough, in the ensuing madness of the impending weather, there was sunshine after all.