3B

“It’s nice to be able to use your mailbox. 

Everything’s so instant now that it’s nice to 
take a second and write. I just wrote four 
pages to my friend (at Wayne) ... I send tea 

with my letters to her, too.”

– LSA freshman JESSICA LEININGER, while writing a 

letter Tuesday night

ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHERYLL VICTUELLES

I was bitten by a squirrel

I 

have met the devil. He 
has a bushy tail. Let me 
explain.

On a dry February morning 

freshman year, my friends and I 
met by the Cube to travel to Penn-
sylvania or Indiana or somewhere 
like Indiana and Pennsylvania. 
Iowa?

I stood with Karibou (his real 

name is Adam — no explana-
tion necessary). We were talking 
about something light — lamps or 
feathers, can’t remember which 
— when something distracted 
us: a squirrel, the size of a micro-
wave, scuttling beneath a bare-
branched tree. I held out my hand 
and performed my self-taught 
squirrel call: 

Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk.
He advanced. Cautiously, at 

first, then closer and closer, until 
his wet, disease-infested nose 
grazed my middle finger. Then, 
because I didn’t have food, he 
scurried away. It hurt like hell.

“Damn,” I thought and said. 

Where would I get food? Iowa?

I turned. Karibou was eat-

ing cookie crumbs out of pink 
Tupperware. A sign, I decided, 
if not from God then from the 
squirrels.

“Hey man,” I said, all coy. 

“Could I have some of those cook-
ie crumbs?”

Karibou paused, thought and 

said, “Only if you use them to feed 
the squirrel!”

Me: “You know I will!”
Karibou: “Hellz yeah.”
And so it was.
I placed the cookie crumbs 

on the ends of my fingers and 
approached the squirrel. He was 
staring at me with what I’d later 
recognize 
as 
I-can’t-tell-the-

difference-between-crumbs-
and-fingers eyes. At the time, I 
thought it was the hey-friend-
wanna-hear-a-forest-song 
look. 

Mistakes were made.

Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk.
A few steps closer.
Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk.

He scuttled up to me.
Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk-Tk.
There was animal in his eyes, 

but also brotherhood. Or was that 
a fruit fly?

Tk...Tk – Crunch.
Pain. 
Shock. 
Confusion. 

Incomprehension. Synonyms.

He bit my middle and index 

fingers, dug his teeth deep into 
my skin. Sharp, unnatural pain 
coursed through me — also, 
betrayal. 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

HHHHH,” I said.

The squirrel said nothing. His 

mouth was full.

I tried to pry him loose, but his 

teeth were latched into my fingers 
like hooks in fish lips. I tugged and 
grunted and tugged and moaned, 
but no give. My hand was too deli-
cious.

I panicked. What to do! Lose 

my fingers? Don’t be dramatic. 
Scream louder? On it. Call my 
parents once a week? Irrelevant.

Then, ol’ Alex thought of some-

thing he hadn’t before:

Say, I’m stronger than a squir-

rel.

With a mighty yank, I pulled 

my arm. My hand followed. Eyes 
closed, teeth clenched, I threw 
my fingers back and up like a jazz 
dancer (is that a thing?). The 
squirrel’s bite loosened, and I was 
free!

But don’t cheer yet, friend. 

Seriously, sit down, Clare. The 
worst was still to come.

Over my head, a fat brown 

shape the size of a stunted tod-
dler sailed twenty feet through 
the air and landed – thud – by the 
Cube. I’d chucked him. My God, 
I chucked a squirrel! Balls. He 
gathered his wits, gave me a rep-
rehensive look and left. A Bite and 
Run.

I cradled my blood-soaked fin-

gers and said things like, “How!” 
and “Why!” and “Hellz no!”

Then, I composed myself, 

washed my cuts and called Uni-
versity Health Services. “Squir-

rels don’t have rabies, hun.” Phew. 
All I needed was a tetanus shot 
within the past seven years, which 
I had. (High-fives self in face!) No 
tetanus here. (Just deep, incur-
able emotional scars.)

Before I could hang up, find 

a Star Wars band aide and call 
my therapist (Mom), the nurse 
offered some advice.

She: “You’re not supposed to 

feed the squirrels.”

Me: “Well, now I know, but it 

was fat so... ”

She: “You’re especially not sup-

posed to feed the fat squirrels.”

Me: “Well, madam, I assumed 

that because it was fat, it’d been 
fed many times. (I cough. My voice 
gets higher.) I assumed it was 
tamed. I figured it might be jolly!”

She: “Ah-heh-heh. No ... heh.”
That was three years ago. I’m 

older now, taller. I drink whisky 
(1/8 whisky, 7/8 coke). I think 
about more things, but for shorter 
time and with less depth. I’m an 
adult. And I’m afraid of a small 
woodland creature. Because he’s 
still out there. Waiting.

If you see him, call me. He’ll be 

the one stubbing out a cigarette, 
slipping on a pair of sunglasses 
and popping the collar of his 
“Hell’s Squirrels” black leather 
jacket.

His name is Nuts the Ripper, 

and he is dangerous.sure a mir-
acle, in the form of a sex tape, is 
in his imminent future. Maybe 
that’s why Selena’s doing all that 
yoga?

B Y A L E X B E R N A R D

LUNA ANNA ARCHEY/DAILY

THOUGHT 
BUBBLE

Wednesday, September 16, 2015 // The Statement 

Magazine Editor:

Ian DIllingham

Deputy Editor:

Natalie Gadbois

Design Editor:

Jake Wellins

Photo Editor:

Luna Anna Archey

Creative Director:

Cheryll Victuelles

Editor in Chief:

Jennifer Calfas

Managing Editor:

 Lev Facher

Copy Editors:

Hannah Bates

Laura Schinagle

Emma Sutherland

THE statement

