Rabbits are People, Too
Jamie and I had been co-workers for years and were like two high school girls when we went shopping, even if it was just for groceries. We stopped off at the old Valu-Mart on the way home from work one afternoon to grab some sodas and chips.
Everything was funny to Jamie, and I delighted in having her around because she kept me laughing constantly. Running into the store, we jabbered about our day’s work, the latest gossip, what the weekend held for us, and who we were seeing or, hopefully, dating.
When we got to the register, we were stuck in line behind some old guy who was taking forever to unload his groceries from the cart, find his identification and insert his credit card into the reader. I realized I was holding three six packs of cokes in my arms and Jamie had only a bag of potato chips. I reached out with my foot and playfully kicked her in the shin.
“Hey, lazy bones, take some of these!”
Grappling with the stack, I let one of the six-packs topple off into her waiting hands.
I watched with horror, however, as Jamie collapsed to the floor with a scream of “It’s too heavy!”
Quickly, I handed my purchases to the customer line behind me and looked down. In those few seconds, Jamie had changed into a rabbit but, oddly, her feet, body and head were all disconnected.
She was still talking, though. I realized her head was still connected to the body by a thin string of tissue, enabling her to speak. Her little paws, cute as they were, lay scattered on the floor.
I called ahead to the cashier, who looked at me, a head of lettuce in her hand. “Please hurry,” I said. “My friend has turned into a rabbit. Please call the manager.”
The girl nodded and picked up the telephone. “Manager, customer assistance on check stand five, please.”
“Do be sure to let him know that my friend is a rabbit now.”
She nodded and repeated my words (exactly) into the phone, then continued ringing up the old man’s groceries.
I was afraid to look down at Jamie while I waited, so I stepped up and over her gingerly, then squeezed around the old man to await the manager. When he arrived, in a starched green shirt, he smiled.
“I understand your friend is a rabbit.”
I nodded. “Yes, and she’s talking, but I really don’t want to look at her. I think we should call an ambulance.”
“Probably so,” he agreed, handing me his cell phone and nodding. It lit up as I tapped the screen and entered the emergency number.
“911, what is your emergency?” a voice answered.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need an ambulance for my friend.”
“Is she still talking?”
“Oh yes,” I answered, “but she’s a rabbit now.”
“We should definitely send an ambulance. Please stay on the line.”
The phone went dead and I stared at it, handing it back to the store manager. “I think the battery just went dead.”
“Well, shoot,” he said (he didn’t seem the type to use bad words). He looked over my shoulder at the line of customers, all staying back and afraid to step on Jamie, who was still down on the floor, her paws disconnected and her little pink nose twitching as she jabbered on.
“Really, though,” the manager explained with great courtesy, “we can’t just leave her in the aisle. This is an express lane, you see. It’s not good for my business and shoppers need to come through this lane quickly. Do you think you could move her for us?”
I thought for a moment. “I’m sure I can, but first could you could put her in one of those little bags for me? You know, the plastic kind, so she’ll have lots of light? And then if you could carry her out to the car for me, I would be most grateful.”
The manager smiled sympathetically. “Oh, of course. But you should really get her some attention, you know.”
The drive home was a long one. I was afraid to look in the bag, which kept shaking on the seat next to me as Jamie prattled away.
Then, with a loud, “Fuck!” I realized I was almost out of gas and would have to stop. Pulling into the first full-service station I saw, I pawed through my purse for some money and jumped out. I motioned to the attendant at another pump and brought him back to my car. I pointed at the bag.
He listened and scratched his head as I explained my dilemma.
“My girlfriend has turned into a rabbit and is still talking, but I have to keep her in the bag so she won’t fall apart. You see,” I explained, “her head came off but still has a little bit of skin attaching it, and so all the neurons are still going back and forth.”
The attendant nodded. “You should leave the window cracked, you know, so she’ll have enough air.”
“Of course, how stupid of me!” I opened the door and dropped the window down half-way.
In the meantime, a nice gentleman had overheard us and called his two teenage sons over, telling them to keep a close eye on the bag.
“Her friend is in there but is still talking.” The boys nodded and planted their feet next to the car.
I ran into the office with my money to pay for the gas. I gave both boys a quarter and thanked the attendant and the other nice man as I pulled out. They smiled and waved as I drove away.
I was afraid to take Jamie out of the car when I got home, so I left her on the seat and ran inside to think about all this. While I sat at the kitchen table, head in my hands, I could hear her out in the garage, talking merrily. With a start, I remembered that I would need to call the ambulance again—they were probably looking for me back at the store!
Before I could act, though, the doorbell rang.
Without waiting, a fireman pushed open the door and entered, followed by an ambulance crew and stretcher.
“Is your friend still with you?” asked the fireman.
I pointed to the garage. “Kind of. I was afraid to move her. She’s still in the car. In a bag. One of those plastic ones.”
The fireman nodded and motioned to the paramedics.
“According to the report, her friend still has neurons going back and forth, so she’s able to talk. She’s a rabbit, now.”
In a rush of boots and equipment, all of them trooped into the garage and I followed. They gathered around the car and I could hear them questioning Jamie, who was answering all their questions happily from the plastic bag.
The fireman came over to me, a serious look on his face. “She really wants,” he confided, “to talk with you.”
“Oh, no,” I exclaimed. “I really don’t want to look at her! Not if she’s going to be a rabbit with her head hanging loose.”
“I understand,” he consoled. “Let me go see if she has a message for you.”
He went back to the car and listened, nodding into the bag as Jamie talked. Several minutes passed as he took in everything she said. Then he stood up and came back over to me.
“She really doesn’t want to go to the hospital,” he smiled. “She says she doesn’t mind the whole rabbit thing, even with her head hanging off to the side.” He patted my shoulder. “There’s really not much else we can do.”
“Should we leave her in the bag?”
“Oh, absolutely. Why bother her? She’s a rabbit now, and as long as all of her is in the bag, she’ll be fine!”
“And I can leave her in the car?”
“Of course,” the fireman nodded.
So whenever I go shopping now, Jamie goes with me and keeps me company while I drive. She waits very patiently on the seat while I shop and can’t wait for me to return so she can talk some more.
To be honest, I’ve never been able to look in the bag, but that’s fine with Jamie—she just talks and talks while I drive.
It’s taken some getting used to, but I’m glad it turned out well.
For us both, of course.