Cold wind battered the window frame. It sought out the smallest crack trying to enter the warm room beyond. There, curled beneath quilt and comforter slept a girl of perhaps sixteen. Her long brown hair splayed across the pillow. The icy wind found crack after crack in the old farmhouse’s side and permeated the room, driving the girl to snuggle deeper into the blankets to ward off the chill.
But the girl was not the only one chilled by the sudden wintery weather. Another small body wormed through cracks in the structure seeking warmth. Gently and quietly it wandered until it found the soft pool of brown that was the girl’s hair. Here! A haven! Its little heart soared. The small furred creature curled into the warm nest and snuggled up against the young woman’s head.
Something in that action stirred the sleep of the girl. One arm fought free of the blankets to itch at the disturbance haphazardly. Seeking fingers found a warm furred ball. Two sets of brown eyes flew open in alarm. The girl scratched frantically at her hair as the small furred creature leapt free of its warm nest and ran for its life.
“A chipmunk. I had a chipmunk in my hair. That’s the last time I am ever sleeping with my hair down.” And so it was.
Because once you wake up with a chipmunk tangled in your locks scrambling for freedom against your scalp you never get over it. Never.
I am honestly not sure which one of us was more traumatized.