Squirrel Cage by Cindi Jones

place for a fast track to finishing my engineering degree. I could do it in four quarters, in one year. He saw my potential and agreed that he would work with me to iron out the class conflicts and figure a way for me to get the classes I needed. Some were only taught every other year and would not be available in time. My scholastic scholarship had expired but tuition and fees back then were under $500 per quarter and I did manage to raise it. Later, due to the intervention of my sweet mother, I secured a music scholarship which paid my tuition for the final year of my BS degree . “Yup, BS,” Squirrel told me constantly.
    Life was good. Everything seemed to be falling in to place. I had a great life planned. I felt confident that I could stop Squirrel ’s spinning cage and do all the “right things.” I hadn’t quite managed to shut down the little critter yet, but I had believed the advice of my mission president.
    “I would like to ask permission to marry your daughter,” I stated sincerely to Charlene’s father, the Bishop. “I love her very much and I will do my very best to take care of her.”
    “I know that you love her, David. We love you too. You have always held a special place in our home. I am proud that you wish to marry our daughter , Charlene. I can’t tell you how pleased and happy I am.”
    We talked of many things. I felt so comfortable in our discussions. Charlene’s father was a shining example of what I wanted my life to be. He was kind, caring, and inquisitive. He was a fellow who actually listened to what you had to say. He would follow up with questions concerning the topic being considered. He was willing to step outside his own areas of expertise to share your interests. I loved him as much as my own father. A s we had our discussion that fall afternoon, that lingering touch of guilt could not be suppressed.
    I was doing everything I had been told to do. I had to do this to conquer my demons. The conflict raged within me. “How can I keep this under control?” I would continually ask myself.
    Later that evening, in the family room of Charlene’s home, I presented her with the ring I had chosen and asked her to marry me. She knew that it was coming but did not know when. She was shocked that it was so soon after I returned home from South America. She looked at the small stone set in a setting of white gold. There were no negative vibes concerning the small stature of the rock. She knew that I had made a great sacrifice. “Oh David, she said softly, I will be happy to marry you. I love you very much.”
    We set a date in February, only four months from the date I came home.
    “Ben, I’d like you to be my best man,” I stated clearly to my brother. I could see his eyes light up. Ben was the black sheep in the family. Ben had a Squirrel too. But his made him do cool things. When he was a kid, he and his friend buried a telephone line through the adjoining cemetery from our home down to his friend ’ s house several blocks away. Every night Ben would sneak out of bed and work all night in the cemetery trenching and burying the line. Now how cool is that? He and his buddies figured out how to make wine. Now , I was a stuffed shirt about the wine thing. But I admired his adventure quest to learn. I suppose the coolest thing that Ben did was his car deal. He found an old junker that ha d a fairly smooth body. He and his buddies, got some canned paint, painted it with a paintbrush , and sold it for a nice little profit. Yes, house paint.
    Ben, I think, was much smarter than me. But growing up in my shadow was his curse. I did everything that I was supposed to (or so everyone thought).
    “Ben, why can’t you be like your brother?” was a constant theme in our household.
    He was out on his own at 19 years of age. He had found a way to scam the government for welfare (so he told me). I knew he was too embarrassed to talk about the minimum wage he had. He lived with friends on the other