Free Squirrel Cage by Cindi Jones

curbside. I watched as my girl history went into the back end. The garbage man pulled the lever and the big scoop came down and the dragon consumed my treasures, mixing them with everyone else’s garbage. My trashy life was mixed with the neighbors’ garbage. “The pervert who steals is only worth a truckload of garbage,” I glumly pondered. I blindly wandered back into the house as the dragon slowly pulled away belching and coughing, choking on my filth. I knew the value of garbage and I apparently was not worth that much.
    The Squirrel kept on running, spinning the wheel, running, and sleeping only while I slept and even then, during my dreams, the Squirrel came back, spinning ways to push me into damnation.
    My stealing days were over. “At least I can now be an honest person even if I am a pervert,” I reasoned. Little did I know that the Squirrel would help me become the most despicable pervert in the world. Over the next ten years, I would learn to betray every person that I ever loved. I would lie to them. I would steal their confidence. I would steal pieces of their precious lives. I would lead them on. I, singularly, would be the source of anguish, embarrassment, and desperation for a full generation of my family.
    How I hated the Rusty, how I abhorred the Squirrel . How I loathed every fiber of my being.

Dalene
    We were cleaning up after a big family meal at Nanna’s house. My father’s siblings and all their children were running around the house. The meal had been very nice. And I don’t know how I ended up cleaning in the kitchen. I was not one to volunteer for such things. But I was holding a dish towel when a young woman appeared out of nowhere. She was, perhaps a couple years older than I was .
    “David,” said my aunt, “this is your sister.”
    If there were a word in the English language that held a prolonged “uh” sound, it would be used here. All conversation stopped and everyone turned to look at us. I could not understand. I didn’t have a sister. What a sister would have meant to me! And yet here was a young attractive girl of 12 extending her hand to me. “Hi” was all she said.
    “Uh, ah, hi, my name is David,” I said as I returned my hand. She only stayed briefly, made the rounds, and then left. I was confused. I felt betrayed. How could I have a sister and never have met her? I had a stupid little brother all my life. And I had a big sister? My mind raced. I still did not understand.
    And then , the Squirrel started running ever faster and my thoughts fell into the abyss. A sister. A playmate. A friend. Girl clothes. Oh how would it be to have a sister.
    “Mom,” I as ked later “Do I have a sister?” She shirked it off and did not explain. I had no answers. It was a subject that we did not d iscuss in the family. I was left to dream about my sister. I would never have the sisterly companions hip that I craved. Or would I? I wondered and schemed and invented wonderful daydreams with my sister.
    A year passed and she came to the door. I was in the living room and I was the first to arrive to answer the front door . She looked at me sheepishly.
    “Hi David,” she said.
    “Who are you?”
    “Why , I’m Dalene, we met last year.”
    “You didn’t tell me your name,” I responded.
    “Oh I’m sorry. Will you give this to my Dad?” she said as she passed me a birthday card through the door. I watched her skip down the stairs and out to a waiting car. She disappeared through an open door and the car whisked her away.
    I gave Dad the card. “Tell me about Dalene, Dad,” I asked. I should have asked him long before . Dad never beat around the bush much.
    I remember that once I asked him about a word painted on the wall at school. It was the F bomb . Everyone made fun of me because I didn’t know what it meant. They were merciless. It was one of those things that you never live down. I would be teased for years over the incident.
    He took me into his room and he told me