In the Street

Author's Note: I often wonder why just writing posts is sufficient for the goal of this blog, but then I remember that writing is a creation. If I plan to get better as a writer, then I had better get writing!

It's pathetic really.

I went to school today to tame the insanity that is my classroom. I cannot even begin planning for the school year until my classroom is ordered. As usual, I brought lots of stuff with me -- boxes full of new supplies and standards, a lunch tote, a bag brimming with placement exams, etc.

I missed the squished squirrel in the street as I pulled into the parking lot.

I took a few bags and my keys on my first trip from the parking lot to my classroom across the street. I still did not notice the squirrel.

I finally saw the carnage on my way back to the car. A tiny body face down in the street. Its head was smashed, brainy bits projected northward from the impact.

Another squirrel, a live squirrel, sniffed the body. At first I feared witnessing a "Silence-of-the-Squirrels" moment, but, as I approached, the live squirrel did not move in fear. It continued to sniff the body, ignoring me.

I began to fear that I had run over the squirrel. I offered apologies and condolances as I passed the scene (yes, out loud. yes, to the squirrel.).

When I got to my car, I checked the tires thoroughly. No pink blood or fleshy bits appeared on the wheels. A survey of the lot showed no trail from the incident to my car. I would like to think the illegally parked Mercedes next to me was the culprit, but there was no evidence.

I gathered my last load, a box, from the back seat and locked my car. A thought, silly now, crossed my mind -- perhaps I stepped on the squirrel? I put the box on the trunk to check my shoes. There was no flesh on my soles.

I passed the squirrels again with my last load. The live squirrel had moved on from sniffing the body to sniffing the explosion of brains. It was almost like the live squirrel was gathering the information it needed to comprehend why its friend was not moving. As if sniffing could perhaps provide a solution. That if it sniffed just a bit more, the friend that lay flat in the street would once again move.

"There is no solution," I told live squirrel as I passed. "And if you don't move, you'll meet the same fate."