Once in a while, a day comes along that affects the rest of your life.
The day I went to catch a rabbit was one of those days.
Up until that day, I just accepted things the way they were. Every day I awoke to familiar surroundings, and every day came and went very much as it pleased — whatever happened, happened.
At the time, I had two parents — one of each — a mum and a dad. They wanted me to call them mummy and daddy, but I called them mum and dad instead. They didn’t seem to mind. I liked them — they were kind, and they cared for me, but other than that, I had no idea who they were or why they were my parents, but since all the other kids I knew had a similar set, I didn’t particularly question this arrangement. As it turned out, I was soon to share my parents with a sister.
We lived in the middle of a row of small cottages. Our cottage looked about the same size as all the others, but my mum always referred to it as being ‘too small.’ Not having anything to compare it to, I really didn’t know whether it was small or not, but I assumed she knew the difference. I didn’t really care — it was big enough for what I wanted.
The cottages were near a canal. I fell in the canal once, but that was another story. Over the canal was a narrow bridge that led to a footpath on the other side. In one direction, the path led to the lock-gates where the canal flowed into the river. In the other direction, the path eventually led to the road that headed into town. Going into town was a long walk. It was quicker to walk to the end of the road and catch a bus. I liked buses.
. . .
On this particular day, I wasn’t interested in walking into town or riding on a bus. I had other things on my mind. I was going to catch a rabbit. It was spring and spring was always a good season for catching rabbits. I wasn’t sure how I knew that. I just did.
I headed off down the lane, and as I passed by the old tree, I noticed that the grass in the fields seemed greener than usual. Wildflowers were growing everywhere. They were mostly buttercups, daisies and purple ones. I forget what the purple ones were called.
At the end of the lane was a bench where the old people would sometimes sit and chat to each other, and just beyond the end of the lane was the boatyard. The boatyard was near the lock gates. On the other side of the canal was a pub where people would go to talk loud and get drunk. Mum sometimes worked there in the mornings. She told me that she would scrub the floors till her hands were raw, whatever that meant.
At the boatyard, the lane turned into a path that led past a clump of trees next to a small shop, and on towards the riverbank and open fields. My mum would sometimes take me to the shop when she bought groceries. She would give the old lady in the shop some money and food coupons and get groceries in return, and sometimes, just maybe, she would get me a comic if I had been good. While she shopped, I would sometimes run to the riverbank to see if I could see any fishes. I enjoyed fishing, but I never seemed to catch any.
But, on this day, I didn’t want a comic or groceries, and I wasn’t interested in fishes — all I wanted was a rabbit. I walked with determination right on by the trees and continued along the path, right past the shop and on towards the field next to the river.
At the north end of the field, away from the river, was a rabbit warren. For years I had thought that north was up in the sky because one night my mum had pointed out the North Star and told me that was north.
My mum had also told me that some people had pet rabbits. That’s when I decided I wanted a pet rabbit. She’d told me that pet rabbits were usually black and white, not like the ones in the field, but I didn’t care — a scruffy brown one would be just as good. All I wanted was a pet rabbit.
At the warren, there were plenty of rabbit holes but no rabbits. I peered down each hole hoping to see one looking up at me so that I could reach down and lift it out. It never occurred to me why a rabbit would want to be my particular pet, somewhat like me never really questioning why I belonged to my parents — perhaps I was their pet.
At one hole I tripped and fell headlong in. The hole was at an angle, so I really didn’t hurt myself, but the shock of tumbling into the hole caused me to start crying. Once I realised where I was, I stopped sniffling and started to climb out.
Then I stopped.
I had a weird sensation — a sensation that I was being watched. I turned my head slowly, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness and there, staring back at me, was the biggest rabbit I ever saw. It just sat there with its nose atwitch.
How could I fall into a small rabbit hole?
Why was this rabbit bigger than me?
Why did it speak?
. . .