Just a squirrel tryin' to get a nut...

“Cherry” was brown, a deep mahogany brown with a warm auburn hue, and a rash of wrinkles and cracks. Alternately smooth then scratchy under your fingertips she had a glorious fragrance. She was about three feet long and made of leather. Her brass buckle settled into a rich patina and made a delicate tinkling sound. Two delicious sets of red cherries, still on the branch, flanked her namesake embossed on her sinewy hide. She was a source of power and pain. Her presence brought a tingling sensation to the tender skin of my bottom before she ever made contact. In the hands of my mother, “Cherry” could leave her mark in the form of two sets of dancing cherries, one set on each cheek, a “CH” and “RY” leapfrogging the valley. She was an often brutal extension of my misguided and angered mother.

It was “Cherry”’s fault I ended up in the tree. The very tree was a large decrepit oak. Two giant sections trying to escape each other succeeded approximately fifteen feet up a massive trunk with too many exposed roots thanks to our lack of grass and wealth of soil. Our predecessors had begun the project of building a tree house for their sons. Unfortunately they had only managed to construct a platform that straddled the divide and small sections of two by four screwed into the gnarly bark to form a precarious ladder. From this platform you could see over the chain link fence fitted with green slats to create privacy. This same fence bordered the rest of our yard as well which was pretty much comprised of a large patch of dirt, an old hot tub that clung to rainwater now green with algae, a crooked swing set with peeling decals and rusted chains, and an old doghouse. Over the fence to the south was a vacant lot, vacant save for an abandoned tractor trailer that had been used for B-B gun target practice.

My sisters and I had specific chores to accomplish when my mother left that day. I can’t remember what mine were but I was the youngest so it was usually something pretty easy. We had an allotted amount of time in which to finish them. If we didn’t finish by the time she returned we would get a visit from “Cherry”. Our pants and underwear at our ankles we would lay face down on the bed and absorb the punishment only to let it out elsewhere later.

I was a good kid. Cute and obedient, most people considered me a mama’s boy. Maybe I was before I was smart enough to know better. Thankfully for me I was still young enough to be doted on and believed when I told a lie. I was six then and decided that I didn’t need to do my chores. There were cartoons and Sea Monkeys in the living room demanding my attention. As the day wore on my sisters continued to tell me I needed to do what I was told or I knew what would happen. It wasn’t very often that I disobeyed my mother; I knew “Cherry” well and hated her. I was clever though, or at least I thought I was clever. My plan began to take shape in my mind as the hour of doom approached.

It was on the news all the time; A missing child discovered, safe after hours away from home, would return and be coddled by people thankful they had been found, teary eyed parents rejoicing. I was sure it would work but I had to find a place to go. Actually running away was a little too scary for me so I need something close. Then it dawned on me, the tree house! Nobody would think to look there. A sudden rush of excitement had taken over and I was confident I could pull off this massive coup.

When you have a secret plan you should not tell anybody else. What did I know? I was six. So I told my sisters that I was going to be in the tree house and not to tell mom. I would come down when I was ready. In my plan they feigned stupidity.

As I worked my way up the tree I was nervously excited to be outwitting everyone. I couldn’t stop smiling. When I reached the platform I rested against the scratchy bark and waited, and waited. I had probably been up there for an hour when I heard our car pull up in front of the house. Sure, that hour could have been spent taking care of my chores but at this point I was determined.

The screen door slammed shut and it was quiet for about one long minute. That is when I heard her yell,

- What tree?! Why isn’t his shit done? NICHOLAS JASON! If I find you up in that fucking tree, I swear to god!

I panicked, this was not the plan! What was I going to do? I had been double-crossed. As I scrambled across the platform, I heard the backdoor open. I had no time to climb down and find another hiding place. In a matter of seconds she would be around the corner and the tree would be in full view. Think! Ah ha, I had an idea. It was a stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. I lunged to the side of the platform furthest from view of the door. In a moment of sheer genius I hooked my upper lip over a piece of bark. I had done it! How on earth could someone get in trouble for not doing their chores when they were actually stuck, by their lip, to a tree?

As she came into view I began to sob. Crying is a good way to garner sympathy. Her look of anger quickly subsided and gave way to confusion and fear. Seconds later my sisters came out behind her surprised to see how far I had taken this whole scenario. My mother was too large to climb the tree and discover my deceit. I was in the clear, except for the fact that I had no idea how to get out of the situation without uncovering my lie.

When I say I would rather suffer the vicious attack of a rabid squirrel than face the beating I would get from my mother if she found out the truth about what I was doing in that tree, I am serious. That fact was proven when a particularly curious squirrel made its way down to where I was. As I watched it descend I grew increasingly nervous. There was a choice to be made as it clung to the bark with its little claws and twitching tail. I began to wail when it came within a foot of my face. My lip was still on the bark and my mouth had begun to dry out. Still I screamed with all my might which not only scared the squirrel sufficiently to send it fleeing but it evoked audible gasps from the peanut gallery below.

This is where it got interesting. From what I could see my mother had disappeared leaving only my sisters who were still amazed at the spectacle I was able to create with a lip and some bark. The squirrel was just a twist of fate in my favor and I couldn’t have planned it better. Then I heard them - sirens. Sirens were a pretty common occurrence in our neighborhood since our house was a block from the projects. It wasn’t until the pitch and loudness became too much to bear that I saw the lights; a fire engine, bigger than I had ever imagined, pulled into view. Holy Shit! Bolt cutters were used to gain entrance to the vacant lot next door and the chain was slung to the concrete.

As they pulled the truck up to the fence and hoisted the ladder to the tree I almost wet myself. With the siren turned off I could hear the ladder being maneuvered into place but could not see it lest I move my head and the jig would be up. Then rubber boots climbed, squeaking nearer one rung at a time on the other side of the tree until I felt the extra weight on the platform and then a voice,

-Are you ok son? We are going to get you down? Are you hurt?
- Y wip hurths a wittle.

I felt his gloved hand on my back and his face came into view as he surveyed the situation. He was very quiet as he looked at my lip resting gingerly on the bark. The dirt pooled on my tongue and the dried moisture around my mouth. My eyes were puffy and red and my cheeks were streaked with moisture. And he smiled. He removed his glove and made a show of separating my lip from the tree. He scooped me up and moved over to the ladder. I asked,

-Are you gonna tell on me?

He responded with a laugh and made his way backwards down the ladder with me in his arm until we were close enough that he could hand me off. I was welcomed into my mother’s arms. We bid thanks and farewell to the firemen as their giant truck rattled out of the empty lot and onto real emergencies.

My chores didn’t get completed that night. In fact we all ended up making a barefooted pilgrimage to Dairy Queen for Dilly Bars and cherry-coated soft serves. The contempt my sisters felt quickly evaporated with their treats and I was doted on and coddled the way every six-year-old child should be. I did not go back up to the tree house again. I am pretty sure that squirrel had it out for me.

It’s a little more than two decades later and I am not as cute or as obedient as I used to be. I need next Wednesday off, there is nobody I can sweet talk, and I figure if it worked once it can work twice. I need a treehouse and a boost; I am not as young as I used to be.