These are what lay before me: green grass occupied by backs and behinds, trees made golden in the sunlight, and the haze of the indiscernible future.
I’ve always wanted to, but have never been brave enough, to lay fully on the grass (partly because of a childhood experience that involved me, a mattress lain to dry in our backyard, and an anthill) but I am more tempted than ever now that I have a scarf with me and the sun has finally yielded to the clouds. So many people are lying down directly on it now, and I don’t see anyone scratching their bare arms and legs or screaming in pain while running away to find a washroom. Others are taking naps on the grass, using their bags as pillows, and a guy with dreadlocks just arrived with a backpack and a duvet. A woman sulks on a nearby lawn chair while the man coaxes her to join him. She sits and lights a cigarette while he lays spread-eagled, also with a smoke. A pack of Korean kids are playing with a football. A fat squirrel jumps out from the bushes behind me, not at all fazed by my presence or anyone else’s, not even for the sparrows and pigeons that twitter about. Even their animals behave differently here; they’re much freer to roam than many other humans we know. The squirrel scuttles dangerously close to the smoking couple and I gaze at it anxiously, afraid it might cause an uproar by running across their bright blue-and-green duvet. The creature scampers off in another direction. Keeping watch of the squirrel kept my sights on the smoking couple, too, and the woman has aquiesced and they are now laying together in embrace. I look away because the moment is theirs, and to conceal my envy.
The squirrel is back now; I’m not sure if it notices me or if I am simply trespassing in its favorite haunt. I recognize it because it’s a particularly fat squirrel. It was sniffing and digging around earlier, and now it has something in its mouth. The squirrel notices me and stares me down, and I stare back. It shows me its tail, as if to say I’ll mind my business if you mind yours.
Even when it sits still, the squirrel is shaking, twitching, as if so many things are going on in its body that its fur can barely keep up. Someone once told me it was startling that I was so alive, that there was so much life in me that it shone right out. I wonder if squirrels get tired of being alive, too. Do they ever feel like jumping off a tree or overdosing on acorns? Fat squirrel is back, and it seems to be looking for a place to hide its new treasure. It probably has miles of soil to choose from, so I imagine it to be a tedious task as I watch it move along. Another, now skinnier squirrel arrives and it looks as if it’s in a panic. Its whole body twitches as it sniffs around, digging up all the hiding places fat squirrel did earlier, rearing its head and turning around every which way and then running off. Looks like someone lost its nuts.
I never know what I’m writing about until I finish. When I sat down on this lawn chair I told myself I was going to write about how my aimless walking led me to another bookstore and it nearly brought me to tears, and how I planned on buying makeup but ended up buying books instead, or how I wish I came here with less clothes so I could have bought more books, or how I wish I wasn’t so afraid of life anymore. Instead I’m writing about nuts and squirrels, but even that has to come to an end: a European couple has just arrived with their toddler son, who has taken a special interest in my friend the fat squirrel, and proceeds to chase it away.
Now the European couple are taking photos of each other, and now the American couple in the duvet are arguing, and now a new couple arrives with scarves and books and I only came here to rest my feet, so now I think it’s time for me to stretch my legs.
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