Bunny

You came to me subtly like the first day of spring. you asked me what the homework was assigned in class on friday. I told you I had skipped class too, and you smiled. You then said "I'll see you later" and I said "peace."

Then I saw you on saturday, and I tried to say hi, but it was almost like you didn't recognize me. When I waved my hand and noticed you didn't see, I immediately transferred it to my hair, and made as if i was curling it.

Then on sunday, you looked at me in church. I felt your pupils stir in my periphery. You walked up slowly after service. You said you had something to say about your past.

You were afraid you had committed a great sin, and were afraid to tell your parents or your brother. So instead you picked me, to help you with your cross. I wanted to say 'whatever it was, I was sorry.' but talking when I should has never been my style.

You spoke of a night that seemed almost too old to remember. It was six months ago and a warm June evening. You're boyfriend back then, Brian, had wounded you deeply. You had caught him sleeping with your best friend, Darlene. You looked down at the space between my chest and the sidewalk. The atoms, or memory, seemed to weigh in your mind.

Darlene instead had been sleeping with Marcus, and Marcus in turn had slept with a whore, about two weeks before. The hoe in his story didn't really have a name, he had christened her Bunny, and paid her the money, and done what he wanted to do. There was pride in his voice when he boasted the story, but said nothing of what was brewing in his pants.

His confidence got to Darlene, who was drunk off Bud light from the keg in the bathroom. Naturally, her legs were loose by the liquid infused in her bloodstream. When they did it, it had been like a dream, not because it was good, but because she forgot it when she woke up.

She didn't know she, too, carried it in her pants when she met Brian at the game. He kept holding your hand but kept talking to your friend. You noticed something was wrong, when, after your team had won, the three of you went home, to your home, and around 10 pm the other two left and they left you alone. You thought nothing of it, but something told you to check. So you picked up the keys and you got in the car, and you picked up the streets towards his house.

Oak street was quiet and cool and ordered, each car took each spot it could take. You turned on the corner to find your own space right before the the stop sign. It was there: Darlene's car, a white Jetta with pink mardi gras pearls hanging from the rear view mirror.

After it had all occurred and the nerves had been shattered, you forgave him in your innocent blindness. He stayed the night, and left the next morning, then he pulled off the same move at the bar. You called him a jerk and you swore to hate him. And though the thought of him never left your mind, up to this day you haven't called.

In between, you visited the health center, some guy saw you as you read the magazine. You yawned, and he yawned, then the doctor came in. When you came out, your life had been changed and you knew it.

I couldn't see it yet, but I knew it hurt. I couldn't put myself in your shoes. I felt deep inside that I was the wrong stranger, incapable of sympathy, cold to pain and anguish.. the usual, casual egotist.

After that night, I saw you once and or twice some time after. You knew I knew and, embarrassed, evaded me. You became one with Jesus, started speaking the word. A few months passed and you were holding the sign. You condemned the lascivious and you yelled 'dirty liberals!' and screamed 'repent for your sins!"

I looked in your eyes and saw no trace of myself in them, no recognition, nothing, just a blind pair of dots that saw nothing but knew much about despair.