The Runaway Bunny by Seth Walker
After
Lennon drifted through each room; each time seeing his beloved daughter exit just as he had entered and each time she escaped him, like a ghost, until she led him outside in the backyard where she had climbed a great tree.
He called her to come down, minutes turned into years as clouds moved quickly by, his own hands became wrinkled and creased and he resigned to sit on the ground beneath the enormous oak. Suddenly she began to sing, just one note, but it was celestial. This note quivered in his ears, bouncing off the walls of his mind, before the note became sour and intrusive and Lennon opened his eyes to find his daughter, who was hooked up to the machine that measures the beats of your heart.
The note turned into a hollow noise, protruding out into the room like a screaming bird. Lennon sat dazed as the doctors and nurses rushed into the room with a defibulator and tried to wake her up again but she had already climbed too high in the tree.
Before
Fastened snug on the tightly wound curls of the church girls were little pink and red and violet bows, dotting the congregation with sprinkles of color.
“Oh Lucy, you are a gem.”
A little girl in a flower dress stood under her mother’s elbow, shuddering at the thought of staying in the monotonous church another minute.
“Mom, can we go home?”
“No, sweetie, we have to stay for the Reverend’s talk. I hear he has something interesting to say about temptation and how we can protect ourselves from it.”
“I don’t wanna stay.”
“You have to stay, sweetie. It’s only an hour.”
Lucy sighed a hurricane. The church was just like any other; modest in its size, modest in its décor. White walls enclosed serenity into a pentagon box with a belfry burnt sky-high.
Beth, Lucy’s mother, sat herself down on the edge of one of the benches. Her posture was perfect. She was a small, pale woman that wore a baby blue dress that came down to just below her knees. She fit well in the church. The other women were similarly dressed and they did not call attention to their appearance. This was a Sunday for God’s sake.
Lennon, her husband, sat tall next to Beth, wearing his Sunday best. Lucy eventually drifted to sleep at the drone of the Reverend, resting her head on the bench in front of her. The Reverend’s talk was not at all hinted with emotion, passion, or anything else worthwhile, instead the tone of the man’s voice was like a trumpet bursting repetitiously, accentuated with the tick of the clock hung above his head.
Eli’s posture was not so good. It didn’t matter, he was not in the church, nor was he in the same town or even the same county as the other Anders at the time the Reverend spoke. He was hunched over in a great big chair in his apartment, drunk and paralyzed with inaction holding a bottle of Jack in his right hand with fingers bent like a newspaper aflame.
After
Lennon was uncomfortable. The cold atmosphere embraced his skin, simulating the limitless void of space. Rebellious snowflakes were caught in the net of his beard, sprinkling his evident age with young crystals of water. He walked stiffly down the boulevard. Glowing streetlamps illuminated his unshorn grey hair every twenty feet.
He reached the pedestrian bridge that arched across a small canal. He paused in his step momentarily, surveying the meandering water. The dark clouds covered him from the stars, enclosing him in an envelope of blue-black.
As he progressed closer to his street, he decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway. He regretted this decision and his step quickened.
He quickly walked on and reached his street, then his house. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his key and unlocked the door.
Now withdrawn into his own home, he slowly closed the door behind him. He took off his hat, and hung it on the hat stand. He slowly unbuttoned his coat, staring at a black porcelain vase on a table. He hung his coat gently on the coat rack. He turned towards the window and peeked out from behind the curtains. Snow was falling slowly. Wayward snowflakes drifted up, caught in the curling breeze.
Lennon was a man of 60 years. In the evenings, he installed himself comfortably in a rocking-chair in his study. His frail hands clutched longingly at a pipe. He brushed his thick moustache with his index finger, and coughed softly. He crossed one leg over the other and shifted in his chair. Rain began to batter the only window in the room. The wind picked up and whistled through small cracks in the panes. A light-bulb flickered.
He picked up the papers that he had assigned to his students and began to read them. As his eyes moved lazily across the paper, he drew a deep breath and then exhaled heavily, filling the room with a long, hard sigh. He sucked on his pipe, flipped the page, and continued reading.
The walls of the room were covered in pastoral oil-paintings and photographs. His brothers, all seven of them, each stared blankly at him, each from his own frame. Above them were photographs of his mother and his father.
On the next wall, hung a six-and-a-half foot wide painting by Desportes in which a man and his hunting hounds lie lazily around him.
As he finished reading his students’ papers, he put them down and rose from his rocking-chair. He walked warily over to his desk and sat down on the bench. He sucked on his pipe again and exhaled the smoke through his nose. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.
He reached his hand towards an envelope. His hand shook relentlessly as he opened the packet. He pulled out a letter written on a typewriter. It was from his old pastor.
Dear Lennon,
This is difficult. What you have come to now in your life is something that all parents dread; the loss of a child. Why such a tragedy has befallen you, I will never know. I only wish to ease your suffering, and to calm your conscious.
As your dear friend, I am at a loss of words. I do not know what to do for you. If I did it would already be done. The only way I know how to help you is to bring you to your Lord. In these dark times he alone can save you, he alone can solace you.
I will pray for you and your family, my friend.
With sorrow, Francis Hunt
Lennon stared at the end of the letter for a minute, letting his mind wander through the avenues of his sentiments, fishing through rivers of pictures and little snippets of film, recreating what had been his daughter, Lucy. A particularly muscled gust of wind forced the window open, bringing Lennon back to his senses where he leapt, startled from his seat and slammed the window shut. He then paced back to his desk, crumpled up the letter, and threw it in a waste basket.
Before
In a study there were paintings hung of many people. Lucy, who was not yet six years old, stood somberly gazing at one of them. This painting was framed in black maple. The frame sourly grasped the picture within, as if it had ingested something terrible but hadn’t yet decided whether to writhe in pain or not.
As the girl gingerly stepped away from the painting and out of the study into the hallway, she saw her mother appear from around the corner.
“What are you doing in your father’s study, sweetheart?”
“I like the paintings.” The girl looked down at the floor and her tiny voice trailed off.
“Go back to bed; you should not be up this late.”
As the girl nodded slightly and retreated back to her room, her mother went into the kitchen to finish washing the dishes. Beth was wearing a modest, black nightgown that came down to her ankles. She was a modest woman. The most important relic in her life was her faith, and I say relic because it seemed some obsolete device to hold her mind together after her son Eli’s not-so-silent exit from the family. From the beginning of her settled life with Lennon, she had envisioned such a perfect family; the cliché mother, father, son, daughter, all with their hands held in supplication to their Lord, sitting around a table filled with the fruits of the day and the whitest tablecloth you would ever see. But now she did not have this, so she rigidly brought Lucy to church every Sunday, never missing a single sermon from the good Reverend Hunt, and in this way she kept sane.
Her husband, Lennon, was a slender older man with a trimmed grey beard. Most days he wore a two-piece suit and a black, double-breasted waistcoat. Edward, his father, a severe and unforgiving man, raised Lennon to aspire to become a professor of history as he had before Lennon.
In those early days, Lennon had thought a great deal about his relationship with the man. Now he rarely thought of him. He had matters of greater importance; things that he could not delay by thinking of what could have been. Lennon had come to an obvious conclusion that no matter how intensely his thoughts were of his now deceased father, he would never have the chance to tell him what he thinks of him. In all honesty, Lennon knew little of what he would tell his father if the opportunity presented itself. He conjured up many situations in which he would deliver a fiery speech to his father. He would scold his father on how terrible a man he was.
He would say that the man did not deserve to be a father; he would say that such a cruel man should be locked away from his family. He would blame him for his mother’s suicide and the bruises on his sisters.
But Edward was not a terrible man; he was a weak man. And like Lennon’s grandfather, and all the men before him, Edward was only a product of the men before him. Lennon would even lament at his father’s weakness, and then he would be overcome with even more hate for the man.
From time to time, Lennon would discuss his thoughts with Beth, and she would give him approving nods and touch his shoulder. But Beth would never fully understand the polarity of her husband’s thoughts. She would attempt to be a helpful and understanding wife, but all she could really do was give a reassuring, “It’s all over now,” or an, “I understand, Lennon. It’s difficult.” These days she would concern herself with the financial welfare of her family and their child, Lucy, as Lennon’s salary alone could not support them.
Lennon was a professor of history at the university. He did not particularly like this career, but he felt it was his duty to profess his knowledge to his students in the hope that they might do something useful with it.
Or maybe it was because Lennon thought that he failed in another part of his life. Yes, off in some distant garden of his lost son’s childhood. Lennon never really gave the boy a chance. Near the beginning of Lennon’s mind, was the flimsy portrait of Eli. It was like a prickly thorn that kept reminding Lennon of his mistake, a typo on his resume; a spot of blood on his white shirt.
His eyes were green and his hair was gold.
No, his hair was black and his eyes were blue.
Lennon couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to remember. Some soft voice was whispering in his ear the poisons of his past; that inexplicable portion of his life before he had become a refined man.
He was a professional man now, so he folded up those memories and put them away.
The Day
Her face was so familiar. It couldn’t have been her. The blood covered most of her face so Eli didn’t get a good look at her, but the face he had seen somewhere before in a picture. It was probably not what he thought it was. Some people look really similar to other people. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
Eli pushed the Camaro into fifth gear. Everything would be fine if he just got back in time.
He was wondering whether anyone got his plate number. It was so quick. He hit her, stopped, glanced out the window at her face, and drove off again.
The sun dipped a little below the trees and blinded Eli with each time it shone through. Blood dripped from the spider-web of cracked glass in the windshield. He had to recall exactly what happened.
She rolled up on the hood like a crashing wave against the bow of a ship. Her face pressed into the windshield. The car accelerated faster for a couple of seconds as Eli was perplexed staring at the bloody face in front of him. His foot kicked the brake pedal and pressed it to the floor. Her body sprang off of the front of the car and drifted through the air. Eli’s head hit the steering wheel and bounced back against the headrest. The body hit the ground three car-lengths in front of him.
Eli’s shaking hands gripped the wheel. Blood dripped down into his eyes. He took his foot off of the brake pedal and slowly pushed down on the gas. He could hear screaming outside. He glimpsed at her face and then drove away.
The lines of Eli’s face crumpled as he whisked through the memories that were so fresh in his mind. Sweet green pastures drifted by as the Camaro flew across the countryside.
Eli glided to the side of the road and slowed to a stop. He reached between the seats and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He slowly stepped out of the Camaro and meandered to the back of the car where he perched himself. His shaking hand pulled a cigarette from the carton and planted it between his teeth. He extracted a lighter from his pocket and tried to produce a flame. His hand would not be still long enough to light the cigarette.
After
“Where is Lucy Anders’ room, please?”
“May I have your name?” The nurse didn’t look away from her computer screen.
“David Foster,” said Eli.
“Your relation to the patient?”
“I’m her cousin.” He put the flowers in the other hand and rested his forearm on the desk.
The nurse looked up quickly from the screen and glanced inquisitively at Eli.
“If you want ID I can show you some,” he bluffed.
“No, that won’t be necessary. She’s in room B3003. Visiting hours are almost over.”
Sweat glistened on Eli’s forehead as he stepped onto the elevator. Floor three. The lift moved fast and the doors opened again. He strode quickly to Lucy’s room. A nurse was standing at the door.
“Is this Lucy Anders’ room?”
“Yes, but you’ll have to come back another time.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“Visiting hours ended at five.”
“Well I just came to give her these flowers.”
“I’m sorry sir but you can’t go in at this time. If you would like, I can put the flowers in the room for you.”
“No, I will give her the flowers.”
“Well then you will have to come back tomorrow.”
“No, I just came here by bus from a long way away, lady. Let me give her the fucking flowers.”
The nurse’s eyes widened and her brow furrowed. She took a key from her pocket and locked the door just as Eli put his hand on it.
“Sir, back away from me!”
Eli grabbed the keys from her hand and pushed her to the ground. He then unlocked the door, stepped in the room, and locked the door behind him.
Eli could see the nurse get up and run down the hall shouting for security. He turned around. What a sight, a sleeping beauty if he ever saw one. His kid sister lay on the bed in a coma. He walked over to the side of her bed and set the flowers on the end table. He then dragged the back of his hand across her forehead and sat in a chair. He could hear heavy shoes sprinting down the hallway. Closing his eyes he said a prayer for her just as the guards began banging on the door.
The Day
The class filed out of the room and Lennon began packing his lecture notes into his briefcase. Lennon’s phone went off. It was Beth.
“Hello?”
“Lennon, Lucy is in the hospital.”
“What? What happened? Is she okay?”
“She’s in surgery right now. She got hit by a car. I don’t know what to do. Lennon, please come now.” Beth began sobbing.
“Shhh . . . sh, sh. I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”
Lennon drove in complete silence, but he could hear the wide, white roar of the tires against the asphalt.
The elevator doors opened and Lennon ran over to where his wife sitting in the corner of the waiting room.
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know yet. The doctor said we should know in an hour or so. She’s still in surgery.”
“Who hit her?”
“Whoever it was drove away.” Beth stifled a sob.
The second-hand on the clock measured every other beat of Lennon’s heart. The waiting room’s stale air encircled his body and drove needles into his fingertips. He could not think of anything other than his precious daughter. His odious conscious bombarded the walls of his solemn mind with terrible thoughts of death. His mind was automatically coming to terms with Lucy’s supposed death before Lennon had even heard the news. It was some visceral response to loss and he hated it.
Beth sat pale-faced and grave, staring ahead at the white wall in front of her. She was thinking how people would have recognized the lines of her face in the face of her daughter. It was the same coping mechanism that Lennon was dealing with, a bloody war between reality and what might be.
A doctor, cold, hard, stern-faced walked quickly towards Lennon and Beth. Lennon awoke from his thoughts and pulled Beth out of her slumber.
“Is she okay,” asked Lennon.
“Your daughter is in a coma. We stabilized her but she experienced a great amount of head trauma. There is no telling how long the coma could last. Some last for as little eight hours and some last for months or even years. Given the amount of trauma, I can tell you the outlook doesn’t look so good. I’m so sorry. You can go and see her right now.”
Lennon and Beth entered Lucy’s room slowly. Beth ran over to the side of the bed and put her hand on Lucy’s forehead and clasped at her little hand.
Lennon stood in the corner of the room just staring at his daughter. This is the kind of thing that is supposed to happen to other people. Not us. This is the kind of thing you hear on the news. How has this even happened? How could someone hit my little daughter and drive away? He was overcome with anger. The room seemed stifling, yet he couldn’t leave his daughter. He had a sudden sense of urgency; he had to catch whoever did this to Lucy. Right now he has to go catch them. How could he let them get away? He had the responsibility to find this criminal, to bring this criminal to justice. He wanted to bring this terrible person, this intruder on the stillness of his life, to know pain, to know what he was feeling right then. But he couldn’t, so he wept instead.
Before
Eli was about thirteen years old. He was walking through the house carrying a tall glass of milk when he tripped and fell and spilt the milk and broke the glass. Eli’s lip started to bleed as he had hit it on the hardwood. The blood mixed with the milk and it swirled around like red smoke.
Lennon heard the ruckus and walked quickly over to where the boy now sat a little dazed.
“Eli, what the fuck did you do? Look at this mess you made. Your mother just mopped the floor yesterday and you go and spill shit all over? What is wrong with you? Are you retarded boy? It’s not that difficult to carry a glass of milk.” Lennon’s voice rose. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you! You think this is your house to do whatever you want with. You’re a fucking pig! You never clean your room, you never wash any dishes, you never do any of your own fucking laundry, for Christ’s sake you’re thirteen years old, boy. Your mother does everything for you and you don’t even thank her. You’re an ungrateful, little prick. Now clean up this mess right now, or I’ll kick the living shit out of you.”
“Fuck you, Lennon.”
“What did you just say to me?”
Eli spoke louder and separated his words.
“I said—Fuck—you—Lennon.” Eli stared straight into his father’s eyes as he called him by his name.
Lennon stood with rage in his eyes. His fists clenched and quivered.
“Get out of my house.”
“No, I live here. I’m your son and you treat me like complete shit. I have no respect for you and I never did.”
“Get out of my house.”
“Make me.”
Lennon walked straight over to where his son was still sitting on the floor and dragged him to his feet.
“Get your hands off of me!” Eli struggled and then landed a solid punch right on his father’s jaw. Lennon dropped the kid and stumbled back a couple paces before jumping at him. Beth ran into the room screaming.
Lennon was kicking Eli repeatedly in the stomach with all his force.
“You’re going to kill him! You’re going to kill my boy!” Beth rushed over and tried to pull Lennon away, but he pushed her away. He then picked up the boy and brought him outside where he tied him to the oak tree. Lucy, then about three years old, stood at the door watching her father bind Eli to the tree.
He left him there until the next day. Blood had dried on the boy’s mouth and he hadn’t slept at all. It was autumn and the nights were bitter. Lennon came back outside, untied the boy, and stared straight into his eyes. Eli spat in his face. Lennon stepped back and wiped it off.
“Get your ass off of my property and never come back. You’re not my son. You never were.”
Eli looked back at him. “You’re a weak bastard, just like Grandpa Ed was.” And then he walked away, down the street, and to the other side of town where he got on a bus and did not know where he was going, only that the sun was high in the sky and the bus smelled like ash.
The Day
The school bells rung and children poured out, jumping down the steps and into the afternoon sun. The wind picked up and the trees around the school were excited as they were surrounded by gleeful smiles and screaming kids.
Lucy said goodbye to her friends and began the long walk to her home, skipping most of the way. She came to a crosswalk and looked both ways carefully, dutifully following what her mother had drilled into her head every time they went out in the town. She saw a black car going fast, but she was already in the middle of the road and resolved to run the rest of the way.
The man in the car pushed harder on the gas, testing the limits of his new Camaro. He stared at the speedometer, watching the needle move from forty to sixty quickly. He then looked back at the road and saw a yellow light. He could make it. He pushed the gas to the floor and watched the needle rise to ninety miles per hour. His eyes rose once again to look at the road where he saw a little girl running across the road just as the light had turned red. He pushed hard on the brake pedal and his head flew into the steering wheel. There was a thump on the hood and then the sound of cracking glass as his head slammed into the headrest and he was forced to look in the eyes of the little girl while her face was pressed into the broken glass and the car lurched to a stop.
Lucy felt her bones crack and her skin break and then she was floating in mid-air and it was all very dreamlike until she hit the cold asphalt and blackness poured into her vision.
After
“After much deliberation and discussion, the jury finds Eli Anders guilty of leaving the scene of a crash involving a fatality, vehicular homicide, and DUI manslaughter.”
The judge nodded and spoke up with his gravelly voice. “Eli Anders, I sentence you to 25 years in prison with no bail. Bailiff, please take Mr. Anders out of this courtroom.”
The courtroom was silent. Lennon rose from his bench and walked over to where his son now stood.
“May I speak to my son before he is taken away?”
The judge nodded.
“You took my daughter from me, and for that you can rot in hell—”
“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Eli stared into his father’s black eyes and saw his reflection hanging high.
Lennon continued as he stifled his tears. “I want you to know that I will not write to you, nor will I visit you. You will serve your sentence alone; you will take your punishment in solitude.”
Beth stared daggers at her son from across the room.
Before
Lucy stared with curiosity into the eyes of her brother. He picked her up and propped her on his shoulders and spoke to her. She didn’t know what he was saying, only that his words were high-pitched and fey. He pointed at a big Ferris wheel and shouted. Lucy became excited and was shouting with her brother.
He then brought her into a room filled with mirrors. When she looked into the mirrors she became fat, or her head grew to an enormous size and she laughed infectiously with her brother. Eli put Lucy down on the ground and knelt down to her level.
Lucy couldn’t understand what he was saying, but it sounded serious, and he finished talking and kissed her forehead. His eyes were green and his hair was gold.
After
Lennon was going through the things in Lucy’s room. He found a stack of old drawings that the girl had done when she was still very little. He pulled one out. On this drawing were stick figures. There was him, “Daddy”, Beth, “Mommy”, Eli, “My bruther”, and Lucy, “Mee”. Lennon’s character looked angry, his eyebrows were bent down and his eyes were big and frightening. Beth was holding a book (Lennon assumed it was the bible), Eli was giving a toy to Lucy, and Lucy had an enormous smile.
Lennon stroked his finger across the bumpy crayon marks, and discovered for the first time how he looked through his daughter’s eyes. At that moment the only thing he wanted to do was to beg forgiveness from his daughter, to kiss her little black shoes and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay and not to be frightened. That death would slide over her all warm and fuzzy, and it will be just like pulling a blanket over her eyes. He wanted to hold her hand tight and never let go. She was asleep and she was brave; courageously trudging through her dreams to meet death. Now she was gone.
What could he do for her? He thought of Eli, that wretched boy. Yet somehow before he left, Lucy had loved him. He took Eli away from Lucy. He destroyed the relationship between a brother and sister. He was selfish.
Lennon set the paper down and exited her room. He walked past the dining room table; the divorce papers were scattered and crumpled. He pushed open the door and closed it behind him. The air was humid and hot and the sun was rising. He walked over to his car, got in, turned on the ignition and backed out of the driveway.
He drove to the other side of town and his car smelled like ash. The prison became visible in the distance.
