Livora Gracely

The banana tasted perfectly normal upside down.

Lunch from Above

The squirrel had accepted lunch. She had not expected it to arrive from above.

She was sitting in the broad fork of a tree, holding a little cup of water between her paws, when a face appeared overhead. The monkey’s ears pointed toward the ground. His tail curled around a branch above him, and in one hand he held a banana.

“You came,” he said.

“You said this tree.”

“I did.”

He looked pleased with the accuracy of his directions. The squirrel took a sip of water and waited while he pulled down the first strip of banana skin. A pale thread clung to his finger. He shook his hand, then looked back at her.

“Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

He stretched out his arm.

Nearly Within Reach

The squirrel looked at the banana. Then she looked at the space between it and her nose.

“A little nearer?”

The monkey reached farther. His tail tightened around the branch, but the fruit remained above her head and beyond her paws.

The squirrel set her cup in the hollow beside her and stretched one paw upward. Her claws met air.

She sat back.

“Perhaps if you came up here,” the monkey suggested.

“With my cup?”

“You could leave it.”

“I’ve only just found somewhere it will stand.”

He glanced at the little hollow. The cup sat neatly in it, its handle resting against the bark. Beside it, the fork was wide enough for her to sit without balancing on her toes.

“Oh,” he said.

A breeze moved the leaves between them. He drew the banana back and looked along the branches.

“Stay there.”

A Better Place to Hang

The monkey caught his branch with his free hand and climbed back onto it, keeping the banana close. He made his way down to a lower branch that reached toward the squirrel’s fork.

She lifted her cup while he settled his tail around the new perch. A few dry leaves drifted past her nose. When he lowered himself again, his face appeared a little above hers, close enough for her to see the banana thread still stuck to his wrist.

“You’ve brought something extra,” she said.

He inspected his wrist and removed it.

Then he broke the banana in two. This time, when he offered her a piece, she could take it without rising.

She put her cup back in its hollow and accepted the fruit.

“Thank you.”

He kept his half in the peel and took a bite. Below them, a patch of sunlight moved across the grass.

The squirrel settled her tail along the fork.

“Do you always eat like that?”

“Only when I feel like it.”

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

She considered the branch beneath her, then took a bite of her own.

“So am I.”

The Same Banana

They ate while the leaves stirred around them. The squirrel told him about the umbrella she had bought that morning. It was yellow, folded very small, and had already attracted advice from three neighbours.

“What sort of advice?”

“That I should have bought a larger one.”

“Was it raining?”

“No.”

“Then how did they know?”

“That’s what I asked.”

The monkey laughed. His peel swayed beneath his hand. When the squirrel reached for her water, he waited until she had put the cup down before asking what the neighbours had said next.

She told him. He looked appropriately unconvinced.

After a while, he glanced at the last piece in her paws.

“Does it taste different from down there?”

“The banana? No.”

She tipped her head to meet his eyes.

“It’s only the company that’s upside down.”