White Squirrel
When the world started burning, Tom turned inwards. He wanted to help, there were so many people in need, but he didn’t even know where to start. It felt counter-intuitive to him that in order to stop the spread of the fire, the best thing he could do was nothing. So, he stayed home, venturing outside once a day to walk and get some exercise.
It was about a year before the fires started when Tom ended a relationship. It wasn’t good and he knew it. The one place that was safe for Tom - his home - had become a toxic environment haunted by ghosts, both real and figuratively. When he exorcised his home from these ghosts, he never felt entirely comfortable there again.
And so, Tom would walk, yes for exercise, but more to just get out of the haunted place. Tom knew that ghosts lingered long after they were gone. Spaces hold on to emotions and images and experiences. They held them in the dark corners, between the walls, and appeared as colour spots when he closed his eyes. Tom didn’t believe in ghosts, but he knew they were everywhere.
By transference, those ghosts still had a grip on Tom. There was only one place where he felt this grip loosen. On one of his walks, Tom came across a new park not far from his place. He sat on one of the new benches and just listened to the world. It was a nice spring day and the wind lightly rustled the tree branches. He let out a big sigh and breathed for the first time in a while.
Tom watched as a squirrel came running down the tree and approached him. It stood up on his hind legs and thrust his tiny head back and forth. He was a gnarly-looking squirrel, a city squirrel, one with patchy fur that revealed a white underbelly. Tom and the squirrel regarded each other with curiosity for a few minutes. He uncrossed his legs, which sent the squirrel scurrying back up the tree.
The next day, Tom returned to the same bench, but this time with some nuts. He placed a nut on the ground in front of him. It took only a minute for the white squirrel to race down the tree and approach the nut. He picked it up, again, rising on hind legs, and inspected it. Taking small bites, he worked his way through the nut. Tom took another one and tossed it towards the white squirrel.
From then on, Tom returned to the park every day with a supply of nuts. And every day he sat down on the same bench. And every day the white squirrel returned. Tom hadn’t realized just how starved he was for any type of connection with another living being. The government had ordered everyone to stay at home to stop the spread of the fires. But how long can people go without talking to each other? All these touch-starved people, so close, but unable to reach out.
Feeding the white squirrel every day provided the space in Tom’s mind to process things, to lay his life out in front of his eyes, and attempt to understand his choices, his decisions, and what direction he wanted to head towards. What he didn’t expect was the crushing feelings of loneliness that hit him like waves. He mostly managed well on his own, from the outside even seemed to thrive. And after the ghosts arrived, he only saw a solitary life in front of him. And he thought he had accepted this.
When the government ordered everyone to stay home, he was okay with it. This was something he was used to, and something he knew he could deal with in an appropriate manner. He conducted himself well, despite the ghosts, into a routine that enabled him to survive. But, he kept running into the same thought - what was the point of all this? Tom asked the squirrel, but he didn’t know. What a simple life, Tom thought. A singular focus. Nuts, just nuts. That’s all the squirrel had to worry about.
After about a month, Tom arrived at his bench and took out his bag of nuts. The white squirrel was nowhere to be found. Tom waited and waited. He walked around the park, finding other squirrels, but not the white one. He walked home dejected and sat in his apartment with the ghosts swirling around him.
The next day, Tom had an idea, it was a strange one and not the kind of thing he usually meddled in. He went online and searched for artists that made sculptures. He found a man named Jerry, an artist who worked exclusively on large-scale sculptures. Tom put all of his energy into designing a prototype to bring to Jerry, in an effort to make a pitch to get his help.
Jerry had mindful eyes, a lined forehead, and rough hands. As part of his pitch, Tom suggested they meet in the park, right at his bench. Tom explained his pitch and Jerry refused to even look at the designs. He wanted to take the emotion of what Tom said and put it directly into the sculpture.
They didn’t see each other for weeks - Jerry didn’t like to be disturbed while he worked. But they talked on the phone every day for hours. Tom heard Jerry working the clay and handling the materials. In the beginning, they talked about the white squirrel, but quickly their conversations went in other directions. They laid bare themselves to each other through those calls, revealing all corners of their experiences.
Finally, Jerry asked Tom to meet him in the park at their bench. At the park, Tom found a giant object covered with a tarp. Jerry explained that he usually had big openings for his sculptures, but because of the fires, this wasn’t possible. But really, he explained, the only person he wanted there was Tom.
In a flourish, Jerry removed the tarp to reveal the White Squirrel Sculpture. Tom stood in front of it and felt the power emanating from it. He looked from the sculpture to Jerry and back again. Without a word passing between them, they sat on the bench. And for years to come, they returned to the bench and the sculpture together, inseparable.