Chippy Takes Five

 A shrill, barely audible whistle tweeted in the distance as the mid-morning sun reached 10:00…

Scratching noises. A thump. Then a tiny brown chipmunk popped out of its hole and sprinted in that bouncy chipmunk style halfway across the closely cropped yard.

He froze. Looked this way and that. Nose twitched. Tiny fingers curled in front of his tiny chest as if gripping a baton. Eyes darted from one house to a similar house to another very similar house. He eyed the shiny black street, so freshly paved it still had that hot tar smell—so seldomly driven on it still added spring to the Postal worker’s step.

Sensing no hawks or dogs, the chipmunk skittered across the remaining length of the yard, stopping when it reached the mailbox pole, steel and still bedecked with the bright orange PAID sticker from Home Depot. He leaned his back against this pole—stubby tail tucked beneath his left haunch.

Again, the chipmunk froze. Looked this way and that. Whiskers shuddered. Eager eyes took in the enormity of the cloudless sky. He brushed eight, fuzzy fingers and two thumb-like nubs against his tummy as if trying to whisk away water or acorn crumbs.

“What a day.” The chipmunk curled over his left side, dug around in fur with both hands and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Jesus,” he said and reached into the tufts on his right side pulling out first a lighter, then a phone that he immediately tucked under his arm. The chipmunk shook the lighter a couple of times and flicked it repeatedly until the flame caught and stayed and the tiny Marlboro Red tucked between his fluffy cheeks flickered to life. “Really, what a day,” he mumbled between puffs. He rubbed his eyes hard with his free hand and coughed a tiny, phlegmy cough. A productive cough, as if little chipmunk lungs were hacking up tar-laced crud from years of bad habits. “What a damn day…”

In the similar yards lining the street on either side, little trails of smoke snaked into the sky just above grass surrounding the base of every mailbox pole. The neighborhood was empty of people. Quiet, save for the barely audible hacking. The crackling, sporadic squeaks and sniffing.

He tucked away the lighter and removed the phone from his pit. On the back of the phone, a dirty nametag read “Chippy.”

Chippy pushed his finger against the button at the base of his cell. Facebook immediately blinked on at the same post he’d left off from the day before. Chippy swiped at the screen until he got to his updated newsfeed and scanned.

Typical.

“Such an asshole,” Chippy muttered. "Honestly, how many pictures, Stripy? How many pictures are you going to post from one stupid trip to Austin?"  Chippy coughed, and spit a piece of ash into the grass. He swiped up and watched images of Jingles and her kids drift by. His angry-looking mother. His chubby sister gripping a ragged bible. Corny-Toots looked good except for that blue-jay scar fur didn’t grow around anymore.

Chippy paused long enough to remove himself from his class reunion group chat. Then took a long, slow drag.

He swiped up, and there she was. Nibbles.

Nibbles looked good. Really good. The years had been kind to her. Her tail was still full. No sign of mites. And despite all the pups in older posts, her figure was hot. And if there were any stretch marks, you sure couldn’t see them under that shiny pelt of hers. “Damn, baby,” muttered Chippy.

Chippy took a long drag and crushed his cigarette against the mailbox pole, leaving a poppy-seed-sized mark. He weighed his options. He called up messenger and typed something he didn’t send. It didn’t read right. “She don’t wanna hear from me,” he muttered. “Not after that whole thing.”

But Nibbles looked so good.

Chippy scratched the back of his head and ate what he found there. Then he read his unsent message again. He pressed send. Then he instantly regretted it.

A shrill, barely audible whistle tweeted in the distance as the mid-morning sun reached 10:10…

Chippy cursed under his breath and pocketed his phone. Then sprinted in that bouncy chipmunk style back to his hole all the way across the closely cropped yard.

The End