Guilt

Today's offering was inspired by one of my dear readers. I saw a couple of ways I could go with this topic, but I decided on this one for personal reasons. Enjoy and keep commenting.

“I can’t believe it is for sale.” My voice filled the car with sound.

I blushed to realize I had spoken aloud in my excitement. From the first day I drove past the rambling old house on Chesapeake Avenue, this house called to me. Every daydream of my perfect adult life had featured a house like this with a dozen bedrooms for as many children or more. As I slowed down a little to commit the number to memory, I noticed a flash of brown racing toward my car. I focused on the moving shape long enough to see the soft grey fur bristling on a fluffy tail and a bit of red string trailing out from its neck.

THUD!

My foot instinctively sought my brake. The following car honked, delaying my remorse. My heart still slipped south into my stomach. I pushed down on the gas reluctantly fighting back tears. By the time I got home, the lump in my throat melted away. When dinner passed without a recurrence of my guilt, I believed I would be fine.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Tears moistened my cheeks. My stomach felt hollow. Guilt gnawed at my mind.

“It was just a squirrel.”

My outcry didn’t assuage my guilt. Tossing and turning stole away any chance of sleep. The alarm barely had a chance to sound before I forced myself out of bed. The rest of the day passed in a blur. As soon as work ended, I climbed into my car, unsure how I would make it home without guilt creeping in on me again.

As I neared the house, I noticed multi-colored balloons floating up from the for sale sign. Pastel streamers flow out from them to announce an open house. Without thinking, I pulled over to the side of the street, squeezing my car in among the others that have come to take a peek at the interior. I was more interested in a small, dark lump lying in the middle of the road.

I looked for oncoming cars before stepping into the street. I didn’t want to share the squirrel’s fate. As I drew closer, I could see that the lump consisted of a wadded up pair of panties with ruffles of lace, dyed a dark, sullen grey by time. My eyes scanned the asphalt in search of any sign of the squirrel I had hit the previous day.

Slightly reassured, I turned back toward the house. A movement caught my eyes. As I focused on the moving form, I saw a grey squirrel pause as if to look at me. It quickly launched itself again, scurrying across the close-cropped grass with a red ribbon streaming out behind it. With that sight, the weight on my heart seemed to fade away. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, little squirrel.” I whispered at the disappearing fluff of tail in the branches above my head.