It was a typical summer morning for me as a six-year-old, sitting on the floor of my room with my doll’s accessories scattered around me. My parents were arguing outside my room as usual, and I was busy dressing my doll and choosing its outfits. I remember its tiny skirts and dresses and jackets, and particularly, black calf-high boots that I loved so much. I decided to make my doll wear them, and I matched them with a pair of jeans.
It was one of those bad days, as I was finding out. The argument outside was more heated than usual.
“I saw her number on your phone, Marc! Just admit you’re cheating on me!”
My mom was yelling and my dad was banging on something. I couldn’t remember what it was about—I never understood why they argued anyway—but I remember it was making me very anxious. I wasn’t allowed to scream and bang on things. How come they were allowed to?
I went to the window, successfully drew the curtain to the side after two attempts, and squinted at the brightness from outside. I then went back and grabbed as many clothes for my doll as my tiny hands could manage, so I could play with her outside instead. I opened the window and climbed out; my little feet swung a foot away from the ground. I held on to the frame of my window for a while, then I jumped and stood up, feeling accomplished.
I walked across the garden towards our big tree and sat by it where I resumed my mission to find the perfect outfit for my doll. I then heard a noise in the tree above me. I looked up, and the leaves were shaking. I waited a little, not sure what to expect. Suddenly, a little black squirrel popped out. I was surprised at first, then amused. It stared back at me for a while, and to my surprise, it ran down the tree and stood by my side on the ground. I decided to start a conversation with it.
“Hello, squirrel!” I said, with guiltless idiocy.
“Name’s Nibbles.”
Wait. Had it just spoken? I wasn’t expecting an answer, but as a six-year-old, I was certainly impressed. After recovering from the few moments of silent amazement, I put my hand by my mouth and whispered, “You’re a talker? Like, a talker-squirrel?”
Nibbles was blinking at me, his eyes holding a bored, unimpressed look. “Sure am, kiddo,” he said, indifferently. It looked like an innocent squirrel, but it didn’t quite sound like one. It had a deep hoarse voice, as oppose to a squeaky high-pitched voice as I would have imaged. He was looking at me strangely, analyzing my every move. My hands, legs, face, everything about me he watched carefully.
“Hey, wanna see a magic trick?” he suddenly asked. It sounded like a great idea to me. Why not? Looking back, I know why it wasn’t a good idea at all. But I blurted out, “yes!” almost instantly followed by a giggle at the random question. Nibbles then closed his eyes. For a few minutes, I was just looking at him, perplexed but excited for the trick. He then proceeded by asking me a question, his eyes still closed: “Kid, do you wanna be a squirrel?”
It took me some time to understand his last words to me: “HA! I am free! Find another body, sucker, this is mine now!”
I was still trying to figure out why my hands were now little and black and furry. And now 17 years later, I curse him for not even bothering to give me instructions on how to swap bodies with a human.
Graphic by Manoj Thayalan
