Shame, Shame

I didn’t want to do this, but I thought I should write Mr. Petes a letter about how sorry I am to let his two twin daughters off to race each other. They almost got hit by a car this afternoon! I tried explaining, but his paws thrust forward, his widened eyes glared and his mouth spoke raging words at me. I wanted to make up to him that I had to get the baby squirrel that was Mr. Petes’ neighbor’s baby boy out of his crib, as he was crying that he wanted some milk.            

Sigh.

Life’s unfair, but Mr. Petes has to know. But I can’t just have him ignore me. He’ll rip up the letter, watch it turn to ashes and head to my hole in my tree and threaten to order Chompers to come and use his huge front teeth to chop down my tree to turn it into a beaver dam. Yes, he’ll chop it down, and what will I have for my family? I’ll have to move in with him. His daughters won’t trust me. Then I’ll be homeless. My neighbor won’t want me.

No one would want a jerk for a live-in roommate.

But it was a rumor!

I shook my head. He won’t believe me. no one does.

I went over to his house, knocked on his branch of a door and waited. Taking a huge breath, I started rushing that his daughters wouldn’t listen to me. He slid back the door. “Yes?”

His voice was icy with firmness. I swallowed. “Sir, please know I was doing my best to watch your daughters. I specifically told them to wait for me—”

“To get Mr. Ears’ baby boy his milk.”

“Yes, but he was screaming, and if I didn’t get the baby his milk, he’d start crawling out of his cage, and then he’d race to me, and the highway, and the cars. Those girls—your daughters—always yelled at me, saying they’d be careful, or they’d be in charge, or they’d be waiting. I always tell them, but they just snap back at me. When I grabbed their paws to ensure they’d be safe, they yanked away, and someone I heard said they saw them rush off towards the other side of the highway. Please. It’s a rumor you think they just rushed off. I grabbed their paws, but they didn’t want to listen.”

“Did you go get the baby boy his milk?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I have proof.”

I dashed back to my house and took the note Mr. Ears wrote. Then I dashed back to his front door. “Here. Read it if you don’t believe me.”

Mr. Petes’ eyes fell onto the leaf:

Dear Jazz,

Please know our baby is no longer your responsibility—

Eyes that belonged to Mr. Petes shot up towards me. “You didn’t do as you were told. And thus my daughters ran off without you! It wasn’t a rumor—it was a set-up. You almost got them killed!” Slamming the bark door, he left me alone.

I knocked again.

“Go home!”

“Sir,” I held my paw between the tree and the bark. “Please—” I chose my words carefully. “Let me finish. The letter said Mr. Ears’ baby was not my responsibility because he would ensure the baby was not crawling outside of his crib anymore—neither parent cared whether he did this, as he knew how to get out and in. But I’ve told them. And they listened.”

I dashed away, bringing Mr. Ears with me. Once we stood in front of Mr. Petes’ door, he repeated the matter. When Mr. Petes' icy blue eyes rested on me, he said, “Don’t see how any of this baby squirrel nonsense has anything to do with my daughters not being—”

“I hate you!”

One of the daughters screamed at me. Then she ran away. Mr. Petes threw out a paw. “You see?” His eyes went wide, and his head shook. “You see the proof? Now, both of you. Get out of my tail!”

The bark door slammed.

I stood there, and apologized to Mr. Ears. He shook his head. “No, son. His daughter don’t care. They just—”

“Ripped out of my paw! I was holding onto them. Both!”

“But he doesn’t listen, does he?”

No, I thought, my eyes watering. “No.” I forced out, and retreated to my home.

The camera pans out.

Yes, I’m sorry, Jazz. For blaming—

And framing—

And spreading the rumor that—

Both of us caused.

Both animals got off their tree trunks and headed home, away from the movie screening. Away from the shame and guilt—

“Here.”

Leaving the wordy leaf there at the bark door, the animals headed home. They remained quiet at dinner, quiet at school and quiet at Squirrel Scout Camp later that summer. Then they ran away, invited to partake of an animal society. Spreading their arms, they saw they were flying animals! Flaps of skin were wings.

But they declined. The other animals rejected them. Holding paws, these daughters never returned home. “What would Father think?” Worried one. “What would Mother say?”

They shook their heads, holding them in their paws. Such shame cloaked them, as their shoulders sagged with such a weight. Tears came to their eyes. They wouldn’t approach the bark door. No, they vowed. No sorry.

I’ll be known as the—

Yes, said one. We must confess.

No! The other one shook her head. We—we’re prey to raccoons, hawks, foxes and owls—”

“Guilt consumes. Confession kills it.”

The daughters held paws, inhaled and—

If I tell them they did it, I’d be the embarrassment of the neighborhood. I must reveal the culprits!

I knocked on Mr. Petes’ bark door.

“Your daughters yanked out of my paw. I grabbed their paws, stating firmly that they needed to hold on. They ripped right out of my paw! I yelled for them, but they spat back at me. I have no idea what they're thinking, but I had to get to Mr. Ears' baby.”

I needed to say it. They deserved it. They don’t listen. Then I can be on my way!