BUNNY STANDS BY the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. It is dark and rainy. She isn’t soaked yet—she fished out her tarp just as the first big drops came down —but she’s thirsty from all those cookies. Boom. Thunder. It is raining harder now. In the distance she can hear the sound of a car and as its headlights appear she steps back among the trees. From where she is standing the car looks like a station wagon. Bunny doesn’t know anybody who owns a station wagon but she thinks next time she’ll wait for one of those. It would have a family person driving it for sure. The car passes, its tires making that sad swishing on the wet road. Bunny waves in the dark.
She likes the sound of the wind. Rain patters on her head too, and clicks all over the tarp. Maybe she can spend the night in the woods somehow. She certainly isn’t about to climb into another car yet, not after Gary. God. He hadn’t done anything to her, only himself, that was lucky. He made sad noises, as if he were crying, but he wasn’t crying. He was jerking off. Then he wiped himself. She hadn’t felt sick until he’d stuffed the tissue in the ashtray. “That’s all right, you go ahead,” Gary had said while she leaned her head out the window and heaved, but he hadn’t patted her on the back. He didn’t like to touch people. He had offered to drive her to the train station, and tried to give her a twenty-dollar bill, but she had decided to take her chances in the woods. “Suit yourself,” said Gary, and had driven away. She had watched his red tail-lights disappear around the curve.
Bunny adjusts the tarp to keep the rain from running down her neck. She isn’t sure how long she’s been standing here. She isn’t even sure which side of the river she’s on because Gary kept going over all these bridges but maybe it was the same bridge. Maybe he had just driven around in circles. Maybe if she stands really still she can hear her mother calling her. Ha ha. Boom again. The wind whips the tarp around and Bunny’s feet are cold. She has her worst sneakers on, the pink ones, and no socks. She hadn’t thought about taking extra clothes. Her ankles are wet, the cuffs of her jeans. The grass is tall where she’s standing, if it is grass; maybe it could be flowers. Queen Anne’s lace. Lightning again, Bunny can see people hunched down next to trees. The hairs on the back of Bunny’s neck prickle. She searches with her right hand in the jean-jacket pocket under the tarp. Her tiny scissors are still there, her embroidery needles and thread. The point of the scissors makes a reassuring prick on her index finger, her thumb. She pricks each finger in turn, and the thumb twice for good luck. The rest of the hash brownies are in her knapsack, wrapped up in tin foil. She should never have had even one bite. That’s why she keeps thinking midgets are staring at her. God.
She tries to imagine her mother looking worried and calling “Bunny!” in a scared way. But her mother would have to lean her head out the window and nobody would hear her above the Broadway traffic. Bunny tilts her head now, trying to direct the stream of water running down her cheek into her mouth. If only she had a cup. Bunny had volunteered to make breakfast this morning because it was her mother’s birthday. That was how everything started. Bunny had a present for her mother. She had made it herself, an embroidered jacket, and it had her mother’s name, Bernice, and also Bunny’s and Merle’s and flowers entwining everything. Bunny had thought about Merle when she made it; that was why it was so good, unicorns and sunbursts and rainbows and shooting stars. It used to be Merle’s, but Merle hadn’t finished embroidering it. So it was from both of them in a way. But Bunny didn’t give it to her. Mook had come into the kitchen and Momma had put the unopened present back on the table while she jumped up. “Look who’s here!” And it turned out Mook was about to install wall-to-wall carpeting for Momma and air-conditioning and they were going to clear out Merle’s room and Bunny said, “But where will she stay when she comes home?” Momma stopped smiling. “Jesus Christ, Bunny,” she had whispered and then gone into her room and closed the door. Mook had followed her, and after a while music came drifting out and Bunny knew they’d be in there for hours.
Then it was like God sent a spotlight down and it made a big circle around her feet like a clown in the circus and the idea came into her head to run away. She didn’t make any noise except that she was crying like an idiot for no reason and then she calmed down. She made baloney sandwiches. She packed her knapsack with a box of Mallomars and the sandwiches. She took the money out of the desk and she took all the laundry quarters. That was for making calls from the road if she needed to. Then she looked around and it seemed as if she’d never even lived there and so Bunny just started emptying stuff on the floor. Sugar and flour and coffee and a whole box of rice and then a can of old chocolate syrup on top of that. It scared her, but once she had started it was hard to stop. She ripped open TV dinners and frozen peas and dumped them too. She unrolled all the toilet-paper rolls and spread them over the living room and kitchen. It was a mess. Then she stole the hash brownies. Bunny’s mother would freak when she saw the kitchen but what she’d miss most were the brownies.
Bunny starts to giggle but stops because it sounds so noisy in the woods. Nothing else is making a sound except water dripping from the leaves. She wishes she had a cigarette. And it’s nice how fresh the woods smell but there isn’t anyplace to sit. Bunny thinks there is a gas station a little way back where Gary stopped for gas and she got out to pee. If the bathroom door isn’t locked she could spend the night in there. Then tomorrow figure out what next. She doesn’t really have a plan. For a terrible second she doesn’t know which direction she came from but then remembers. Left. Bunny still feels like something might be watching her but nothing is. Those are stumps and shadows and bushes. If she were home there would be sirens and horns honking and music in the hotel down the block. Bunny thinks for moment about her bed but then dismisses the thought. She doesn’t want to go back. She is on her way.
THE DOOR ISN’T locked. It sticks but she gives a hard push. That is a good omen, and she goes inside and takes a long drink of water from the tap without turning the light on. Then she stands up straight, sighs, and wipes her chin on the back of her hand. Stepping back outside she can see a light is still on in the office, and the man is still there, his feet propped on the desk. As she stands there watching he stretches and yawns and looks at his watch. He takes one foot off the desk and then the other and after a second he stands up. She sees him light a cigarette (Bunny wishes she had a cigarette) then he puts on a jacket that is hanging off the back of the chair. He looks around, turns off all but one little light, and locks the gas station door behind him. Bunny is crouched behind a bush. He is humming something. Bunny hopes he doesn’t check everything before he takes off. He doesn’t; he gets in his car and he drives away. For just a second Bunny sort of misses him.
Bunny waits until she has counted to fifty. Then she stands up, takes her tarp off, and shakes it before stepping back inside the bathroom. It takes her a while to remember the light switch is a string hanging down. She doesn’t want to leave the light on too long, but she needs to make sure the bathroom floor is okay, nothing disgusting anywhere before she settles down.
There is a lock on the door, a hook and eye, and she hooks it behind her. Some water has leaked under the door from the rain. Muddy footprints surround the sink, the toilet. There are a few paper towels on the back of the toilet but mostly it is that hot-air dryer that you’re supposed to do your hands on. She could use it to dry out her ciggybutts if she had any. But even then she doesn’t have matches. She should have stolen Gary’s lighter. It was lying on the dashboard, she stared at it the whole time he was doing himself. Spanking his monkey, ha ha. Bunny shakes her head. There is her lipstick heart on the mirror that she drew there hours ago. Was it hours ago? Has anybody been in here since then?
She bends over the sink and takes another drink of water and then she rubs her finger over her teeth. Somebody else must have been here because there are two long brown hairs in the sink. Bunny rinses them down the drain. She takes her eyeliner out of a pocket in her knapsack and does her lower lid first, then her upper, then frowns and touches up her eyebrows a little. Bunny’s eyebrows aren’t any good. They don’t arch and you can hardly see them. What she wants is to have eyebrows that look like a wolf, or some other kind of wild animal. Her eyes are boring and her hair is boring and her nose is too big and she wants to get it fixed sometime and she has a little tiny mouth. Well, not tiny, but she really does need lipstick or she is just so washed out. She frowns at her reflection in the mirror. She needs to get some waterproof mascara and some waterproof eyeliner too. Maybe blue. She looks better with eye makeup. Gary wouldn’t have done anything if she’d looked older. Bunny looks twenty when she is fixed up. Although she is fourteen she is quite mature.
Now Bunny looks at the floor carefully. Then she wets some paper towels and wipes up everything she can see. A few hairs. She takes off her sneakers and lays them on the back of the toilet and she rinses her feet with warm water and soap and dries them with toilet paper. Finally she takes the tarp and shakes it out the door again, turning off the light in case somebody drives by. She is wearing the jacket she didn’t give her mother. It is beautiful, if she does say so herself. She has been working on it almost since Merle left. Bunny frowns, digs the point of the scissors into her fingers again. Her brain has that feeling where you think it’s a puddle but instead you slip on ice. She takes her jacket off and hangs it carefully over a hook on the back of the door. She takes her jeans off too, and holds the cuffs under the hot-air blower and after a while they feel dry and she puts them back on again.
It is hard to fall asleep. Bunny sits with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her, her feet braced against the pedestal of the sink. If only she had a cigarette. She gets up to drink from the sink again; the water is wavy like a little piece of string. Then she uses the toilet and feels better. She digs around in her knapsack, hoping she’d stuck her toothbrush and toothpaste in by accident and finds a lighter she didn’t know she had. So she sits up for a while, flicking the lighter on and off, watching the shadows on the bathroom walls. Whenever she hears a rustling noise she flicks the lighter on. But it is just the wind outside blowing leaves against the door. Bunny gets up again to make sure the door is locked. Tomorrow she will find a drugstore and buy a toothbrush and toothpaste and some gum. She wonders what they said when they saw the mess. She wonders if her mother called the police.
Mook is such a jerk. He acts like the king of the world. Anytime she might be watching her favorite show he will switch to the ball game as if she weren’t even there first. “Hey, I was watching something,” she had protested the other night and he’d said, “Put a lid on it, Bunny,” without even looking at her. She’d wanted to get up off the couch and go to her room but she’d have had to walk right past him. Then her mother had come in the room and had sat on Mook’s lap. Bunny hated it when she did things like that. Couldn’t she act more private?
Bunny holds the lighter on for a while until it begins to flicker. Just before she turns it out something catches her eye under the sink, a silvery button. She reaches for it, then puts it deep in the pocket of her jeans. Maybe this means Merlie is waiting for her. It is very exciting to have this thought and for a while it is even harder to fall asleep. Maybe Merle has left a trail of bread crumbs for Bunny to follow. She has to keep her eyes open for any sign.
THERE IS NO window in the bathroom but sunlight slides under the door. Bunny is so hungry when she wakes up that she eats a whole brownie. She knows it is a terrible idea, but maybe a whole brownie is better than a half. Maybe a whole brownie will plow through her bad thoughts and come out the other side like a truck zooming through a paper sign. Anyway, there isn’t anything else. She’ll get the munchies but she has plenty of money to buy food when she gets somewhere. She wonders where the nearest town is. If she starts to freak she will just dig the scissors into her palm until it passes. She scratched her initials into her forearm last month. It didn’t even hurt. In fact it felt good. She opens the bathroom door and sees it is a pretty day although she doesn’t know what time it is. She closes the door fast. A man is striding toward the bathroom. She checks her image in the mirror.
Bang bang bang. A man is pounding on the door and hollering, “Get the hell out of there! Who’s in there!”
“Nobody,” says Bunny. She pushes her hair back from her face and refastens the barrette. She rinses her mouth quickly to make sure there’s no chocolate on her teeth. Yelling makes her nervous. She has to get calm.
“Where’s your car at,” the man continues, still yelling, as if he hasn’t heard Bunny at all. “I don’t see no vehicle. This restroom is for patrons only. Just like a restaurant. I won’t have no no-good punks living it up in there. Now you get on out before I call the police. I reckon you’ve had plenty of time to do whatever you’re doing. Now get out!” Bang bang.
Bunny opens the door half an inch. There are big circles under her eyes from the mascara but she left them there because they look sophisticated. “I got a flat tire,” she says.
“What are you doing in there?” asks the man, his voice softer. “You got a flat?”
Bunny nods, wipes a strand of hair out of the corner of her mouth.
“Where’s your vehicle?” The man is squinting at her.
“It’s a bike.”
“Talk to me,” says the man. He is wearing a blue shirt and the name over his pocket says Earl. Bunny has opened the door another inch. “Maybe I can give you a hand. Where’s your bike at?”
“In the woods,” says Bunny.
“Stop by the office,” says the man. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Okay,” says Bunny. “You got any cigarettes?”
Earl shakes his head in disbelief and reaches into his shirt pocket. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and shakes four into his hand, gives them to her. “You shouldn’t smoke,” he says. His fingers are warm and Bunny wishes he were her grandfather or something. She is always getting these wishes that come out of nowhere. “Oh, I know,” says Bunny. “Neither should you.”
The first drag always makes her want to puke, always makes her feel anxious; in fact, the whole first cigarette makes her feels sick and horrible. That is why she smokes it as fast as she can to get to the second, which is never as bad. Then by the third it doesn’t bother her at all. There is a technique to everything. Thank goodness she didn’t use up all the fuel in her lighter last night. She remembers the button and reaches down in her jeans pocket. It is still there. She didn’t dream it.
Bunny folds up her tarp and sticks it in her knapsack. Ditto her jacket. She puts her sneakers back on and they feel cool and nice. It’s going to be pretty hot today— already the sun is scorching. She doesn’t have to clean up because she didn’t make a mess. She doesn’t wipe her heart off the mirror; she draws an arrow going through it and the words Thank You. She writes it with her lipstick. Then she opens the door and steps outside. The man is in the office and he isn’t looking her way. He is talking on the phone. She feels mean not saying good-bye because he was nice, but she needs to get going. There is a sign that says NEW HOPE 14 MILES.
AFTER SHE HAS been walking a while Bunny comes to three houses on the right side of the road. They look like three little turned off television sets, each with a big gray picture window in front. Right in front of the first one is a lot of stuff on the lawn, and the words GARAGE SALE TODAY are painted on cardboard and nailed to a tree. There are a bunch of dirty kids on tricycles riding in a circle, jingling their little bells. One of the kids yells, “Hey! Customer!” and they all stop to look at her and then start riding around again.
Bunny lights her last cigarette and she sucks in her stomach. She glances at the lawn with what she hopes is a sophisticated expression and something catches her eye, which is—this is so wierd—a scarf just like Merle’s, red with white fringe on it. She walks over casually, as if she isn’t really interested. But her heart is pounding. She picks it up and presses it to her face, wondering if it will smell like her sister. Merle wore patchouli oil. You could smell it a mile away.
“You want it?” A woman’s voice. Bunny looks up and sees someone standing on the cement steps of the porch. An American flag hangs off a pole there, kind of tattered at the bottom. “Two fifty.” Bunny reaches into her pocket and withdraws ten quarters.
“Okay,” she says. She walks over to the porch and climbs two sagging steps to hand the woman her money.
“What you going to do with it? It’s July.” The woman narrows her eyes as if she could see right through Bunny’s skin into her brain. This makes Bunny’s scalp tickle.
“Yeah,” says Bunny. She rolls the scarf up neatly and puts it in her knapsack. Then Bunny frowns again, and that shiny blank comes into her head. Like somebody put a steel plate in there and she can’t think for a second. But it gets better. Bunny wishes Merlie would write, but of course you can never tell what a person might be busy doing and not find time.
“You interested in anything else?” asks the woman.
“I’m just looking.” Bunny coughs and takes another drag of her cigarette. She touches an old-fashioned record player.
“You interested in music?” the woman asks.
“Kind of,” says Bunny, feeling warm all of a sudden. “My sister is.”
“Last year I sold a lot of dance shoes,” says the woman. “All colors. Does your sister dance?”
“She used to,” says Bunny.
“Is that the truth.”
“How much for the bicycle?” asks Bunny. Something in the woman’s voice makes her uneasy. She is standing next to an old blue Schwinn. It is rusty but the tires are strong and the seat looks okay. She experiments with the kickstand. Now that she’s standing so close she realizes the woman smells like syrup. Maybe Merle bought the shoes.
“Fifteen,” says the woman, wiping the back of her stringy neck with a white handkerchief.
Bunny turns her back to the woman and carefully peels a ten and a five off Mook’s neatly wrapped bundle of bills. She hands them to the woman.
The woman eyes Bunny’s backpack. “You’re not from around here, are you? You camping somewhere?”
“Not exactly,” says Bunny, her stomach rumbling.
“Don’t suppose anybody ever called it pretty around here.” She looks at the woods and then back at Bunny. “You had breakfast? Hungry?”
Bunny grips the handlebars tightly. The woman has such a friendly look. The kids are still yelling in the front on the gravel driveway. There are a bunch of straggly begonias in pots on the porch railing. “No,” says Bunny, “not really.”
“Do you like flapjacks?”
“Well, yes.” A small brown dog comes snooping around and sniffs Bunny’s left sneaker. “Hi, boy,” she says, reaching down to touch its ears.
“I got some nice batter inside. You come on in with me. Now don’t you argue, I don’t take no for an answer. You can ask any one of the kids out there.” She points to the driveway. “Rennie!” she yells. “You get up on the porch now and be ready to make change.” A tall blond boy separates himself from the swarm and lopes toward the porch. He doesn’t do more than glance at Bunny. He has blond eyebrows even, Bunny notices. She follows the woman into the house.
The front room is dark and smells like wet dog fur. There are only two windows. There’s a big television with a broken antenna made of coat hangers on top and an ice cream sandwich wrapper sitting in an ashtray. There is a sofa with a blanket thrown over and the carpet is brown shag. The walls don’t have any pictures except a framed painting of a big ocean wave the color of a sliced cucumber. A stack of magazines sits on an old beat-up coffee table in front of the sofa, and there is a fake green leather recliner that seems to be stuck in the recline mode. The living room makes Bunny feel sad in the pit of her stomach.
The kitchen is yellow with bright blue woodwork. There are glass bottles on the windows with red liquid inside like maraschino cherry juice and several blue bottles shaped like old fashioned cars with tiny little beads of colored candy inside. There are a bunch of dandelions that have turned brown on the windowsill in a jelly glass. Very fancy white organdy curtains are tied back at the window over the sink. A couple of geraniums on the sill have bright red flowers blooming. The sink stands on four legs and the garbage is underneath, in a paper bag with grease spots. Bunny is afraid it will split open right then if she stares at it. There are boxes on the counters, and piles of clothes.
“Getting ready to move,” says the woman. “That’s how come the sale. You like bananas sliced in? We’re going down to North Carolina. My daughter’s got a place down there now. My husband died last winter. Sometimes I think he’s right in the other room. I doze off in the chair and think, well, he’s just in the other room and then I think where is he? Carl? I call and then I realize. It takes getting used to.” As she talks the woman is oiling a skillet and pouring pancake batter in. It smells good.
“I know what you mean,” begins Bunny hesitantly. She wants to ask who bought the shoes.
The woman has an ear cocked toward the screen door. “Rennie? Get some change from over to Tyson’s.” She turns back to Bunny. “Sorry, honey, what?” But Bunny isn’t in the talking mood anymore.
“Now tell me the god’s honest truth,” says the woman, putting a blue dish down in front of Bunny, then a fork and knife. “You can’t be more than fourteen years old, can you?”
Bunny clears her throat. She has rehearsed this line. “I look young for my age. I’m almost eighteen.”
“Uh-huh. You don’t mind if I don’t believe a word of that, do you?” The woman smiles. Her bottom teeth are crooked.
“You can believe what you want,” says Bunny firmly, “but I’m going to be eighteen next month.” She wishes she had another cigarette to light up and blow smoke around. The boy Rennie comes into the kitchen.
“Somebody wants the washing machine,” he says, and glances at Bunny. “But she wants it for thirty-five. You go talk to her.”
“Get this little miss the syrup out of the fridge, will you?” She pronounces it “suurup,” not “sirup.”
“Are you running away?” Rennie asks when his mother has left.
“No.” The tablecloth is red and sticky. The pitcher of syrup sits on a white saucer.
Bunny takes another big bite of pancake.
“You want some coffee?” The boy has his hand on an aluminum coffee pot. “Cream and sugar?” He holds out a small pitcher and points to the sugar bowl.
“Yes, please,” says Bunny. Bunny pours more syrup and takes another bite. She takes a mug from the boy’s hand. From outside come the yells and laughter of children. One of the dogs starts barking again. The boy sits down in the chair next to Bunny and pours himself a cup of coffee. He is one big freckle, Bunny thinks. She touches her own pale cheek.
“She’s going to ask you if you want to stay for lunch.”
“Well,” says Bunny, “that’s very nice but I’m in a hurry.”
“She thinks you’re running away.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m meeting my father in New Hope.”
“New Hope? You’re a ways from there.”
“Well, of course, I know that.”
“New Hope’s over on the Delaware River. I went rafting there one time. You get in inner tubes and the current takes you. Is that what you’re going to do?” As he speaks, Rennie gets up and slides another pancake onto the spatula, slips it onto Bunny’s plate. She has eaten three.
“I don’t know,” says Bunny, pouring on more syrup.
The screen door bangs and a little girl runs into the kitchen. She is wearing a torn red dress and her feet are in a pair of very dirty white sandals. Her hair has been pulled back into a ponytail tied with a soiled red ribbon. Her face is grubby, her eyes a very dark brown. She must have been eating a Popsicle because she has a big pink clown mouth around her own mouth. She is also wearing a pair of dangle-down rhinestone earrings. Around her neck is a necklace of pink candies on an elastic string.
“Who are you?” she asks Bunny, sidling over to stand next to her, putting the string of candies into her mouth and starting to chew thoughtfully.
“My name is Mary,” says Bunny. “Who are you?”
“Nina. What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a trip,” says Bunny.
“Do you have any brothers?” the child asks.
“I have a sister.” Bunny takes a bite of pancake.
“Where is she?”
“She’s older than I am.”
“But where is she? With your momma?”
“She’s traveling right now.”
“I’m looking for her,” says Bunny. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Rennie brings a sausage over. “She’s a pest. You’re a pest, aren’t you, Nina.”
“He’s not my real brother,” says Nina, climbing into Bunny’s lap. “His name is Rennie. I hate him.”
“Nina,” says Rennie, “you are a pest.”
“Rennie ate my pie.” She shifts her position on Bunny’s lap and her hard little bones dig into Bunny’s thighs.
“You gave it to me.”
“I didn’t mean for you to eat it.” Nina’s lower lip trembles.
“Don’t give it away if you want it yourself.”
Nina decides to change the subject. “We used to have some rabbits.” Nina points to a wire cage Bunny can now see on the back porch.
“What happened to them,” asks Bunny.
“We ate them.” A big tear rolls down Nina’s cheek. “We ate them and Grandma told me it was chicken.”
“Nina. Don’t tell all your business.” Rennie’s voice is stern. “There wasn’t nothing left to eat just then. You want a sausage?” he asks Bunny, but she shakes her head vigorously.
So much talk is making Bunny nervous. Rennie keeps trying to heap more food onto her plate. What is going on? Why is he being so nice? She reaches her left hand down in her jeans and finds the button. Good. Still there.
“They took it for forty,” says the woman, who comes back into the kitchen wiping the back of her neck again. “I feel the heat something terrible. No time to be cooking. But things can’t always wait, can they now.” She is stirring something on the stove, sprinkling salt into a big pot. “Did you eat up good?” she asks Bunny, smiling. “Your arms are like little sticks, aren’t they, Rennie? You need some meat on those bones, I swear. Why don’t you stay for lunch.”
“Oh!” A little shriek escapes Bunny. There is a big cage on the back porch—why didn’t she put two and two together before? That was why all the kids had fallen silent when she’d walked past them. The garage sale was just a trick. They’re going to stick her in the cage and fatten her up and then cook her in the pot.
Bunny puts her fork down. She can’t swallow at all. She gets up and she takes her knapsack. “I’m just going to check something,” she says in a hoarse voice, and Rennie and the woman look at her blankly. “I just need to take a quick look at something outside,” she says, edging toward the door. There is another car pulled up and two very fat women are climbing out of it. One of them has her hair in curlers. They look at her curiously. Are they going to eat over? Bunny walks quickly to the bike. “I bought this,” she says in a loud voice. “I bought this fair and square.” Rennie comes running over and puts his hand on the handlebars. Bunny thinks she will die right then and there. Die and then get eaten.
“Watch the brakes downhill, Mary,” he says, and slides something over her left wrist. A Mickey Mouse watch. “Here,” he says. “You need to know what time it is.” Bunny doesn’t know what to say. “Okay,” she manages to croak out, and she gets going, over the gravelly driveway and onto the narrow road, pedaling as fast as she can.
“Hey!” she hears the woman calling after her. “Hey! You want some sandwiches?”
BUNNY ONLY SAW her dad a couple of times but she liked him. Now and then she took his memory out and ironed it, so to speak, before putting it back in her brain. Bunny stored things in her mind this way, like a linen closet. He was sad and didn’t say much. The last time was about nine years ago. They went to the swing set and he bought her two chocolate ice cream cones and mostly he kept shaking his head and saying he was sorry and Bunny kept saying, “Oh, that’s okay, Daddy,” the word “Daddy” strange and special in her mouth, and she was proud to use it but wondered what would happen next. She was glad nobody was around to hear her say “Daddy” because they might ask, Who does she think she is? But actually it was just him and her at the end of the block on a hot August day. The playground was pretty small and grass never grew there really and her feet kicked up little puffs of dusty dirt because by mistake he had picked out the wrong swing, the baby swing, but she was proud of him anyway and proud to be with him, her own daddy, and she fixed it so her legs went stiffly out in front of her. He pushed her, and his hands at her back—up in the middle, higher than her waist, careful—she can still feel them if she shuts her eyes.
“Oh, you stupid baby,” says Bunny to herself now, because she is crying. “You big baby.” The bicycle is weaving along the road and it doesn’t have any gears and the brakes aren’t so hot but at least it goes, and Bunny wipes her eyes with her left hand. It’s the stupid brownie. You have to eat them more frequently or your body doesn’t know how to respond and drags out all the stupid sad stuff. She should just throw them away right now. But she doesn’t. She isn’t going to eat any more of them but she isn’t going to throw them away yet either. After a while Bunny walks off the road and into the woods. She is still crying. She stays there leaning against a tree until she stops. When she has finished, she wipes her face and goes back onto the road.
SHE FEELS OKAY now, riding a bike makes her feel okay, pedaling, and she knows nobody was going to eat her up. For a while she kept looking behind her to see if the fat ladies were giving chase, but she calmed down. She is glad she left fast, before she said anything embarrassing. A couple of old cars have gone by, leaving clouds of black smoke. Burning oil, thinks Bunny, trying to hold her breath. She passes a little house. There is laundry hanging on the line and while she is looking at the big sheets flapping she almost rides over an animal squashed on the road. It is horrible, flat as a pancake. There isn’t any blood, just this flat thing with its tail curled like a question mark.
She needs to keep away from weird thoughts so she concentrates on counting to eight, then counting to eight again. Nothing will charge out of the woods at her, not if she maintains a steady rhythm with the pedals. Bears can probably sense something, like sharks in the ocean can pick up irregular movement. One two three four five six seven eight. The sky is darkening again. Somewhere in the distance Bunny hears thunder getting ready, like a giant clearing his throat. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. She could really go for a handful of Chiclets. That was partly why she brought so many quarters, Chiclet machines. They were good for energy and for getting cheered up, so sweet and interesting in her mouth.
Anyway, there aren’t any bears around here.
She passes a bunch of red trash, paper cups and hot dog wrappers. Somebody threw their stuff out of a car, how nasty. She rides over a paper cup just for fun. She loves her bike, she wishes she could make it rear up like a stallion on its hind legs. She is letting her bike weave big S’s all over the road since there aren’t any cars. WELCOME TO AUGSVILLE POP. 653 reads a sign on her left with three bullet holes through it. The road changes into a street, Augsville. Bunny slows down and drives straight. How small. A few little stores, and a post office. There is a luncheonette sort of place called Paul’s with a green-and-white striped awning which looks friendly and old-fashioned. She stops there, leaning Old Paint (it is embarrassing, but she has named her bike) against a little tree out front. The sidewalk is cracked. It feels weird to be off the bike at first, as if she doesn’t know how to walk on the earth, as if she is five miles high and her feet are down there, so far away she can barely feel them. A bell chimes when she opens the screen door. It smells nice inside, like ice-cream-scoop water and peppermint toothpaste. The worn wooden floor is so slanty that if Bunny dropped a marble it would roll to the back of the store. There are two aisles that go to the back, where she sees the cash register and a lunch counter, on the right.
“Hi there.”
“Oh hi.” Bunny looks over to see a woman behind the luncheonette counter. She’s wearing a pink-and-white checked dress with white buttons. Above her pocket it says June in flowery red script. The soda fountain is green Formica with red stools and a mirror on the wall behind. You could sit here and stare at yourself while you sucked up a black and white.
“Haven’t seen you around.” June is wiping the counter.
“No,” says Bunny. “I haven’t been here before.”
“Don’t fall for the quarter.”
“What?”
June points to a silvery circle on the floor. “The quarter. See it?” Bunny nods and starts to bend down. “No. You try to pick it up and then you get a shock.”
“Hasn’t worked in years, Junie,” comes a man’s voice from the back of the store. “You know that.”
“Oh, well, I won’t try anyway. I already have some quarters.” Bunny jingles her pockets.
“Looking for anything special?” June speaks again. She is leaning on the counter now, her chin in her hands. Why does everybody ask questions?
“Not really. Is there, like, a makeup section?”
“Nothing fancy sweetheart, go past the depilatories. No. Yes. Now look to your left.”
Bunny picks out an emerald green waterproof masacara. There is a rack of postcards next to the makeup and Bunny takes her time choosing one. Most of them are of fishermen catching fish, but there is one of a waterfall and Bunny buys that and a ballpoint pen. Bunny walks down another aisle past shaving cream and shampoo and stops in front of the toothpaste. “I don’t know how I could have left my toothbrush back at my aunt’s,” she says moments later, laying everything out on the counter in the back of the store. Bunny smiles at the gray-haired man behind the cash register but he isn’t looking at her, he is pricing the toothpaste. “Two packs of Marlboros please.”
To Bunny’s relief he rings up the cigarettes, no questions asked. He even throws in a book of matches. Bunny pays and thanks him and then she walks over and sits at the lunch counter. There is a man with a bunch of keys hanging off his belt sitting at the farthest over stool. He is leaning over his plate. His back is so broad, he reminds Bunny of Mook—god, he could be Mook’s long-lost brother or something. June is filling his coffee cup. Bunny minds her own business and and takes out her postcard and new pen. “Dear Merle,” she writes in very tiny print, “Wish you were here. I’ll see you pretty soon I hope. Love, Bunny.” And then she makes up an address: “1314 Fountain Road, New Hope Pa.” That is in case anybody is watching. She doesn’t know Merle’s address.
“What can I do you for?” June is standing in front of her now, holding her pad and pencil.
“Could I have a Coke please?” Bunny covers the postcard with her left hand.
“Anything to go with that? Cheeseburger, honey? BLT?”
“Oh, no thanks,” says Bunny, sliding the card and the pen back into the paper bag. “Just a Coke.” She is suddenly wondering if Merlie had come this way and sat here on this exact green stool and looked at this exact same worn spot on the counter. Bunny would like to think so, it makes her feel closer to Merle. Maybe some of Merle’s molecules are still in the air, even. Bunny takes a deep breath. The waitress sets a Coke down in front of her. “Thank you,” says Bunny.
“Don’t mention it.”
Bunny is thinking about Merle so hard that she is sure Merle was actually here. She wants to ask them if anybody remembers seeing her, but it was a while ago now. She wonders if Merle came in and maybe mentioned where she was headed. Bunny frowns. She always comes up against the ice here. She sticks her hand in the pocket and feels the button. It is soft and smooth in her hand. She should be looking for another sign, but so far there is nothing besides a hunch. She shivers a little, and digs into her knapsack to make sure her jacket is still there. The scarf. Her tarp. It has begun to rain.
“Bob’s got his raffle again,” says June, looking out the window. “Gonna ask us to buy a five-dollar ticket to a two-dollar show. What do I want with a free hairdo anyway. My sister owns the damn beauty parlor. I can get it for free anytime.” June pats her short blond hair.
“Is that so,” snickers the man five stools down eating a hamburger. Ketchup spurts out and Bunny thinks of Dracula. “Hey, Paulie. June says she can get it for free anytime. What do you say to that?” From somewhere in the back the other man laughs. “Tell me where, honey,” he says. “Just tell me where.”
“Can it,” says June. She lights a cigarette and blows an enormous smoke ring that hovers in the air as big as a hubcap. Bunny can’t take her eyes off it. While she’s watching June blows another smaller ring right through the big one. “You meeting someone, honey?”
“Yes. At the corner over there,” she says. “My father. We’re from New York City,” she adds, as if that explains everything.
“Tell you why I asked. Got a couple of doughnuts going begging. You take them with you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Honey,” says Bunny. “I know it’s a weird name, but that’s what my daddy wanted to call me the second I was born. ‘Isn’t she a honey,’ those were his exact words.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a fine daddy,” said June, stubbing her cigarette out. “You tell him I said hi, will you?”
“Sure,” says Bunny. “Sure I will.”
“Because good daddies are few and far between,” says June, raising her voice a little bit and glancing toward the back of the store. “Wouldn’t you say that was right, Paul,” she says.
“Relax,” says the invisible Paul.
“You be sure and tell him honey, won’t you?” June is wiping the counter again with a big rag. Slap slap. Although it is already clean.
“Oh yes, I will,” says Bunny. She hesitates, but she likes June and she can feel Merle around her in this place. “You know, I think my sister might have passed through this way,” says Bunny. “It was about a year ago? Maybe a little more than a year ago.” Bunny ticks off months on her fingers, although she knows exactly how many months it has been. Fourteen.
“Not that many folks pass this way,” says June.
“She’s taller than me and much more, you know, filled out, and she has hair that goes all the way down her back.”
“I don’t recall. Fourteen months is a long time even in this sleepy little bugtown, sweetheart. Where is she now?”
“Really red hair.” Bunny says. Bunny looks into the mirror now and sees a shadowy shape. Bunny holds her breath and doesn’t move, waiting for Merle to say something, afraid to turn around. Her heart is beating and beating. Outside it is thundering and lightning again. Merle, is that you Merle?
“There was the terrible thing a while back.” The hamburger man is talking with his mouth full. “Over by New Hope, wasn’t it? That girl they found strangled? Terrible.”
“You okay, sweetheart?” asks the waitress, whose cool hand is by now covering Bunny’s own. “You look a little woozy there. We don’t allow fainting in here, do we, Paul.”
“I’m okay. Got to go now.” The shape is gone.
June protests but Bunny is already halfway to the door. She is mad at herself. She can usually tell when somebody is going to say something she doesn’t want to hear. But she didn’t see it coming.
Outside it is raining hard, like little eggs coming down, splashing.
YOU LEAVE TRACES of yourself, Bunny thinks, everywhere you’ve been. Silvery shapes. She has thought hard about it, because to tell the truth this isn’t the only time she has seen Merle. The first time was on the bus that goes up Broadway. Bunny had been outside the Cathedral Market. There in the third window, her face against the glass, was Merle. She hadn’t smiled, she hadn’t waved, she had just fixed her eyes on Bunny. She’d looked sad. Bunny had run after the bus shouting and waving, but it hadn’t stopped. She misses me, Bunny says to herself, she’ll send me a sign. Bunny just has to be in the right place at the right time and presto, there will be Merle. Maybe Merle has opened an embroidery business in New Hope, with a changed name. Maybe Bunny will walk across a little green bridge and find her there, maybe her hair cut short, maybe dyed black. Anything can happen.
THE AUGSVILLE SUD-Z Laundromat is set back off the street, with a parking lot out front. Bunny is sitting on a bench against the back wall pretending to be doing a crossword puzzle while pretending to be waiting for wash. Outside it is raining cats and dogs. There were a few people here when she first came in but nobody noticed Bunny. Everybody was busy folding. Except one boy who was stuffing a sopping wet blanket into a dryer. It dripped on the floor and nobody said anything. Then he left.
Bunny can see the blanket going around in the dryer, probably still wet. Everyone is gone now except one mother and her baby. The mother’s mouth looks like a dent in her face, and her hair is separated into greasy strands and her arms are fat but she is wearing a sleeveless shirt and too tight shorts. The baby is skinny. The woman is trying to get stuff out of the dryer and into one of those big carts but the baby cradled in her left arm keeps crying. It sounds as if it can’t get enough air to scream, so it just quacks like a duck. Finally the woman sighs, holds the baby with both arms, and goes to stand at the back door, which is propped open by a chair. Bunny watches her patting the baby’s back. Beyond the door Bunny can see a rusted metal picnic table and a couple of plastic chairs. Rain falling all over everything. After a while the child quiets down. Bunny looks at her watch. It is only two-thirty. Bunny hates two-thirty. What a nothing time.
Bunny isn’t sure what to do next. She is waiting for a sign. The crossword puzzle was lying on the bench when she came in and she hoped it had a message for her. But all of the questions are about golf. One of the filled-in blanks says IGOR and another NED. All the rest of them say ROLAND. Roland can’t be the answer to everything, and besides the name is squeezed in when there are only three spaces. But who knows. Bunny doesn’t do crosswords. That was Merle’s specialty. “What’s a four-letter word for asshole,” Merle whispered to Bunny once. “Mook,” was the answer, and Bunny had giggled until she’d almost peed her pants. That was a couple of years ago, when everything was okay. Now the world is enormous, full of small black roads that hardly go anywhere. She wishes she could take a hot shower. She thinks about the bathroom back home, with Mook’s razor and toothbrush. “Mook likes his coffee with milk in the A.M.” her mother had said, as if Bunny gave a good goddamn. She’d like to serve him up a nice hot cup of dog piss and see how he liked that.
“You want a tissue?” A soft voice startles Bunny. She realizes she is sitting forward on the bench with her shoulders hunched up and her hands under her thighs and is just staring at nothing whatsoever in the shape of a washing machine. She touches her face, which is wet as if she has been crying. The crossword has slid to the floor.
“I’ve got a diaper you can use.” The fat mother is holding a cloth out to her. Bunny sees she is young.
“Thanks,” says Bunny, wiping her eyes.
“You can keep it,” says the mother. “I’ve got plenty more.” She is piling things into a yellow laundry cart and pushing them over to the table in back for folding. The baby is asleep.
“What a cute baby,” says Bunny, to be polite.
“Looks like his old man. Bald as a bat.” The woman smiles a little. Still, her mouth is kind of caved in. Bunny watches her fold the diapers expertly, she watches her fold up the tiny baby clothes and a couple of crib sheets. She folds up some large underpants and a tremendous pair of shorts, bright red. She is just going along as if everything were normal and yet she is so terrible looking.
“Want some help?” Bunny asks.
“I got it, thanks,” the woman replies, her chin holding one end of a towel to her chest, managing to fold it up neatly with her left hand while her right arm holds the sleeping baby. “You get good at this.” She smiles again. She doesn’t have any top teeth, that’s what’s the matter.
Five minutes later the woman is ready to leave, everything folded and put in a green laundry basket. “Bye-bye,” she says.
“Oh, bye-bye.” Bunny waves to them, the baby asleep on his mother’s shoulder.
She feels a little weird now that she has the whole place to herself. Only one washing machine still going and as Bunny sits listening to it spin, it stops. There isn’t any noise at all now except the fan and the dryer with the blanket. She doesn’t want to just sit here but she doesn’t know exactly what to do and she is tired of her boring mind, which has nothing in it she wants to think about. She digs around in the knapsack and unearths the foil-wrapped brownie. She looks to make sure nobody is watching her through the window, then she breaks off a big piece and pops it into her mouth. It tastes so weird, kind of like mud. Now she lights a cigarette. Chocolate makes you want to smoke. Maybe she should throw a few things into a washer. Her sneakers, for instance. They’re starting to smell bad and her feet feel slimy. She gets up and buys some packets of soap from a machine on the wall. Just for fun and because she has so many quarters she drops one sneaker in one washer and the other sneaker in another. She wishes she could wash her clothes but she has nothing to change into. There is nothing in her knapsack to wear except her jacket, unless you count the tarp. At least it’s summer and she doesn’t need much. And the linoleum feels cool under her bare feet. Now she is thinking about Merle’s flip-flops. They were the color of red peppers or paprika or those teeny tiny red spiders that you sometimes see, but they weren’t meant for running. The last time Bunny saw Merle she was running. “Go home, Bunny,” she had yelled, as if she were angry with Bunny. “Don’t follow me now.”
“But your shoes!” Bunny had held one up.
Merle hadn’t turned around again. Fourteen months ago Merle crossed the street barefoot and turned the corner down Broadway.
Suddenly Bunny feels bad for her sneakers. They must feel so all alone tumbling around in the great big machines with no other company. She walks over to the big table against the wall where all the lost-and-found stuff is. There are a lot of socks. She throws a couple of socks in with one sneaker, a couple more with the other. Company. Then she goes back to the table and picks one-handed through the pile, holding her cigarette off to the side. Maybe there is something here she could wear while she washed and dried her clothes. Bunny pauses, the cigarette in her right hand, a graying Dacron blouse in her left. Sometimes sad clothes space her right out. She drops it back on the table. She picks up a Mickey Mouse T-shirt with a huge stain on the front. Maybe she could wear that, it comes down to her knees. She stands there picking off the pinkish gray lint. Then quickly she pulls the big T-shirt over her head like a tent and slips out of her jeans. She pulls on a pair of purplish lost-and-found slacks, which fit okay, a little big. Then she throws her clothes into a third washer (good thing she brought so many quarters) and sits back down on the bench, the crossword puzzle in her lap. She feels a little strange sitting in somebody else’s clothes. What if they come in and demand them back? She wishes Merle would show up soon, or at least send her some message. Her cigarette is burned down to the filter, balanced on the edge of the lost-and-found table, where she left it.
In the bottom of her knapsack is one postcard from Merle. It is dated almost fourteen months ago to the day. Bunny almost never looks at the postcard because it is already so worn and wrinkled from when she used to look at it all the time. Now she keeps it wrapped in tin foil and sealed in a Baggie. She thinks about looking at it now. But why? She already knows what it says. It’s just she likes to touch the ink. The postmark was New Hope.
Merle ran away on a Saturday morning. Bunny was already up and eating toast and jelly in the kitchen. Momma was in a bad mood because there wasn’t any milk for Mook’s coffee. Merle had come into the kitchen wearing a pair of cutoffs and a boob tube and Momma had looked at her and her mouth had gone tight and her eyes had gotten little. She tried to stare Merle down. Merle opened the icebox and looked for the milk. “Out of milk?” she asked casually. She must have just come out of the shower because her hair was wet and hung down her back, starting to go curly the way it always did when it dried. Momma’s hair was like Bunny’s, kind of boring, although she gave herself permanents.
“And I wonder who drank it up,” said Momma, banging her glass down on the table.
“Wasn’t me, don’t look at me.” said Merle. “Mook’s the one drinks the milk around here.” Merle was cracking eggs into a bowl.
“He didn’t touch the milk.”
Merle opened the drawer and took out a fork. “Want some French toast, Bunzie?” Merle asked.
“She’s eating already,” snapped their mother.
“Take it easy, Mom,” said Merle, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She turned her back to her mother and a big patch of bare skin showed through the ass of her shorts.
That was all Momma could stand and she started yelling tramp this and tramp that, and what did she think she was doing wearing clothes like that. Bunny stared immediately at her toast. The jelly made purple mountains majesties on her toast. Above the fruited plain. Bunny hated fights. Momma kept yelling and the louder Momma screamed the softer Merle answered, which drove Momma crazy. “I’m an expert at Mother,” Merle liked to say. “Watch her turn bright red and sputter like a goddamn firework.” But she said it without smiling.
“I know what you’re doing,” Momma began to scream. “You’re coming on to Mook!” Bunny picked up the last of her toast and went into the living room.
“Mook? Coming on to Mook? In his dreams!” Merle started to laugh.
Bunny heard a crash, and then a yell. She ran back to the kitchen. The bowl of eggs was knocked to the floor and Merle had a handprint across her cheek. “Look what she’s holding! She’s threatening me!” yelled Momma, pointing at Merle. Merle had the fork in her hand.
“You hit me,” said Merle evenly. “Don’t hit me again.” And then Mook came lumbering down the hall.
“What the hell is this?” He stood in the doorway in his undershirt and shorts. He stared at Merle, who still held the fork. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
“She’s threatening me,” Mother said, grabbing Mook’s big arm and pointing to Merle. Merle looked from Momma to Mook and back again.
“I didn’t touch you,” she said to Momma.
“Look at the way she’s holding that fork! Just look at the look on her face!” Momma was beginning to scream again. “I want to call the cops. Call the cops, Mook. I want her out of here. I want her in custody.” Mook moved toward Merle.
“Is that what you want, Merle?” Mook took a step forward.
Merle rolled her eyes but her chin was trembling. Then she put the fork on the counter. “I’m out of here,” she said, taking her jacket off the back of the chair. “I’m history. I’m smoke.”
“What did I tell you,” screamed Momma.
“Where are you going?” Bunny asked when Merle brushed past. Momma began screaming again and Mook yelled at Merle to stop right there or not bother coming back. “Wait up! Merle!” Bunny started down the stairs after her. She heard Mook saying, “Girl is out of control,” just before her momma slammed the door. But it had looked to Bunny like Merle was crying. Even from the back Bunny was sure Merle was crying, only Merle never cried. Bunny felt very strange. Everything was wrong.
“Don’t follow me, Bunny!” Merle had yelled, the only time she had ever raised her voice to Bunny, and Bunny had stopped on the sidewalk. Dead in her tracks.
ONE TWO THREE four five six seven eight. Nine washing machines. Five dryers and three really big dryers. A bulletin board with six red thumbtacks and eleven white ones. Counting things works when she feels weird. She makes herself go out front and buy an RC cola, the nice tumbling sound of the can coming from somewhere deep inside and winding up in the little bin down below, frosty and cold. The sneaker machines are done and Bunny fishes them out along with the socks. She throws them in the same dryer. Wham clunkity boom boom boom. Sneakers make a lot of noise. The dryer with the big blanket has stopped. Bunny opens it and touches the blanket, which is still damp. Out of kindness she puts in three more quarters and the blanket starts up again, whirling and plopping, whirling and plopping.
Bunny sits on the bench and puts her head between her knees and her hands over her ears. She is getting the tiny dot feeling. This is where Bunny suddenly feels like a tiny dot in the middle of everything so big and her only this tiny dot. It makes her need to not move. She has gotten used to the slippery ice feeling, but not the tiny dot feeling. It is worse. She would like to make herself walk around and look at things but it is dangerous to get off the chair. She doesn’t make a sound either, once she tried talking but it was like her voice was coming from a corner of the ceiling, far away. That was terrible, because she knew she was going crazy. In her mind she says, Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but it doesn’t work, the words just fall away from her like scraps.
IT IS GETTING dark now and Bunny is still in the Laundromat. At the moment she is holed up in the utility closet, which contains a big metal bucket with a wringer and a mop and a couple of bags of maybe lint or something, she isn’t sure. Her forehead feels hot and her arms feel shaky. She should never have gotten herself in the hiding mood because it is so hard to get out of it. She hopes nobody will want to use anything in here. She is wrapped in the boy’s blanket (which he never came back for and she figures is now partly hers) and she must have been asleep because her watch says seven-thirty. It glows in the dark. She pictures herself in a little gray tepee. In her lap she’s got her knapsack and the crossword puzzle book. For a while she was just giggling in here, but that stopped and she fell asleep. You can’t always tell what kind of mood you’ll be in. There’s no way to exactly regulate the amount of brownie that works to make you feel sleepy and good.
She has heard people come and go. Sometimes their footsteps come right next to the closet door like when they stand by the soap machine. “Where is your sister!” she imagines somebody pushing the door open and shouting. Now she hears dryers banging open and closed one after another. Somebody is out there. She gets way under the blanket and curls up as small as she can. If only there were coats she could hide behind. Somebody is standing right outside the closet door. Did she leave a trail? Is she, like, phosphorescent? The next thing she knows the door is being pulled open.
“What the hell is this?” A boy’s voice. “That’s mine,” he says, pulling the blanket off her head. Bunny’s hair is all staticky and she can’t see because the light is so bright with the door open.
“I didn’t know it was yours.” Bunny’s voice sounds rusty.
“I left that sucker in a dryer.” He is staring at her. “What are you doing in the closet?”
“You don’t have to yell.” She shades her eyes to look at him but she has to squint because the light is so bright behind him. She doesn’t know what else to say and neither of them speak.
“I don’t appreciate thieves.” He holds the blanket up now, inspecting it for damage. As if Bunny might have chewed holes in it like a moth or a dog. Then he looks more carefully at her. She is still sitting on the floor. “Well, no hard feelings.” As he speaks he begins to fold the blanket into smaller and smaller squares.
Bunny wishes she had put on her mascara. She had had all the time in the world to fix her face and instead she fell asleep. She tries to brush the hair out of her eyes but it is still full of static from the blanket. Everything tickles and both her feet are asleep. She can’t even stand up yet. It is so embarrassing.
“You been here long?” He has curly hair and his face gets twisted when he smiles. Her eyes are adjusting.
“I was on a trip with my father but I got lost,” she says.
“Uh-huh.” He looks about fifteen. He is tall and kind of skinny with a red shirt on and jeans.
“Where is Augsville,” she asks after a silence. “I mean, like, what is it near that I’ve heard of.”
“Depends what you’ve heard of. We’re a long way from gay Paree.”
“I mean which side of the river is it on.”
“That depends on the river.”
“The Hudson?”
“We’re west of the Hudson. Fifty, sixty miles.”
“The Delaware?”
“We’re east of the Delaware. Couple miles. Where are you headed?”
“I was on my way to New Hope. My dad and I are meeting people there and possibly my sister.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“We were supposed to meet there. My bike is outside.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bunny.”
“What’s your real name.”
“That is my real name. Bunny.”
“My name is Roland.” He reaches down to shake hands.
“I was just washing my sneakers.” His hand is very warm.
“Roland?” A woman’s voice. Bunny shrinks back against the wall.
“Hey. June-bug.” Roland pushes the closet door partly shut with his foot.
“You seen anybody belongs to this bike?”
“Blue bike out there?”
“Yeah. You seen anybody?” June’s voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming closer.
“Like who. I’ve seen lots of anybodys today.”
“No need to get smart, Roland. You see a girl maybe fourteen, fifteen you give me a call, will you? Brown hair, not much meat on her. Jeans. A big green knapsack stuffed with god knows what. You hear?”
“Runaway. I thought she’d taken off but maybe she’s still around somewhere. Nobody in here when you came in tonight?”
“Do you see anybody?” He shrugs. “Place looks empty to me.”
Bunny eyes are shut tight. She hates questions. She hates it when people are too nice.
“She had some cock-and-bull story about her daddy meeting her later. But she keeps worrying my mind. If you see her, give me a call. She might need a place to stay.”
“Sure thing.”
“Just call down to the store. Roland? You still got that dog, for cripes’ sakes?”
“Dog’s got me, what can I tell you.”
“Put it to sleep, Roland. Take my advice. No life for a dog.” Bunny hears the door bang shut.
He opens the closet door. “You running away?”
“Of course not,” says Bunny. She is trying to stand up but her feet are to the ticklish part where it feels like they’re made out of electric hairbrushes.
“Listen, Bunny,” says Roland. “They shut this place in half an hour. You want a place to sleep tonight? Bunny?” Roland’s hand is on her arm. She wonders if he can tell what she is thinking. She is thinking, could she stab him with her tiny scissor if she had to? She hates what her mind thinks. She needs to sit still and hold her head in her hands. Otherwise she might go crazy in some different new way. Her thoughts are tiny airplanes crashing into each other in the big space inside her head. Whirr whirr crash plop. Now they are lying on little cots with the covers up to their chins. They are in the thought hospital. Some of them move their feet under the sheets but they are pale as ghosts or the white part of bacon.
“Bunny?” He keeps interrupting her. “I know a place you can crash for the night.”
Crash. Bunny almost giggles.
“Are you okay?”
No answer from Bunny. She needs to hold her head still in her hands.
“Hey! What’s the matter?” Roland is leaning down so close she can feel his breath. “Is something wrong? You feel sick?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll be okay.” Her voice sounds husky and she still has her face hidden in her hands. “Sometimes I get a little weirded out.”
“Hey. Don’t we all. Listen. They’re closing the Laundromat soon.”
“My feet are asleep,” she says. “I can’t walk right.”
Bunny gets to her feet with Roland’s help and they slip out the back.
“WHERE’S YOUR FOLKS?” asks Bunny. They are standing in a tiny kitchen. The sink is filled with dishes and a pot on the stove is crusty with old chili. “Do you live here all by yourself?”
“My dad totaled himself,” says Roland casually, making the motion of tipping a bottle to his lips and drinking.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Happened years ago.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“And my mom is away. I always clean up just before she gets back and I don’t sleep in the house until she comes home. I sleep in the car.”
“What kind of car?”
“It’s a seventy-five Chevy station wagon. It’s out back. It’s an antique.”
A station wagon. Bunny was just thinking about station wagons the other day. Maybe this is a sign that she is on the right track.
Roland is still talking. “My dog lives in the car. My mom isn’t a dog person really.”
“Is she coming back tonight?” Bunny picks up the lid of a brown teapot and puts it back. The tea inside has a green bubble floating on it.
“She had a little breakdown. She’s pretty highly strung. But I’m old enough to take care of myself.” Roland frowns. He is opening and closing cupboard doors.
“Did she ever feel tiny? Like a dot?”
Roland tosses her a bag of potato chips. His eyes are really brown. “I don’t know. When she gets that way she doesn’t talk. You hungry?” Roland now opens the fridge. “When she comes home she only eats graham crackers and milk,” he says. “So we can’t eat those. Hey. I know. How about sour-cream-and-onion-soup dip? I’ve got a lot of that. Yeah. Here it is.” He brings out a container.
“I love onion dip,” says Bunny.
“Then we’ll just grab those chips and head out to the car. You want to grab a couple of Cokes from the fridge?” He turns out the lights. “You done in here?”
It is getting dark. Cricket sounds are everywhere. There are the lights from another house through the trees. They descend the three sagging porch steps and go out to the garage in the back. There is the station wagon. It is dark green with fake wood. Roland opens the front door and Bunny looks inside. There is a small dog on the seat.
“What’s his name?”
Roland goes around to the other side and slips into the driver’s seat. “Buster.”
Roland’s right hand is resting gently on the dog’s head. Bunny can see now that it’s only with great effort that the dog is sitting up. He keeps trembling and sliding back to lying down. One hind leg shakes and shakes. “Poor thing,” she says.
“He’s okay. He’s just under the weather, that’s all.”
“His nose is awfully dry,” says Bunny, reaching out a hand. “Isn’t that a sign that he’s sick?” But Roland doesn’t seem to have heard her. “Maybe he should drink a little water.”
“He won’t drink. I don’t think he’s thirsty. I don’t like to bother him too much, you know? He just likes to lay his head on my lap like this and rest. Good dog.” Roland smooths the hair on his head, and runs his hand gently down the dog’s flank. The dog shivers with pleasure. He sits down on the seat next to Buster, moving the animal very carefully onto his lap.
“I think maybe he should go to the vet.”
“I already did that.” Roland looks down at Buster. “Hey Buster, who’s my boy, huh, who’s my best dog, Buster. See that?” Bunny sees the dog’s tail wag slightly. “Climb in the back. You can stretch out and there’s a pillow too.” Bunny settles herself, putting her knapsack on the floor of the car. Roland is fussing with something in Buster’s ear. “Shit,” he says softly. “Is that a goddamn tick? How’d you get a tick, Buster?” His voice is so gentle.
“You should use tweezers. You could get sick from ticks. I had one in my ear once. My sister took it out with tweezers.” Bunnny opens the sack of potato chips.
“Your sister isn’t here and neither are her tweezers. Hold still, boy.” Roland’s hands are nice and calm. Bunny watches him carefully feeling around the dog’s ear.
“Oh. She ran away one time and she hasn’t come back yet. She can’t write because then my mother would know where she is. She could have her traced by the postmark.” Bunny talks with her mouth full.
Roland doesn’t say anything. He takes a flashlight out of the glove compartment. It has gotten dark. “No kidding,” he finally says.
“She wants me to know where she is but she doesn’t dare write. I only got one postcard. She and my mother got in these tremendous fights and she got sick of it. She needs to live her own life.” Another three potato chips disappear into Bunny’s mouth. She is so hungry and these are so salty and good.
Roland is shining the light in the animal’s ear. “It’s nothing. Good dog.” He looks back at her. “When did she leave?”
“Oh, a couple of months ago I think. A year. Maybe a little longer.” Bunny leans against the pillow. The seat is very soft.
Roland puts the flashlight back in the glove compartment. “That’s plenty of time to get her shit together.”
“Maybe something happened to her.”
“No. She sends me messages.”
“Messages? You mean she calls you up?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. My mother could trace the call. She leaves me clues. I found a button, for instance. And a scarf.”
“Like a scavenger hunt?” Something in his voice sounds like a joke and Bunny doesn’t feel like talking anymore.
“It isn’t funny.”
“What did the postcard say.”
“You wouldn’t understand. It was in code.”
“Try me.”
Bunny shakes her head. “It’s private.”
“Why are you suddenly looking for her now?”
“I don’t know,” says Bunny. “I guess I didn’t know I could before.”
“What did you say your sister’s name was?”
But suddenly Bunny doesn’t want to tell.
“Honey,” she says. “Honey-Lou Simmons.”
“Never heard of her,” says Roland. “Pass me some chips.” He passes the container of dip over the backseat. Bunny makes a little pile of potato chips in her lap and takes the dip. They eat for a while, passing the dip back and forth over the seat. She snaps open a Coke and hands the other to Roland.
“Thank you very much,” she says shyly. “This is so good.”
“Buster usually likes this too but he isn’t hungry tonight. Are you, Buster.”
They are both quiet. The dog sighs.
“Do you know how to get there? To New Hope?” Bunny asks after a silence.
“You get on the River Road and you pedal like crazy.”
“Where is the River Road?”
“Not so far,” says Roland. “Maybe I’ll show you myself tomorrow. Right now it’s time for some shut-eye. Scared of the dark?”
“Not too much.”
“Personally, I like the dark.”
“I don’t mind it either.”
“Hey. Horse walks into a bar.”
“What?”
“Horse walks into a bar. Bartender asks, ‘Why the long face?’” Roland starts to laugh. “That cracks me up every time. ‘Why the long face?’”
“I don’t get it.”
“Nothing to get. That’s the beauty of it. A horse has a long face. He can’t help it.”
“Oh.”
“Never mind. If you get cold there’s a blanket back there.”
Bunny curls up under the big gray blanket. Cricket sounds are everywhere.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” whispers Bunny, but Roland doesn’t answer.
Once Merle had kissed Bunny right on the lips. Bunny was missing her dad really bad, even though she hadn’t seen him since she was, like, four, she could still remember him and sometimes it made her so sad and nobody knew where he was either, and Bunny pictured him all alone and begging with a cup somewhere and nobody even looking at him and rain coming down and she began to cry and Merle said, “What’s the trouble, bubble?” and Bunny said, “I miss my daddy” and Merle had gotten such a funny look and she had held Bunny’s chin in her hand and tipped her face up and bent down and kissed her directly right on her mouth. Bunny had thought Merle’s lips tasted like the softest thing she’d ever felt, nothing in the world was as soft as Merle’s lips, no wonder boys went crazy for her, and she hadn’t known what to do or say after. She had stopped crying and wiped her face and then they had gone downtown for pizza.
WHEN BUNNY WAKES up and looks at her watch it is seven-thirty. It is so quiet except for the woods sounds that she thinks at first Roland must still be asleep, lying down in the front. She peeks over the front and he is gone—only the dog is there, lying still. She watches very carefully until she can discern the faint rise and fall of breath by his rib cage. “Poor doggie,” she whispers. There is a note on the dashboard. “Back soon. Gone to get supplies.” She rubs her eyes and opens the car door, closing it behind her softly so as not to scare the dog. She takes her knapsack and goes into the house to use the bathroom. There is tooth powder, not toothpaste, on the sink and the bottom of the can has left a couple of rusty ovals. On a shelf above the sink is a bottle of Cornhusker’s Lotion and Bunny tries to take the top off to sniff but it is rusted shut. She looks in the mirror and smiles. Her teeth aren’t yellow yet. She combs her hair with her fingers. She washes her face and dries it with her T-shirt as there aren’t any towels in the bathroom except one that she thinks might have once been used for the dog. There isn’t even any toilet paper in the bathroom but instead a box of torn-up magazines and newspapers.
As she is brushing her teeth such a terrible thought comes into her head. What if Merle has been living all this time in New Hope? What if she is living there happily and didn’t want to send for Bunny? What if she never even thinks about Bunny at all and doesn’t care if she ever sees Bunny again? This is such a terrible thought that Bunny has to sit down on the edge of the tub and empty her knapsack. There at the bottom, under the scarf and the tarp and her embroidered jacket is the little thin package containing the postcard. She takes it out, unwrapping its many layers.
Dear Bunzie,
It’s beautiful. Wish you were here.
XO Merle.
Bunny’s fingers touch the writing and she presses her face against it. Then she turns it over. The front of the card is a green bridge over a blue river and a ballpoint X in the sky with an arrow pointing down to the middle of the bridge. “X marks the spot,” it says in Merle’s tiniest handwriting, “where I’m writing this.” The postmark was New Hope. Bunny holds the card against her ear as if it might whisper something to her.
“Breakfast,” says Roland, knocking on the bathroom door, startling Bunny. Hastily she puts the card back in her knapsack. “I hope you take cream and sugar because I put it in both,” he calls through the door.
“Oh, thank you,” says Bunny, “but I don’t eat breakfast.”
“You need something in your stomach if you’re going to New Hope. It’s a nice day today, perfect day for a bike ride.”
When Bunny comes into the kitchen he points proudly out the window. There in the backyard are two bikes, one green, one red. The green one has a big basket on the handlebars. Neither of them is Old Paint, but she doesn’t want to say anything. They left too fast last night to bring her own bike.
“Whose are those? “ she asks.
“Mine.” He nods. “I’m going to take you. Buster’s coming too, in the basket. He’s a water dog, lots of spaniel in him, and I think the river will do him good.”
“I didn’t think he looked too good this morning,” says Bunny. “There’s some foam coming out of his mouth.”
“I think I know my own dog,” says Roland and his tone is so sharp. She takes a big swallow of coffee.
“Here. Eat something.” He holds the bag of doughnuts out. Maybe he noticed that she got her feelings hurt. “Go on. They’ve got little jimmies on them. Coconut too. Don’t tell me you can resist a chocolate coconut doughnut.”
Bunny shakes her head.
“So are you ready to go?” he asks. “Destination New Hope?”
Bunny shrugs.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” He picks up the blanket and carries it out to the bike, where he folds it into the basket. Then he brings the dog out of the car and places him gently on top, handling him as if he were made of liquid. Bunny watches from the back steps as if this were her house and Roland were leaving. She is eating a doughnut now. “So saddle up, Bunny,” says Roland, beckoning and smiling. “We can be there in half an hour. We’ll buy some sandwiches and have a picnic. Come on. You’ll love it.” He throws one leg over the seat. Bunny hesitates. It’s like she is made of Jell-O, or holes or something. She can’t seem to get any energy all of a sudden. She didn’t know it was so close. Half an hour.
“Wait.”
“What for? You’re not ready?”
“I forgot my knapsack.” And she goes into the kitchen and comes out with it over her shoulders. But still she hesitates.
“Let’s go,” Roland drums his fingers on the handlebars.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“Maybe today isn’t the right day,” she says.
“What’s wrong with today? It might rain again tomorrow. Today is perfect. Look at that sky,” he says, pointing into the air.
“Let me think a second.”
“What’s the matter?” asks Roland. “You don’t want to go? I thought that was what you wanted to do.”
“I know. Okay. It is. Okay.” She stands there straddling the bike.
“So let’s get this show on the road.” Roland starts off down the driveway toward the street and Bunny follows.
“Let’s not go too fast,” she says.
They are on the road now, pedaling along, Roland talking to the dog in his basket and Bunny riding behind. But the ride is so short. In hardly any time they are almost there.
“Hey,” says Roland. “Steep hill coming up. New Hope in sight practically.”
Bunny wants to stop for a minute. She had no idea this would be so exciting and so scary. She wants to stop her bike and close her eyes. She wants to see if she can feel if Merle is close.
“Hey,” says Roland. “We’re there. Don’t stop now.”
“I just needed to catch my breath,” says Bunny, wishing he would be quiet. How can she concentrate if he is always talking? The sun feels nice on her face.
“Buster is happy,” says Roland. “I think he can smell the river.”
The hill is steep and they keep their brakes on all the way down. But she can see they are almost somewhere.
“Is this New Hope?” she asks but he shakes his head.
“We’re still in New Jersey. New Hope is the other side of the river. There’s a bridge up there,” says Roland, pulling over and stopping on the sidewalk. “You want to go across and start looking or get some food first? Thirsty?”
“I was kind of planning on going alone,” says Bunny. It is hard to talk because it is hard to breathe. “But I can meet you later maybe.” The town is pretty and everywhere she looks there are sweet little houses, everything looks so old and nice.
“Oh, hey. That’s okay. I get it. I’ll hang back. Don’t worry.” Roland nods a lot of times.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything,” she says.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll hang around here and catch you later. Lots of luck.” He is busy with Buster now, fussing with him and lifting him out of the basket into his arms. “Me and Buster have a river to see,” he says. “Don’t we, boy.”
“Wait. I have to be wearing this.” She reaches into her knapsack and pulls out the scarf.
“Little hot for that, isn’t it?” Roland looks puzzled.
“No, it’s just right.” Bunny smiles, putting it around her neck. Next she unpacks her jacket. The one jacket she embroidered. Merle’s name on one pocket and Bunny’s on the other. She puts it on, her back to Roland. She feels very close to Merle, very warm. Merle is here somewhere, she just knows it. Everything is going to be okay.
“Hey,” says Roland. “That’s very nice work. Did you do that yourself? Check out those rays.” Roland is looking at the back of the jacket, a sunburst, a rainbow, shooting stars, you name it.
“Most of it,” she answers. “Some of it. My sister did the back. I did the front.” She turns around to show him her name on one pocket, Merle’s on the other. A vine of flowers going up by the buttons on one side, and by the buttonholes on the other. It is really beautiful.
“You said your sister’s name was Honey-Lou,” says Roland. “Was your sister’s name Merle?” asks Roland. His face looks so funny. “Merle Cunningham? That wasn’t your sister, was it?” He is standing there with his dog in his arms, his bike leaning against a post.
Bunny doesn’t feel like answering, and her hand goes up to cover Merle’s name. “I don’t have to answer everything you ask me. I didn’t ask you what your mother’s name was.”
“Carol.”
“Carol. I don’t care what her name is. I don’t even know you.”
“Was your sister Merle Cunningham, Bunny?” Roland’s voice sounds so kind. It really makes her mad.
“Shut up!” Bunny surprises herself by screaming. There are people walking on the sidewalks but not so many. It is still early in the morning. A few of them stop to look at Bunny. “Just shut up! Why are you so nice! I hate you! And that stupid dog is going to die!” Bunny lets her bike fall right over on the sidewalk.
Roland’s face turns bright red. He kisses the top of Buster’s head.
“I know that,” he whispers.
MOMMA WAS SHAKING and she had a paper sack in her arms.
Bunny put her fingers in her ears. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you.” She didn’t raise her voice at all. She spoke calmly. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“Believe it,” screamed Momma, emptying a sack of what Bunny at first thought was trash on the table. “Believe it.” Bunny picked up Merle’s sewing things, many twists of colored thread, her tiny manicure scissors. Her jacket. Unfinished. “They found this. It was hers. Here. You take it.” Momma pushed everything into Bunny’s arms. “What do I want this shit for!”
BUNNY IS STILL crying. She’s on the bridge now. She stands there where she had planned to stand, wearing the jacket. She stands in the middle of the green bridge under the blue sky, above the blue water of the Delaware River. She imagines the little ballpoint X up in the sky over her head. Cars pass and make that humming sound on the metal grid. The bridge is like a big musical instrument. It tickles to stand here, it makes your feet tickle like crazy. Bunny leans her arms on the rail and she looks into the water, which is beautiful. A whole bunch of kids are climbing around on the grassy banks with fishing poles. There is a fat lady with cherries on her hat standing next to a tall man. Bunny is making those hiccuping sounds that come from so much crying. She looks to her right, toward New Hope, but she doesn’t see anyone. She looks up in the sky, which is also beautiful. Just like Merle said. She looks back at Roland. He is waving and waving.