COTTONTAIL HUGS 2017

 <> I remember the long walk to school in elementary school, walking past all the big old houses on the one side on 18th Avenue with such tall steps to the front for - and thinking how hard it must be to bring the groceries up all those stairs.

I remember liking that walk to school except for the part going past the public school where the kids would call us names and we could call back, not really knowing what it meant or why we said it but doing it anyways.

I remember Sister telling us we weren’t to be friends with Protestants and how I rationalized that since Maureen went to Catholic school and her mother was Catholic - that even though her dad was a Protestant it didn’t really count.

I remember coming home one day and my dad was home already, and my mom, too and they were very somber and they told us, “Cottontail is dead.” The neighbor in the big fancy house who had the hunting dogs - those dogs had come in the yard and killed and eaten him. I remember there were little bits of white fluff - Cottontail - all over the yard. I remember my dad had tears in his eyes., and I had never seen that before and I was so surprised. He always talked like he hated our rabbit, joking about cooking it on the barbecue.

I remember how soft Cottontail felt to touch - all silky and warm. And how his little nose went up and down all the time, And I remember how much he liked green grapes. How when he heard the fridge door open and then running water, he’d bloop, bloop over to the screen door, and stand up against it and scratch with his claws. And when you gave him a grape, he would seize it in his giant front teeth and slowly nibble, bringing the grape into his mouth bit by bit, his nose wriggling the whole while.

I remember coming home from school, finding my mom in the kitchen, cutting potatoes for fries and I went to hug her from behind and she went all stiff when I touched her. So I went outside and picked up Cottontail and hugged and hugged and hugged him.