Younger Years

Not my best chapter, but I just don't care any more.  Lol.  I'll edit it later.

The summer smell of dirt and weeds filled his nostrils as he lay there in the grass, unsure if he would be able to stand.  His 60 year old body protested at the idea of moving even as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees.  A sound like the applause of a thousand strong sang through the breeze and he glanced up at the many summer laden trees surrounding him.   He felt the call of the forest pulling at his soul as strongly as it had when he was but a boy and allowed it to pull him to his feet.

 

For a brief moment he felt eight years old again, chasing his little sister around the yard with a dead frog, darting around the trees and rocks.  But a sudden pain reminded him of his age and he collapsed onto a rock, his eyes wandering around the wooded area with a skeptical view.  There were few trees in his area, but he could see the dense forest surrounding the small field of oak and pine.  A lone swing hung by one fraying rope, the rotting board swinging just above the ground, the other rope having rotted almost completely away.   A deep breath filled his lungs with the unfamiliar scent of moss, dirt, flowers and pine and he let out a hacking cough.  Not a trace of the salty sea air lingered even in his nostrils and he frowned deeply at the forest.

There are a great many distractions in this world that demand our attention.  But nothing can quite hold a candle to the captivating power that a simple squirrel possesses.  And when you gather together a passel of squirrels, be prepared to lose all of your attention span.   These reddish brown creatures had always thrilled Norman, especially when they were in the crosshairs of his hand crafted, mostly non-working slingshot, and today was no exception.

Scampering throughout the trees, a plethora of species of squirrels chased, raced, climbed, leapt, and tumbled over the leafy branches, down the brown scratchy trunks, and across the soft green grass as squirrels are keen to do.   He found himself counting the squirrels, restarting frequently to ensure an accurate depiction of the little rodents.  Thirteen.  He scowled.  Superstition was for the weak and yet he recounted again and again.

Thirteen.

He scrunched his nose up and crushed his arms to his chest, a nagging memory tugging at his mind.  As he had done for decades, Norman ignored the thought and trudged over to the largest tree where the door stood waiting to give it a worthless tug.  

“Why are you doing this to me?”  His raspy shout at the cloudless sky dotted with the green leaves of summer reverberated through the branches and seemed to whisper back to him an unintelligible answer.   Light paws over his shoes sent his gaze downwards and he followed the path of the squirrel to the others once again.  He plunked his old ass down back on the rock and he resumed his squirrel watching, as there seemed to be no other wildlife in these woods.

For many, when you observe a scene for a prolonged period of time, patterns begin to form and little obscure details become glaringly obvious, even to the oblivious.  You begin to notice behaviours, details, that before seemed ordinary.  This was such a time for the hardened hermit.  What had at first appeared as typical squirrel behavior was beginning to morph into separate personalities and a sort of hierarchy began to take shape in his observations.

The darkest squirrel seemed to be the leader of the pack as he was always the one chasing, the one bullying the other squirrels into doing what he thought was best.  With his full bushy tail and shiny pristine coat, it was obvious he was important in this group.  A nip on the flank here, a shove off a branch there, and a light tussle thrown in for good measure.  There were two other squirrels that followed the dark squirrel as a sort of posse, assisting with the bullying as necessary.  

The smallest squirrel was the primary target of these bully squirrels.  His tail wasn’t as fluffy as the other squirrels and his coat was dull and tatty.  He attempted to hide from the cruel trio but there were outside sources he was unaware of giving away his location.  The other 8 squirrels avoided both the 3 bullies and the small one but on the happenstance that the darkest squirrel came near, they were quick to betray the outcast. 

There are a number of injustices in this world that can invoke a sense of rage in a man, no matter how hardened his heart has become.  A small part of Norman’s mind grasped on to the terror of the smallest squirrel and relived it as he watched helplessly, unable to escape the parallels from his childhood and this poor creature.

Anger welled up inside his heart and he struggled to his feet, shaking his fist at the rodents.  Before he could yell, a glimmer of white caught his eye and he stared at the largest tree where the smallest squirrel kept running to.  Inside a hole hung a small skeleton.  Instinctively he knew it was a squirrel skeleton, even without walking over to examine.  Still, he made his halting way to the tree, not to kick on the door, but to stare in horror at the lonely skeleton.  Chattering drew his attention down and the ratty squirrel appeared as if he was debating whether to run from the human or to defend something that was important to him.

Norman took a step back and watched the squirrel run up the trunk and into the hole, nosing the skeleton with a tenderness that surprised the old man.   Taking a few staggering steps backwards, he collapsed back onto the rock.  A moment passed before he realized the squirrels were frozen in place, their eyes set to one focal point and his own gaze searched for that point.  An elderly grey squirrel had entered the clearing and with one chirp had the thirteen squirrels silent and compliant.  A second chirrup had them scattering into the underbrush with her following close behind them and Norman was soon horribly and silently alone. 

The silence soon grew too strong and with a snarl, he tore his attention down to the door and yanked at the handle, nearly wrenching his shoulder out of the socket as he flung the door open and stepped through.