Nuts!

The old man’s tote bag was chock-full of nuts. Not solely nuts I guess. He had a
bag of water too. A ziploc bag filled with crystal clear water that I bet was still a little
chilly. I don’t know if it was chilly, but I’d like to think that he’d refrigerated it. That he
has a pantry overflowing with unsalted, assorted nuts and that his fridge contains
nothing but ziploc bags full of water and maybe a carton of eggs. I imagine he cooks
breakfast for himself. Cracks an egg one-handed, letting the whole thing splatter into a
sizzling, seasoned skillet. He’s already put some coffee on the pot, and he uses the frying
time to finish the process, pouring and cleaning his french press before sliding the egg
onto a spotless ceramic plate. The toast pops right then, his routine is done to a science.
Anyway, I imagine he sits down for his breakfast and his coffee and maybe a crossword
in the newspaper before he goes to the park.
Washington Square, specifically. He goes to the park, laden with a beige-brown
tote chock-full of nuts and a ziploc bag of water somewhere in there too. At least, I
imagine he does. The old man walks into my view. I naturally look up at him because I
like to look at people. I had already looked at the squirrel at this point, and that’s how I
knew that the squirrel was waiting for him. Anyway, the man stops a few steps in front
of the aforementioned squirrel and proceeds to perform a very small miracle.
When this old man approached the tree, he did something I’d never expected. He
did the unthinkable. With a slight wobble in the wrist and the practiced ease of a dancer,
the man silently beckoned to the squirrel.
And in response to the gesture, the squirrel came closer. It came closer like it was
a known fact that all squirrels respond to beckoning motions. By this point, I was
frantically looking around. Mainly, looking for another bystander to share in the sheer
absurdity of the events unfolding, but in part, to make sure I wasn’t going insane.
The couple next to me were completely absorbed in a conversation about
Scottsdale or something and a woman on her laptop some two benches away hadn’t
noticed either. I may have been going insane.
In the midst of my panic attack, the sign-language proficient wonder-squirrel
approached the man. Tiny arms outstretched above its little squirrely head, the rodent
rocked its closed hands back and forth in a motion I can only describe as supplicant. The
squirrel was begging. Not how I’d imagine a squirrel to beg, nor how a dog would either.
This squirrel was begging like a son would beg his father to stop for ice cream…
Wait… What if they were son and father? Did this man foster a baby squirrel and
now visits it at the park daily? That’s incredible. What was the stage from nursing to
park like? Was it hard to let the little guy go out into the wild? Did the old man witness
some form of squirrel tween phase?
Wait wait wait! What if the old man had never had any children? In his twilight
years, he found a baby squirrel alone in the park, bearing some form of injury. The old
man must’ve nursed it back to health, and in doing so, found the father role he’d been
unable to play!
I was thoroughly astounded sitting on my park bench. The man could’ve left then,
leaving me to ponder reality for the next several hours. Of course, the old man instead
chose to shock me once again. Seeing that his squirrel-son had gotten his fill, he walked
to the back of the tree, bent down, and retrieved a mud-filled tupperware. He poured the
dirty water out before retrieving a crystal clear ziploc from his brown tote and refilling
the dish.
I guess this man also keeps this tiny squirrel hydrated. That’s it. I’ll follow
squirrel-father for the rest of my life. Anyone kind enough to fill up a ziploc with fresh
water for a tiny squirrel deserves admiration and adoration. I could become the son that
the man never had.
Before I could offer my unending support to the elderly man, he disappeared. Job
completed, his stilting gait took him out of my life as swiftly as he arrived.
That was when the woman sat down. The old woman sat down in a white blouse
and blue jeans and a black mask with a brown tote. She leaned forward on the adjacent
park bench. Leaned forward like she was attempting to become parallel to the ground.
Leaned forward like a lion, straining muscles primed to leap on an unaware gazelle. The
leaning woman’s deft, wrinkly fingers slipped their way into her bag. They scrounge
around for just a moment before her forearm visibly tightens. The iron-vise grip of a
made fist trails out of the brown tote. Clenched in those willowy fingers was an
assortment of nuts. Also a grape or two. Before allowing me time to remember if
squirrels could eat grapes, she shotgunned her budding charcuterie board at the tree.
More specifically, at the squirrel the old man had fed. The squirrel chittered happily,
accepting the second breakfast with grace. Seeing that her work was done, the old
woman departed, leaving me just enough time to make out the painted emblem of a
squirrel’s face printed onto her brown tote. The face was identical to the squirrel she had
just fed. The squirrel that the old man had just fed.
And it all came together.
Fated lovers. A messy divorce. There was more to this story than I could have
possibly realized. Of course. OF COURSE! It seems so obvious now. The man, driving
back from a gallery-showing of his latest piece hadn’t seen the squirrel in the pouring
rain. Who would’ve, really? The visibility was terrible and it was the middle of the night.
Nevertheless, the man felt responsible when he felt the small bump in his front right
tire. He retrieved the injured squirrel, but had no clue what to do next. Luckily, it
seemed like just a bit of the squirrel’s foot was injured. He stepped on the gas, skirting
through narrow mountain passes with reckless abandon. This tiny rodent’s life was in
his hands now.
It took over two hours of driving, but he’d finally arrived. The warm lights of the
24/7 animal hospital reflected iridescent on the rain-soaked street. Fully drenched, the
man with his blue mask and brown squirrel approached the woman at the front desk.
One glance was all they needed. Two individuals whom time had passed by. The woman
sutured the squirrel’s foot on the spot. A routine operation, allowing for some casual
conversation. ‘You went to that high school? We were football rivals!’ ‘That concert was
legendary! You were there? We might have danced with each other!’ Coincidence
stacked on coincidence, and these two strangers became something more.
It was a beautiful wedding. White peonies covered every surface in the venue, and
their squirrel had a place of honor in the front. Everything went perfectly… except for
the pregnancy.
The wife collapsed, racked with sobs. The audience, the priest, and the husband
were all taken by surprise. The husband rushed up to his newly wed wife and
understood everything. Cradled in the wife’s arms was their squirrel. The squirrel’s little
mouth was open and panting rapidly. With great swelling of her two squirrely-cheeks
and one final push, a tiny, shrieking squirrel baby popped out. The wife retrieved a
safety pin from her flowing wedding dress and severed the umbilical cord in one motion.
The squirrel baby seemed perfectly healthy, if only a little small. The squirrel-mother
was a different story. The last push took everything that she had, and she moved no
more.
It was a day of great joy. A bond was reinforced through holy rites. A new life was
brought into this world. Yet, it was a day of great sorrow as well. The link between the
couple had been irreparably damaged. The squirrel that had brought them together,
pushed them apart as well. Without the mother squirrel for guidance, the couple was
torn over how to foster the orphan. The father wanted to teach the baby the arts, setting
him in front of palettes and hiring nude models for figure drawing. The mother pushed
him towards STEM, teaching the names of stars and assembling tiny squirrel spacesuits.
The squirrel, overworked and hungry for affection, spurned both tracks, getting involved
in high-stakes gambling. Dismayed, the parents argued over who had caused this. The
frays at the edges of their relationship turned into tears. The father began to distance
himself from his family, choosing to focus on his art. The mother studied and worked
hard, soon becoming the top vet in New Jersey, ready in case her son got injured. All
throughout, the squirrel didn’t receive the love and support he needed. He hungered for
the wild and searched for the love he deserved. In an act of desperation, he put it all on
black and won. He was going to New York. He’d heard legends of its trash cans,
overflowing with pizza! He was looking to experiment with pigeons as well. Dismayed by
the news, the parents, who had been long separated, came to realize the fault of their
actions. The mother admitted to sneaking their squirrel son into casinos to peek at
cards. The father apologized for neglecting his family. He gave the mother a painted tote
of their beloved squirrel-son. Not for forgiveness, but as thanks for raising their child
when he hadn’t. The parents moved to the city as well. Both separately, and claimed to
move for professional reasons. They both knew why they had really moved.
Now, squirrel-father does crosswords and paints squirrel shaped clouds over New
York skylines. He stops at the park daily to see his son. Squirrel-mother works late
hours as CEO of the New Jersey Animal Hospital, regularly commuting into the city and
making sure he’s had enough to eat.
Every year, they set one day aside. The anniversary. The day they met. The day
squirrel-father ran over a very special squirrel. The day he met his future wife. The day,
two years later, they chose to get married. The day that their son was born. The day that
their son’s mother died in childbirth on the altar. Every year, the parents get together to
bring their son a very tiny pecan pie. Afterwards, they take him to see his mother. To
grieve, to remember, and to cherish.
To this day, I wish I had asked squirrel-father or squirrel-mother their names. It’s
only a single question, and most people are happy to talk. I walk by the park daily. I
usually see a squirrel, just a little runtier than the rest. I saw the old man and woman
again too. They were sitting a few park benches from each other. I would’ve approached,
but they just looked so comfortable in their quiet that I passed by.