The Brown Bunny

I was driving down the road when a little brown bunny crossed my path. This is the second time it’s happened. The first was months ago when I was leaving Wal-Mart—the most unlikeliest of places to have to slow your car down and let a bunny cross the street.

When I see rabbits, I always think of my son. Or rather, this little spirit that’s been floating around me for awhile waiting to be born. I keep telling it I can’t find them a decent father, and that I probably never will, and that I have too many phobias surrounding pain and blood, and that there are ancestral curses involved that I’d rather not pass on. And I tell him that I won’t be offended if he’s too eager and wants to float on to someone else, that maybe it’s for the better. But he’s stubborn (that’s how I know he’s mine).

One time he told me:

I want you to be having more fun so that we can have fun together. You’re taking on too much stress from other people and I can’t feel you. I’m a little jealous of how much energy other people are taking from you. I like rabbits and I want a cuddly rabbit when I am born just like you used to have. Take some deep breaths and find a way to let go of the negativity so we can be closer.

During Christmastime last year, a baby cousin of mine received a stuffed brown bunny. When I saw it I immediately had this memory of having one that looked just like it. It was the strangest feeling of deja vu (I guess) I’ve ever had. I asked my older sister and mom if I did have one, and neither could confirm the fact. I know for sure that I had a little white lamb.

A lot of our old family belongings are disintegrating in a storage unit as a result of us losing our house over 20 years ago. One day I’m gonna go see if that brown bunny is in there. I’ll let you know what I find out.