What Happened to My Bunny (1997) |
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My wife loves bunnies. She's easy that way; I know that no matter the glum circumstances, a mere mention of bunnies will cause her face to turn into sentimentality. I must admit I use it sometimes. When her sad mood bothers me, I'll mention bunnies like a shot of caffeine to pep her up. Last
night, as we were lying on our bed, I asked her, "Tell
me what it feels like when you think about bunnies." Her
faced turned that way that it always does. Her lips drew
tight as if she were fighting to hold in her breath
during the last few seconds of a hold-your-breath contest.
Finally, some words slowly came out. "I think about
Sunshine," she said, referring to the bunny a friend
keeps. "I think about how soft they are," she
continued. "No,"
I told her, "tell me what it feels like inside when
you think about them." I wanted to understand, and
maybe even know, such feeling. Her
eyes began to redden and close up slightly as she said,
"It feels so happy . . . it feels like sunshine."
She paused, knowing how strange the truth was. "I
feel everything else bad just going away." The water
in her right eye built, making her eyeball look covered
in a cataract, until it escaped in the form of a tear
moving slowly down her nose. All I
could say was the strange truth: "I wish I could buy
you a bunny." I would have bought one right then if
I'd known where to get one. All the good reasons not to--the
"no-pet" apartment policy, the problem of who
would care for it when we were away, the prospect of it
wetting on my bed--seemed so obviously irrelevant at that
moment when my wife was crying with joy. I had
a bunny once. I could strum and sing all day and not tire.
It stirred up things inside of me and brought me to tears. I
sold that bunny to the man down the road who had told me
how much he liked it. He ground up my rabbit to feed dogs
that he didn't even respect very much. It's funny how a
bunny can look so different with its insides on the
outside. Then the man gave me the rabbit's skin in the
form of a beautiful coat. I am
well known around town for that coat, and I am well
respected because of its beauty. I look good and keep
warm (but never hot). Even the dogs admire me and follow
me around; perhaps they hope that one more little piece
of flesh will drop from the soft skin of my bunny coat. I
look good, but it's not quite the same. It just can't
bring me to tears.
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