Intimation

Intimation: Hinting at a meaning but not stating it explicitly.

I’m not sayings it, but something’s wrong with my car. Ever since I ran over a squirrel on Broad Street last week, it’s been acting up. I drove past a grove of oak trees and the steering pulled to the left—almost imperceptibly. The squirrels stuffing their cheeks with acorns under the tree, stood on their hind legs like they wanted to box with me. I never thought I’d be intimidated by a squirrel, but there were six or seven of them facing me with their little paws clenched into fists.

My car pulled to the curb and the door opened. The foraging squirrels held their boxing postures. Something pushed me out of the car. There I stood facing the fighting squirrels. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think to do was to kick them like little teed-up footballs. I was bitten by a squirrel when I was a kid. I crept up behind it and grabbed its tail. The bite had broken the skin and I ran home bleeding and told my mother I had tried to pick her one of Mrs. Broadbent’s roses, but I had been pricked by a thorn. She told me, “Don’t worry son. Some day you’ll get it right, and I’ll have my rose.”

But that was then. This is now. I think I’ll be swarmed and beaten to death by a pack of angry squirrels. I had become rooted to the sidewalk and couldn’t move. Suddenly, an older-looking squirrel stepped forward. He put his paws down. He asked “Are you remorseful?” I answered with an instant emphatic “Yes!” “Good” he said “So many of you just flatten us without even swerving to avoid us.” The other squirrels nodded their heads, looking at each other. The elder squirrel continued: “Oaky-Doakey was a restless squirrel who took shortcuts. I tried to warn him over and over that ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’” All the squirrels nodded in silent agreement. “He’s still laying flattened in the street. He has been run over hundreds of times. He looks like a leather frisbee with a tail. Would you pick him up and sail him into those bushes over there?” “Yes.” I said.

I picked Oaky-Doakey up with my handkerchief. The squirrels bowed their heads and raised their fists. I got Oaky-Doakey into a good frisbee position, and I tossed him. I tossed him too hard. After being dried out for weeks in the street, he broke into pieces. The squirrels looked really angry and were making a growling chattering sound as they came toward me. “Now I’m going to die for my sins!” I thought in a total panic. But cooler heads prevailed. The wise old squirrel said, “You tried. We should have known he would turn into squirrel jerky brittle. Go in peace. Drive carefully.”

I still don’t believe it all happened. I must’ve been overworked or sleep deprived. I know I ran over a squirrel and there’s a stain on my handkerchief. Two days ago I found an acorn on my front porch.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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