Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Bunny Love

We had a tag sale a few weeks ago, got rid of several things, made a couple o' bills, and enjoyed a sunny day in the yard with our next-door neighbors who also had a tag sale. (Multi-family tag sales just draw better, right?)

For sale were relics of my past: a few wedding gifts from my first marriage, random household items, albums, comics, a motorcycle helmet, lots of jewelry. Anything about which I was entirely unsentimental went on the auction block, up for some front-yard haggling.

In the middle of it all the boys returned home from a night with their father, eager to get down to business selling some toys and earning some cash for new ones. "Every toy is $50," announced Nolan (6). Good luck with that, kid!

My ex-husband dropped a box at my feet. "Here's some more stuff from the basement," he said. For a few months, he has been cleaning out the basement of his mother's house, where we had long stored things that never fit into some of the small apartments in which we lived for many years, prior to marriage. In the box were a small stuffed bear, a baby doll, some beaded necklaces given to me by high school boyfriends, some old Pez dispensers (score!), and my bunny.

My bunny is a tiny, penny-sized plastic jack rabbit that I have had as long as I can remember. I recall being really fond of it when I was about five or six years old. I took it everywhere with me. I have one somewhat vague memory of playing with it on the cellar stairs at Grandma's, where I lived until I was eight years old.

Throughout my entire life, the bunny would disappear and then reappear many months or years later unexpectedly. It always felt like a good omen when it appeared again, like some link to my happy childhood memories. Like some kind of promise that things will be okay or some reminder that I am still that good, happy, sweet, round-faced little kid. I might be older and have stumbled a lot along the way, but I'm still that girl. The irony of its appearance is that a month or so ago I went looking for it. I felt like I needed it. I can't explain why. I just missed that little bunny, and I wanted to see it. It always amazed me that of all the things I've lost in life--earrings, socks, jobs, friends, money, love--my tiny bunny, no bigger than a thimble, managed to make it through space and time to my here and now, whenever that here and now seems to be.

As shoppers browsed our junk, I tucked the bunny, Pez dispensers and bear into a safe corner of the porch, far away from the tag sale items. (The rest of the things in the box immediately went up for sale.) I was so happy to see that bunny again. Like before, I vowed not to misplace it again--but obviously it's not up to me when this little guy shows up in my life.


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