Bunny on the Grill

Photo by Lamiko

I can’t remember exactly when I got Bunny. He’d been around longer than my baby doll Becky or my six-foot-long, fuzzy purple boa constrictor. I’m pretty sure I got him for Easter.

I imagine he came to me standing on his hind legs in the middle of a beautiful Easter basket full of plastic green grass, foil-wrapped chocolate eggs, yellow marshmallow chicks, and rainbow jelly beans.

Mom thought I was too old for an Easter basket, so she gave me practical things instead. One year, I got a hot-pink alarm clock. It had glow-in-the-dark hands with two silver bells on top so I could start waking myself up for school in the mornings. The greeting card always said, “From the Easter Bunny."

Bunny was pink and sweet. He had a soft, furry, white belly and a short, bushy white tail.

His ears were tall and bendable. He had realistic eyes, long whiskers, and a little black nose. On the bottom of his leg was a silky tag that stuck out from his seam. I liked flicking it back and forth with my thumb and sucking my pointer finger for comfort at night when I couldn’t sleep.

I adored Bunny. I carried him around with me, but only inside my trailer. He wasn’t welcome in the car or the grocery store anymore, as he used to be.

I put my baby-doll pajamas on at bedtime and climbed into bed, pulling my covers up and under my chin.

Bunny lay beside me, peeking over the blanket just like me. We waited for Mom—Bunny and me, anticipating our nightly ritual. But at eight-thirty when she came into my room to say goodnight, she only kissed me on the forehead and turned off my light.

“Aren’t you going to kiss Bunny goodnight?” I asked. 

Mom walked back into my room and turned on the light. I could see the whites of her eyes as she pointed to me. 

“If I have to kiss that damn rabbit one more time, it’s going on the barbecue!

Brother laughed from his room.

“You’re too old for that crap anymore,” she continued. “Go to sleep!"

I was speechless. Tears welled up in my eyes, and my bottom lip trembled. All I could picture was Bunny laying on Dad's Hibachi, his pink fur smoking and his plastic eyes melting over red-hot briquettes.

When Mom turned off the light and left my room, I hugged Bunny tightly. I told him I loved him more than anyone, stuck my finger in my mouth, and flicked his tag until I fell asleep.

Bedtime was never the same. I hid Bunny under my covers whenever I heard Mom's footsteps coming down the hall. She'd say goodnight to me, and we'd leave it at that.

I didn't like growing up.