User:Slyfordtrabbit/Vinewood
Vinewood
I always lock my door before I open my closet.
Everyone in Vinewood respects a rabbit's privacy. It's one of the few advantages of living in a warren as a rabbit; your stuff is your stuff, no questions asked. I always thought that ironic when I went digging in my closet, looking at all the memories of my past, a past made by Marvin Tanner, a past that Mayberry Rabbit could never hope to continue.
On the surface, of course, the closet seemed dedicated to my rabbit side. There were decorative ear shawls, ceremonial robes, photos and posters from celebrations and events past. What I wanted lurked just below that thin surface.
Hidden under my very first rabbit robe was a small, bedraggled shoebox. I pulled it out and plopped down on the closet floor, trying my best not to sit with my feet bunched under my hips, rabbit-style. Instead I let my big legs and floppy feet stretch out around the box.
I opened it and cradled its contents in my two paws.
The wrestling shoes had seen better days -- I was never very easy on my wrestling shoes, as they'd usually wear through in about six months or less. Both soles had gaping holes right where the balls of my human feet would have been. The stripes running along the sides of the shoe hung loosely off the shoe, the stitches removed via friction burn on the mat. As I set a shoe on my paw the high ankle supports fell limply to one side. The colored surfaces on the bottom of the shoe had worn through the dye and to the black rubber below.
Sighing I held the shoe up to my floppy rabbit's foot. There was simply no way I could put the shoe on again, as much as I wanted to.
Hidden behind the tongue of this shoe was a small Polaroid picture. I pulled it out and held it at arm's length; there I stood in a sweat-soaked singlet, the referee holding my hand in the air. I wore a big, tired smile, knowing the tournament was over. Two days of wrestling and I came out on top.
I can barely remember what it was like to win, nowadays. I've only spent a year in Vinewood warren and already I can't remember what it was like. Looking at my human self gradually became harder and harder, as days passed. I felt like I should identify with the furless, small-eared creature standing tall in that picture. I should know how it felt to stand there victorious.
I've forgotten how it felt.
I want it back.
"I will be back," I whispered to the picture. Then I shoved everything back into the shoebox before the lump in my throat could turn to tears.
- - -
In our warren we had family dinner twice a week, no matter what. It was a hard-wired part of our schedule; in a way, it brought us all closer to the true rabbit, what with the regularity of the whole deal, but for the most part it just served to bring the Warren as a whole closer together. We'd all sit around the big table in the neighborhood church, the does would put on a huge spread of wild greens and peppered veggies, and we'd sit around just talking and eating, as if there wasn't anything more pressing in the world to do at that very moment.
I'd enjoy it a lot more if Vinewood's chief rabbits didn't insist on putting our gene pump on display at the front of the room. On its glass specimen tank was engraved the names of every rabbit ever created by its glass cocoon. Somewhere on there was my name: Marvin turned Mayberry Rabbit. Lucky for us, there wasn't a half-mutated, mangled wreck of a human being swimming around in it's womb, joining us for dinner in spirit.
We had some new guests at family dinner. We always have new guests at our table: some from other warrens, some humans from town, some scouts from cities far and wide. Many came to try and become a part of our worry-free colony. Still others tried to take life lessons from our little world within a world and make it a part of their own lives.
I'd miss this little gathering. But then again I missed a lot of stuff from outside Vinewood's warren.
Jacob was there, too. Jacob was always there. We were good friends at school; our schedules were close to identical, so we had a lot of time to develop a pretty good rapport with each other. I invited him to a family dinner earlier this year and he kept coming back. By the spring he was being treated as an honorary rabbit; instead of the usual guest sign-ins, special table, and after-dinner meetings and sermons reserved especially for guests, he was treated to dinner and dance with the rest of the warren.
I'm sure some rabbits thought it strange to see a human face in our private gathering, but after a while he just blended in with the crowd. The rabbit ears our elders gave him didn't hurt, either. He sat beside me in the seat I saved for him. Mom and Dad greeted him with a very human handshake and a gentle smile. It had been their idea to move to Vinewood in the first place, and when the opportunity arose I jumped on it.
That was a year ago. One year! It was a very good year; every day I woke up to the pleasures of Vinewood warren, a kind of closeness that was unmatched in human circles. We all came from different backgrounds: some religious men, some philosophers, some wanderers who finally decided to settle down... but we all got along.
"We're glad to have you here," my dad said to Jacob as he sat down. "It's always a pleasure." Dad was still wearing his business suit and tie; though I was used to the idea, the whole outfit still made him look as if someone had pasted the wrong head onto the wrong figure. That's what the brokerage firm thought, too -- that is, until he started showing his skills at multiplying mutual funds.
That was a bad joke, I know. The rest of Vinewood is rubbing off on me.
Jacob had a firm, polite handshake, I noticed. He tended to be that way: firm, yet polite. From his crew-cut blonde hair to his short, stocky build his countenance stood firm in a show of absolute responsibility, the kind of look that people see once and say "That's a trustworthy guy, there." We were both that way at one time: stocky, strong, powerful. Then I went and turned myself into a rabbit.
The warren as a whole sat down to bowls of field greens; for Jacob it was a turkey on rye with a small plate of trimmings. He had tried dining in the lapine style once and it didn't settle quite well with him. We couldn't blame him; after all, most warrenmates were hardly vegetarians before they found Vinewood. It was the only real separation between the human and the rabbits, beyond the simple species barrier. We tended to try and ignore the fact out of politeness, but I could never help noticing the difference as I looked down the long dinner table, a sea of green, suddenly interrupted by this white and black place setting occupied by the human. The silhouettes and bodies were almost right when you looked down the line -- what with Jacob wearing his rabbit ear headband and all -- but we never had a good way to fix the food problem.
Jacob, ever the gentlemen, tried to show his best table manners at our gatherings. "Thanks again for fixing a special meal for me," he said, much as he did at every meal, "I know it has to be a lot of what with me here so much."
My mom smiled warmly. "It's no problem," she said in a cheerful, bubbly way, "Really. I'd never let a friend of Mayberry's starve---especially if they're trying to cut weight for the season. I wouldn't be a good mother otherwise."
"At least you folks don't cook dessert." He snarled. "Do you remember how _hard_ it is to turn down grandma's German chocolate cake?"
My dad laughed. "It wasn't that long ago. Hayseed here used to make a _mean_ chocolate cake; I'm just glad that we rabbits can't digest chocolate. She'd put the pounds on me with that thing, let me tell you!"
"I didn't force that cake on you, Sunfall" Mom flipped her lop ears out of her eyes and onto the sides of her head. I always thought she looked like a sad puppy when she wore her ears like that -- even with the calico patterning to her fur.
My dad looked offended, but before he could say a word his ears rocked back and a smile cracked his split lip. "But I'd trade any amount of chocolate cake for this life."
Mom stared off to some distant point. "Yeah. I have you, you have me..."
"We have Mayberry..." Dad winked at me. "Isn't it nice, son? Makes the gene pump worth all the trouble, when it weeds out all the bad in people. Right, son?"
I nodded half-heartedly.
Jacob jumped into the conversation; he had a gift for sensing when I needed a save from a conversation. "Yeah, Marvin says it's real nice here."
My mom chuckled for a moment. For all the experience I have it was still odd to see a calico-colored, lop-eared rabbit laugh. It just didn't look right. "Call him 'Mayberry' here, Jacob. We try to avoid using human names here."
"I understand." He turned to me. "So Mayberry, how was practice today? Ready to tear into those Cougars this weekend?"
"I'm benched again," I said with a sigh. "Coach is still waiting on that letter."
"Oh." He put a hand on my shoulder. "We'll get you back in the saddle sometime soon, Mayberry. Trust me. Dual meets just aren't the same without you."
"I bet."
"I just wish we weren't so far apart," he said. "It just isn't right, y'know? We've been buds forever. We try our best to act like nothing's changed but it's still not quite on par."
"Things have changed," I said, leaving it at that. My parents sighed and ate their greens; I'd probably have a good long talk with them when the dinner was over.
My mind churned away at something substantial to say, hoping to offset the statement I made, but before anything could form the chief rabbit stepped up onto the pew and rapped his cane against the gene pump.
Announcements.
Hazel-rah had a way of carrying himself on the podium; he always carried his staff in one hand, and a small notebook in the other. His body creaked and cracked as he moved, the result of fifty years' aging on top of an early prototype transformation technology. Even with his too-light coat of fur and not-quite-rabbit, not-quite-human features he demanded respect whenever he caught your eye.
No wonder he was in charge of the warren.
"Fellow rabbits, I am thankful for your companionship on this fine day." He started every speech like that, always in the same booming voice, always with the same twinkle of nostalgia in his eye, always resting his cane against the gene pump's various pipes and tubes so that he could grip the podium with both forepaws. It gave him a very dignified and friendly air.
"I have but two orders of business to address with you. I will try to make it quick and painless, though some of the news is a bit hard to swallow." He spoke in a dry, matter-of-fact tone that made my throat go dry with anxiety. What could possibly be bad enough for him to drop his usual friendly cheer? Death in the warren? Illness with need for collection? Retirement announcements? I waited with a baited breath as he dropped his bombshell.
"Rabbits of Vinewood warren, the US government has requested discontinuation of our way of life. We've been asked to destroy our gene pump and allow the Center for Disease Control revert our genes to the human state."
Terrified whispers surged through the crowd.
"We've expected this action for some time now; ever since we procured our own gene pump we knew it was only a matter of time before we met with the consequences of our actions." He sighed. "I wish we could have avoided this, somehow; Frith knows we've tried everything to live a happy and peaceful life, but sometimes you can't please everyone. For better or worse, life is going to change."
Hazel-rah let the silence drag on so that the realization could sink in for his fellow rabbits. Then he continued. "We could possibly fight the decision, with good lawyers. It would come at a great cost to Vinewood warren -- both monetary and psychological. These officials are serious; there could be protests, raids, vandalism..." he gulped once adding "and bodily harm." That one brought elicited a real gasp from the crowd.
"We will have a vote a week from now, at what could be our last family dinner. All rabbits will vote; if we fight, we will fight together. We will face our fate as a true warren, for better or worse." The crowd mumbled about this for a moment, then talked, then raised their voices to a fever pitch.
And with deep frown on his face Hazel-rah stumbled his way away from the podium. Light, jovial music started to flow into the room, but no one was in the mood for pleasantries.
- - -
Jacob and I left early that night. After Hazel-rah's announcement no one was in the mood to enjoy themselves, much less try to dance and socialize. We, like many sensible rabbits in that building, took to the chilly midwinter air and entertained our thoughts. As we walked the small trail that snaked around Vinewood, I sniffed rain on the air.
Jacob cleared his throat and blurted, "Your nose is cool."
"Excuse me?
"Your nose," he said again. “It twitches whenever you sniff. I was saying that it was cool.”
I laughed. “The novelty wears off really quickly. Try being a genetic freak of nature for a few months and see how long cute party tricks like that can sustain you.”
A nervous chuckle was my only reply.
I looked up to the sky; the stars were out and the moon was shining brightly. “Man, Jacob... I’ve lost almost everything to Vinewood. First it was the popularity, then it was the women, and now it’s in the wrestling room, day in, day out.”
“There’s nothing Coach can do about it,” Jacob tried to comfort him.
“I know.” My fists were clinched. “I just wish people would understand places like Vinewood better. People make the choice so they can live better lives, and all we get in return is a slap in the face. We’re not out to make a monster, you know? I’m not, at least.” A bark of a chuckle left my throat. “I guess people can’t completely eliminate the outsider from a group.”
Jacob put a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t like it here, do you?”
“Oh, I do!” As I said it I threw my arms out to the community laid out before us in the moonlit valley. “I’ve had a great year here. My parents are loving and caring, our neighbors are loving and caring, Hazel-rah is loving and caring, our way of life is loving and caring----“
“It’s too sweet.”
I nodded. “Half the time I feel like puking.”
“But it isn’t all _that_ bad. It could be worse, you know; you could live in reality, where people care only for themselves and your neighbor is neighborly just long enough to stick the knife in your back.”
“But at least I could have a little strife in my life.”
“And you could wrestle.”
“Aye.” A cute rex rabbit couple appeared over the next turn; Jacob and I kept silent as they passed by and out of earshot. “I did this for my parents. They came here on their own accord and left the option up to me.”
“I remember that day.”
“I could have easily lived in Vinewood as a human – lots of dependent kids do that here. But I wanted to go all the way. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
I sighed. “That was two months before the government started biting down on half-breed colonies like Vinewood. And then my life outside the walls started to fall apart at the seams.”
“But you got it good in here.”
“In here, yes. Life is dandy inside the walls. Every day is a lazy summer day when you have a fur coat.” I took Jacob’s parka into my paw with a smile. “I never have to worry about anything when I have friends as good as the rabbits in Vinewood.”
“But...”
“And there’s always that but.” I smiled at him. “I’m not cut out for this life. At all. Others may like the non-confrontational lifestyle inside these walls, but I need out. I need action. I need to be able to grab life by the horns and wrangle it the ground.”
“No one said you had to play nice _all_ the time.”
“Did I ever tell you about ‘the Code’?” Jacob shook his head. “Let me tell you about ‘the Code,’ then. See, this whole place is one big communist commune. And to help keep it that way all rabbits must follow ‘the Code’: never harm another living being out of spite.” I spat the words as I said them. “You know what that means? I gotta walk on eggshells and ‘work together’ whenever the opportunity presents itself. I can’t show a little ambition and go off on my own, if it means I’m going to step on anybody’s toes.”
“That could get annoying, if you had the wrong attitude about it.”
“You’re talking to Marvin Tanner, buddy. The animal on the mat? You damn well better believe I want to go for the gold, screw anyone who thinks otherwise. I want to be a winner, Jacob! I want to plow down my own path, make my own way… everything!”
”And so…?”
“I don’t want to be a rabbit anymore,” I said sternly. It felt incredibly good to say the words to someone else; saying them to the rabbit in the mirror was one thing, but to actually be out about it to somebody was an entirely different story altogether. I could see the shock in his eyes.
“Oh.” Jacob stopped walking and pulled a sheet from his parka. “And I was hoping you’d be happy to see the confirmation paper Hazel-rah handed to me today.”
- - -
My mom and dad were cheering. "We're proud of you, Jacob!" Mom squealed as she hugged him close, her ears flopping over the back of his head. There was a cake and some rabbit ear shawls waiting for him when we got back from our walk; apparently Hazel-rah bent the sacred rule of secrecy among the confirmed. Then again, when your warren's in danger of being wiped off the face of the Earth what's a little slip here or there?
They let Jacob stay the night. They never let my friends from school stay the night, lest they were rabbits. It was another rule designed to keep Vinewood warren a safe and tight community. It may have annoyed some younger kits -- myself included -- but at least the riff-raff didn't get inside our walls and do some real damage. With all the real-world spite towards rabbit morphs it was a very realistic step.
Dad embraced my friend as soon as my mom let go. "It'll all be worth it when the gene pump works its magic, you'll see. It dulls all those terrible, evil human impulses we get from time to time: greed, envy, hatred, and even a bit of that competitive spirit. It opens your eyes so you can see the real world for the very first time."
"I am very excited to see that," Jacob said. He beamed and put the ear shawls onto his fake rabbit ears. They looked good on him. My parents made sure he knew that, too; myself, I'm not enough a fan of ear shawls to pay compliments. For Jacob, though...
"They look good on you," I said. The words tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Thanks." He offered his hand to me, I took it half-heartedly. "I've already talked to my parents about this; they want me to live under a trusted roof. Yours was their first choice."
My mom tensed, like any woman on the verge of an exciting announcement.
And, with all the airs of a true gentlemen, Jacob turned to her. "Mrs. Rabbit, would it be too much trouble to take me in as a kit?"
She squealed and swept the still-human boy into her arms tightly. "Absolutely!" she managed between joyous tears and laughter, "I'll care for you as if you were one of my own." Women. I'll never understand how they get off on this sugary-sappy situational stuff. I was glad Jacob could possibly live with us, sure.
But it was sure going to throw a wrench into my plans.
Dad dove under the cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of champagne. "I know you boys are too young to drink," he said as he searched for a corkscrew, "but I think today calls for a celebration. Don't you, dear?"
"Absolutely." It was all she could really say when she was this flushed. I could see more red in her ears than I had ever seen before. I should have declined the toast; if I had my way Jacob wouldn't have the chance to join our little warren in perfect rabbity harmony. But a drink's a drink to a high school kid.
"I really shouldn't," Jacob said at last. He held his hands up to protest. "I have a match in two days, and I still have to make weight..."
"One flute isn't going to hurt you." Mom flung open the good china cabinet and retrieved four beautiful glasses. Dad poured away. "Besides, in a week you'll be in the same boat as Mayberry -- it won't matter."
I stared at him. "Yeah. Aren't you sad to see it go?"
"I've thought long and hard over it," he said coldly. "This is where I want to be."
"But----"
"Let him be," my dad warned me. "He's made his decision. It _is_ his to make, just as it was for you." He handed everyone a glass and proposed a quick toast: nothing really special or ground-breaking, just a toast.
I sighed. Sitting there I felt as if I were losing my best friend in the world. He was content to throw his future away to join a rag-tag group of rabbits living two steps outside of the law. Joining our commune would lead him to no small amount of flak from the rest of the world. We all knew what was coming. He had to know this was coming.
And yet he still had his confirmation papers in hand!
The thought was enough to make me down the entire glass in a few quick gulps.
"You will need a name," Mom chimed in. "We're more than happy to offer you help in that, if you want. We named Mayberry too----"
"That won't be necessary," Jacob interrupted. His voice felt rushed with excitement -- a veritable fervor. "I've already decided on a name."
"Oh?"
He nodded. "I want to be Fiver." Damn Richard Adams and his book! Some modern rabbits all but worshipped the man and his made-up world. I had heard enough of "Frith" and "flayrah" for two lifetimes, let alone rabbits called "Hazel" or "Bigwig" or... well... Damn it! I gnashed my teeth at the thought of calling Jacob something as asinine as "Fiver."
"That's a beautiful name," Mom agreed with him. "Many good rabbits have done great things with 'Fiver.' I'm glad you've decided to follow their path." She pulled the cake out of its little box and started digging for a knife. "Now, let's have some of this cake -- and _Fiver_ gets the first piece."
The mere mention of his name made Jacob's face melt. I wanted to puke.
I put my hand on Jacob's shoulder and tried my best to seem excited for him. "You know, we should probably get a workout in... Jacob and I gotta earn our cake when we're in season." When I turned to look at my friend he was glaring; I didn't care. "So... you wanna go roll around on the mat for a bit before we eat?"
"Sure." He adjusted the shawls on his fake ears once and winked at me. "But let's eat first, huh? I want to enjoy this moment."
- - -
The cake was good -- really good. For a rabbit who usually subsides on vegetables and the occasional fruit, processed sugars and butter creams were two steps away from absolute bliss. The food seemed to melt in my mouth on the way to my stomach, which already felt warm from the alcohol.
Said alcohol made me feel quite sick, too; the effect cumulated with Jacob's "great news" to turn my guts into one gigantic knot.
Soon after we finished cake I coaxed Jacob down to the basement, though it took a Herculean effort to rip him away from the book of fur options Mom had so conveniently pulled out of the cabinet. Dad had slipped upstairs to grab a body shaping guide, full of a thousand different human/rabbit combinations that the gene pump was capable of creating. Through all that mess I managed to pull him back downstairs to the privacy of my practice mat for a little one-on-one.
Years before my parents ever thought of wearing a fur coat I got this small practice mat as a Christmas gift. Ever since then it's always been unrolled somewhere -- usually in a permanent spot in the basement -- and I usually had friends wrestling on it. Many times I'd just lay on it to study or do schoolwork or something; the mats are actually kind of comfortable, once you get used to them.
I've even heard of a few wrestling camps that make their students live on mats for the entire week: eat, sleep, wrestle, wrestle, wrestle. Jeff Jordan's camp, it was. Only the best of the best received an invitation to go there. Mine is sitting in a pile of papers in my room, received just one week after I realized I could never wrestle competitively again.
Still, the mat was still a comfortable stress reliever, given you had the right people to share it with.
"I can always count on you to keep me on schedule," Jacob said with a half-smile. "You're like a freaking Rolex."
"And you're an idiot for coming here," I stammered. His jaw didn't drop, fortunately; I was expecting a more adverse reaction from him, maybe one with an indignant stammer of "You don't know what you're talking about" or somesuch. I'd expect it out of anyone else, after what I had told him.
But then again this wasn't anyone else. This was my good friend Jacob.
"I knew you'd say that," he said with an even tone. While he spoke he changed into the practice shorts and shirt my mom always kept for him down here -- we frequented this mat pretty often. "And you might be right. But this isn't something I'm deciding with my brain."
"Jacob---"
"Fiver," he corrected me.
"...Yeah. Do you realize what you're getting yourself into? Sure, this place looks nice from the outside, but there's a lot that humans don’t ever know about."
"Give me an example." He stretched out his limbs and yawned; the ears on his head flopped this way and that as he moved.
"Take wrestling, for instance" I said uneasily. "You're pretty good at it -- really good, by most people's standards. You may even score some nice wrestling scholarships here soon -- I know I had my fair share rolling in after I made my transformation -- and they could very well cover a good amount of your college expense. Are you willing to throw that chance away to come here?"
"If needed, yes." He bounced on the mat a few times with his wrestling shoes -- _my_ second-to-last pair of wrestling shoes. "You still manage to keep your skills up."
"Because I'm damn stubborn." I shook my head. "And take those fake ears off; they're going to get in the way."
"You're wearing yours."
"But mine are attached."
"So?"
I threw my arms up in defeat; there was no point in arguing with Jacob when he made up his mind. Hopefully he'd keep that stubbornness when he became Fiver. "Okay, so you could still wrestle _noncompetitively_. If that's good for you, that's good for you. But what about your parents?"
"What about them?" He stopped stretching and stood bone straight.
"You're going to move out of their house to do this, right?" I was talking with my paws. I always talked with my paws when I was nervous or anxious. "A big part of your life is going to be hidden from them -- lots of stuff in Vinewood's walls _stays_ in Vinewood's walls. And without family here it could get lonely."
He just shrugged. "A boy's gotta grow up sometime."
"But Jacob----"
"_Fiver_."
"Would you quit that?" I yelled. "You aren't Fiver until you step out of that gene pump -- remember that."
"But I am an honorary rabbit now, aren't I?"
"Sure thing, Jacob." He didn't open his mouth to correct me. Good. We warmed up at opposite corners of the tiny mat, alone and in silence. He was starting to work up quite a sweat on his own; if we were lucky we could wrestle a little live and get on with our life, once I had said what I wanted to say.
With a sigh I looked deep into his eyes. "There's no easy way to reverse this," I said flatly. "Once you go into the pump you come out a rabbit, no questions asked. And if you don't end up liking the long ears and puffy tail you'll have hell to pay."
"I assume you've done the research."
That was enough to get me laughing. Jacob was getting snippy with me! He barely even dipped below a happy tone when he talked with me, let alone show any sort of anger! It took a few moments to get the giggles out of my system before answering him. "Filling a gene ladder with stock options is no big deal; going backwards requires a bit more custom work. If I wanted a reversal my parents would need a second mortgage -- not an option."
"But the government picks up the tab if Vinewood gives itself up."
"That's beside the point," I replied icily.
"And it would take too long for you to benefit from it," Jacob continued. A small fire burned in his eyes. "By the time the government got around to custom-building a ladder for you you'd be halfway through college, maybe further. Your wrestling career would be half-gone anyway."
I bared my teeth and found my ears laying back against my head in rage. "You have no faith!" I spat.
He only laughed. "You know I've never been an optimist."
"Okay." I looked at the clock; we needed to be done with the workout in the next few minutes, lest my parents get curious and ask what went on downstairs. No need for them to get involved. "Let's just _suppose_ that you could possibly be right about this. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Well..." He scraped a toe on the mat. "You aren't going to like what I have to say -- I can tell you that up front."
"Lay it on me," I said with a sneer.
"I'm asking you to give up on your petty hopes," Jacob said matter-of-factly. "You gotta vote with me."
"Like hell."
He nodded in reply and left it at that. We then drilled in silence for the next few minutes, more out of a sense of duty than anything else. It was the strongest thread our friendship. It was the only thing we could agree on at the moment.
- - -
We spent the next few hours looking over the government's proposal for disbanding the rabbit-people and their warrens. And, sure enough, the proposal put re-integration of rabbits into human genes as a "low priority" to be performed in military bases as room made itself available. Estimations on timeframe ranged from two years to an entire decade before all rabbits had their human bodies back.
So Jacob was right about the vote, to a certain degree. There really wasn't a good reason to vote against Vinewood if it would only mean years of waiting. I really did like the warren -- really I did -- it was just conflicting interests that were causing the stress. I wanted a human body so that I could wrestle -- I'll make no bones about that. If I couldn't wrestle in college because of time constraints, then why bother?
Besides, what could possibly be wrong about being a rabbit and doing a favor for a friend, ever stupid as he may be? Being a rabbit wasn't _terrible_; at times it could even be fun. With a good friend along for the ride I could even go as far to say I'd like it.
Word travels fast in a town, especially when said word travels through CNN, the Times, and every other major venue this nation has to offer. By the time Jacob and I ambled our way to school the next morning the heckling crews and protestors were out in full force. Some even made camp right by Vinewood's gated entrance, giving the rabbits barely any room to maneuver their way out onto the street and into their daily lives.
When they saw Jacob they called him a traitor. I think that, given their outlook on things, I probably would have said the same thing.
School was no easier on the two of us; when we arrived there were a pair of sheriffs assigned to each of us. "We're just trying to prevent things from escalating," one of the uniformed men told us, "You won't even know we're here."
I had been given escorts before -- sometimes the latest and greatest genetic breakthroughs brought out the worst in people, and they needed a scapegoat for their anger. For Jacob, though... well, let's just say I could smell his fear. He nervously rearranged the rabbit ears on his head and trained his eyes on the sidewalk as we started walking toward the main entrance to Creston High School.
"Try to look proud," I told him. "Some people won't pick on the proud ones. It works for me when I have people ruffling my tail."
He shrugged. "Bad time to wear ears, hmm?"
"That was your decision," I said, winking. "You have no one to blame but yourself. At least you can look proud and face it like a man."
"Right." He smiled warmly and lifted his chin. His whole body seemed to grow by an inch. "Let's do this."
Two of the officers held the doors for us while the others stepped ahead. Already a small crowd had formed at the entrance, signs and sandwich boards at the ready. I tried not to read the words on the signs; it was usually best not to. The phrase "hasenpfeffer, please" caught my eye and that was all the more I needed to see.
Jacob seemed to follow my lead; when we turned away from the signs our eyes met. "Nice welcoming committee," he said with a half-grin. "They always turn out for you?"
"Only on important occasions." I chuckled. "Give our escorts a little time and they'll have this broken up."
"Isn't that a breech of freedom of speech?"
I smiled. "In high school, your freedom of speech ends at my toes. Know what I mean?"
Jacob clicked his tongue and winked. We walked through the now-clear hall amidst a thousand verbal jeers -- who was going to stop _that_? -- and started to make our way to our first class of the day: advanced phys ed. Our coach insisted that we joined up, since the class revolved around weightlifting and endurance training. We needed the credits anyway.
Besides, it was a great chance to catch up with the gossip outside of Vinewood -- that is, before Jacob up and took a bid for our rabbit warren. I'm sure we'd still have fun anyway, just like we did in all those years past. We'd make do no matter what happened.
On our way down the hallway a hand on my shoulder stopped me. One of my officer escorts was holding me back, one hand on the walkie-talkie clipped to his chest. He mumbled a few words into the microphone before turning to me. "Looks like you're gonna be late to your first class," he said to me. "I'm supposed to take you to the guidance office."
I blanched. Kids always blanch when any sort of "office" is mentioned--call it instinct. I had done nothing so bad as to warrant an office visit, or at least I thought. "Why do they want me?" I asked, my voice wavering with latent terror.
"Calm down; you're not going to get reamed. You have a visitor."
- - -
When I stepped into the office I was immediately aware of who my visitor was. He was a big man with clean-shaven features, blonde, crew-cut hair, and a bright smile that tried its best to look innocent and free of motive. He wore a sharkstooth sportcoat with silk tie and carried a small leather briefcase. Before the door even had a chance to close behind me he was already making the first step, offering a handshake and a very polite greeting.
"Hello," he said in that butter-smooth, unassuming voice, "My name's Rudy Wilson, and I represent the University of Iowa. You're Mayberry Rabbit, I presume?"
We shook hands. It was... pleasant, I guess. It's all I could really ask for. "Call me Marvin." I had seen my fair share of college recruiters come and go; they all had their spiel set up especially for me, complete with free trips to visit campus, free college applications, free videos, free T-shirts and mugs... any sort of gimmick to get me to sign their bottom line.
I'm what the college industry calls a "potential student" -- in other words, I have the grades and I can make their athletic teams happy. But the offers stopped pouring in a year ago, once I became Mayberry Rabbit.
As we shook hands I felt a nervous tingle forming in my stomach. What was this guy doing talking to me?
"Marvin, then." He sighed. "You got quite a warm welcome out there; I can see why you'd want to go with the normal name in times like this. I'm sure it's hard on you, living as a rabbit when the lines are drawn in the sand over gene pumps."
I laughed. "You have no idea."
"I respect your efforts," he said. He sounded honest enough, even though I still wasn't quite sure what he was doing there. "Though I'm sure it's rough on your wrestling career."
"What career? I lost that two months after I stepped out of the gene pump."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Marvin. Really I am." He opened his briefcase and pulled out a packet of information. "I flew in this morning to give you this; the Dean himself wanted this hand-delivered, just to make sure you know we care. I think you'll like what's inside."
That's what they all say. Usually it's some gimmicky tickets to a show in town, maybe airline passes to go visit over the next vacation, or sometimes a little scholarship money usable only at the college. It had all been done before. Hiding my sigh, I ripped open the manilla package and pulled out the first paper on the stack...
My jaw dropped. After a few deep breaths I managed to whisper, "It's a full ride!"
Rudy wasn't done. "And if that gets your ears in a knot, here's more. We're going to cover all your travel expenses: moving out, visits home, internship opportunities, even trips to potential employers across the globe. We'll pick up the tab on everything, Marvin!"
I'm sure my buck teeth made me look like a slack-jawed yokel, with my mouth hanging as wide open as it was. "But... I mean..."
"You're not qualified?" he laughed that powerful, honest laugh. "You're more than qualified, Marvin! Your SATs and GPA are very high, and with your... experience with adversity you'd make a fine Iowa Hawkeye."
"And I'm a minority."
He shrugged. "We're not concerned. All we want you to do in return is wrestle."
"But---"
"It's a prestigious program, Marvin. One with a tradition of excellence and triumph. I think you'd fit right in."
"I can't wrestle anymore," I said, trying to stop him. Hearing him talk up the program made the old wounds hurt all that much more. I just wanted him to rip up the scholarship in my face and leave, so I could just get on with my rabbit life.
But Rudy was going to do no such thing. He eyed my ears and said, "That could change very easily; you and I both know that."
I slicked my ears back against my head and sniffed the air nervously -- force of habit. At least it looked like I was interested in what he had to say.
"The Vinewood vote is all over the news, Marvin. We can't pay for your change, but if you get a government voucher for a reversion we'd be more than happy to call in our connections. We could get you fixed up in about a month -- enough time to catch the tail end of your high school season and to start training for our wrestling program in the summer."
"So all I have to do is vote against staying a rabbit."
"That's all." He laughed. "You keep things simple, Marvin. Fable would be proud of you."
"That's what everyone says."
"But I'm not everyone." He winked. "Fable can't wait to meet you."
"Dan Fable."
"Yes."
"The wrestling legend himself."
"He coached Iowa for 22 years; if I'm not mistaken it was the winningest run in NCAA history." Rudy stopped for a moment to consider the thought. "He stops by the practices quite a lot; word has it he's taking special interest in your career."
"Something to think about," I said with a little too much excitement in my voice.
"Just try not to worry about it too much." He shook my hand and turned to walk off, but before I could leave he turned around one last time. With an excited face he dug into his briefcase one last time.
"Take this," he said as he tossed me a University of Iowa T-shirt. "I know you rabbits don't usually wear clothes, but keep it as a gift. Besides, in a month or two you may need to start a new wardrobe."
And before I could reply Rudy Wilson was gone.
- - -
The sheriff escorted me to the weight room with a smile on his face. "Full ride," he said to me as we walked, "It sounds like a really nice gig, if you ask me."
I nodded weakly. "Yeah."
"What do you think? Gonna take him up on the offer?"
I shook my head and tried to speed up the walk. "Sorry I'm not too talkative. I have a lot of stuff on my mind." With that I ducked into the weight room to find Jacob in the middle of a crowd. The sheriffs standing on the side of the room seemed content to let this go on without intervening; apparently they were only to jump in if things got physical.
Physical or not, the comments weren't terribly nice.
"You pussy," one of the guys spat at Jacob. "You're gonna turn fag just like Marvin, aren't you?"
Another guy, this time Jacob's spotter, added his two cents: "I think you're crazy. You're just gonna give your body away, just like that?"
Jacob didn't say a word. He was still wearing his ears; the teacher didn't like the idea, I knew, but the ears qualify under freedom of speech. (Funny how that works, no?) He was quietly pounding out bench reps, trying his best to ignore the heckling going on around him.
The spotter helped him rack the weight before adding, "You're gonna lose it all, Jacob. You have a chance in hell of doing something with your life and you want to become a rabbit. That's crazy! I mean----"
"Cut it," I interrupted him. My voice could still have an authoritative quality to it, when I wanted to be firm. "Jacob's made a decision to join Vinewood and that's that. You have a problem with it, and you have a problem with me."
The guy backed off. The guys in the room knew better than to mess with a perturbed wrestler, even one with cute bunny ears and a tail. They knew I could take them any day, any time, and respected me for it. He went off to mumble little gossips to his friends over at the free weight station; I didn't care. They could shove it up their cakeholes as long as Jacob didn't have to hear it.
"Thanks," my friend said as he sat up on the bench. "He was really getting on my nerves."
"Like I said, you gotta assert yourself." I walked toward the squat racks as I talked. "If you don't up and tell someone to back off, they'll keep testing until they find your limit. That's all they want to do."
He nodded. "Thanks for standing up for me. I mean, I would never have expected you to go and do that for me----"
"Don't say that," I stopped him. "You're a friend--a stupid friend, maybe, but a friend nonetheless. Nothing's going to change that."
"Ah. It's good to hear that." Jacob set up a rack for himself; I went about setting my own weights for a squat set. "You think about what we talked about last night?"
"A little." I didn't dare show my face while I said it. I was telling a half-truth; our conversation had been on my mind ever since we left my basement mat the night before. As I put the big plates onto the squat rack some gawkers started to circle around the rack; I always attracted a crowd when I did squats. For them, watching _anybody_ put 650 pounds on the bar was a bit of a shock.
And, as always, Jacob just smiled when I stepped under the weight and did it, no problem. "I envy your rabbit legs," he said.
"My mom could squat 500, easy" I said with a chuckle. "It just comes with the body proportions and such."
"I'll be right up with you, soon enough. You decide what you're going to vote for?" I kept staring straight ahead, trying to act like I was concentrating. Jacob wasn't going to bite. "Come on, now; I know this is an easy weight for you. You've done nine reps already. You've gotta be listening to me, I know it..."
I racked the weight and turned to him. "It's best not to ask," I said curtly. Then I ducked back under the weight and picked it up to finish the set. It took some resituating to get my shoulders under the bend in the bar; before I could get it up Jacob put both hands on the bar.
He flipped his head so that I could hear the swoosh of his ear shawls. "You don't usually rack 650 and burn out on it. Something's on your mind."
"And...?"
"And I'm asking you to share with a fellow rabbit."
"That doesn't give you any right to pry," I said. I glared at the hands on the bar until he removed them; then I went right back to squatting out as many reps in the shortest amount of time possible. The exertion made my body burn enough to put Jacob out of my mind for a minute.
But when I racked the weight he was right there, staring at me from the side. "This is about me, isn't it?"
"No."
"Like hell it isn't!" He balled his fists as he tried to keep his voice down. "You're angry at me for signing those confirmation papers. You think that because you had a bad experience that I'm going to have just as bad a time in Vinewood. But you just choose not to look at the good times you've had there, all the positive moments that made an impression on you -- _changed_ you, even. You just choose to look past it and----"
"_Enough!_ I pounded on the squat bar with one paw. "Damn it Jacob, this isn't about you at all."
"Then what is it?"
"You really want to know?" I stormed over to the bag beside my sheriff and pulled out the Iowa packet. "You really want to see what this is about? Take a look at that."
His jaw dropped as he opened it. "A full ride scholarship."
"Yeah, and all I have to do is wrestle. That's it! And, conveniently enough, Iowa can't pay for the reversion process on their own. They _could_ use government connections to bump me up the cue if I had a reversion voucher, though..."
"But---"
"That's right, Jacob. This is just another fucking wrench in the works."
He looked me straight in the eye. "I'm happy for you," he said in as candid a voice as his tightening throat would allow.
"No you're not. You're worried that I'm going to vote against you and cost you the whole enchilada."
"I guess there's something to be said for honesty." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. "Yes, I was thinking exactly that. I'm afraid you're going to let this little ruse go to your head and affect your vote."
"You're a bit too late to be afraid," I spat.
"But you _can't_ vote against Vinewood!" He grabbed my arm and looked deep into my eyes again. "Think about it; you have everything going for you there. Once you're out of high school you get to go to your choice of school for free anyway; the Lapine Endowment guarantees that."
"But I can't wrestle."
"What if college wrestling isn't all it's cracked up to be?" he continued, "What if you vote yourself out, get your human body back, and decide it's all not worth the trouble? Where does that put you, then?"
"I want to wrestle."
Jacob tried to shake his frustration out before he continued. "Damn it, Marvin, do you only hate the warren because you _can't wrestle?_"
"Yep. Otherwise it's a pretty nice life."
"You are an idiot," Jacob said. Ice dripped from every word. "And I hope you'll be happy in your little wrestling fantasy, when it's all said and done. You'll destroy a hundred more dreams on your way to the promised land." With that he turned to walk out of the room, chin high, ears flapping in the ventilation's cold winds.
I stood and stared for a full minute before I could feel much of anything, and that first feeling was nausea. I tossed my cookies in a trash can and stumbled out the door myself, hoping that fresh air may ease the pain a bit.
- - -
"I want to check your temperature," Mom said as I walked into the house. It was noon; school wasn't due out for another two hours at the very least. The smell of vomit hung heavily on the fur just below my lips, and it blocked most every other odor in my usually sensitive nose.
If I could only have smelled the air I could have known how my mom was feeling. On the outside she seemed relatively calm -- nothing more than the normal dosage of motherly worry when her kid comes from home sick -- but there was something odd about her. Maybe it was the Vinewood vote coming up. Probably it was the Vinewood vote coming up.
I hoped they'd find a better name for the whole ordeal when it goes to the history books. And this _was_ going to go down in history; Hazel-rah wanted to start a precedent in the world with his willing flock. Our small-town attitude simply wasn't prepared for the media hell this whole issue garnered.
My mom was one of many victims of the town, myself included. But at least she was one of the lucky few with a diversion to keep her mind busy.
"I'm not sick." I shied away from her hand as she went to feel my ears. They were the first to warm up in a bunny fever. "I just worked out on a full stomach, that's all."
"It was those protestors, wasn't it?" she eyed me fiercely. "Those idiots don’t know when to quit."
"It wasn't that. Jacob and I had escorts all day long."
"Did I tell you that a small group actually constructed a shelf on the other side of our privacy fence so they could picket right in our backyard?" She ducked into the bathroom as she spoke, returning with a small thermometer in one hand. "We had to call out the county sheriff to run 'em out of our yard!"
I nodded solemnly. "We're big news now." I felt as if I should say more, but before I could mutter a word mom shoved thermometer in my mouth.
"I know it's important to them, Mayberry. It may be even more important than our rabbit bodies are to us. But it just doesn't make _sense!_ We never cause trouble for anybody else, do we?"
She waited for a moment to see if I'd try to respond through the thermometer, but I didn't so much as move. Satisfied, she walked over to the stove to stir a simmering bowl of chicken soup. She opened the pot and I caught whiff of the strange aromas; even with my mostly rabbit digestive tract it still smelled wonderful.
The thermometer beeped and I pulled it out. "We don't usually have that," I mentioned as I looked at the readout. "And my temp is A.O.K."
"Good. The salt in the stock will help you feel better." My mom stirred the noodle-and-broth soup while, considering something. Then the thought came out. "And it's soul food," she added with a smile.
"We could all use that," I agreed. It had been about a year since any of us had had even a hint of chicken. In any other situation I could have even called it a great opportunity.
The back door of our house slammed shut; Dad thumped his feet on the floor so hard that the subfloor was shaking -- he brought new meaning to the term "hopping mad." He nodded to me, put down the crowbar in his hands, and sighed. "I pried the stand out of our fence," he said with a heavy heart, "But it's gonna cost an arm and a leg to fix. They splintered most of the boards when they drove their nails."
"Send the bill to the sheriff; he said he'd cover it. It's the least he can do." She shook her head. "The world's going to hell in a handbasket, I swear."
"All over one little decision." Dad walked up behind mom and rubbed her shoulders; immediately my mom seemed to shrink by two inches as tenseness left her body. "Chicken soup? What's the occasion?" Dad snuck a kiss while she wasn't paying much attention, and then they nuzzled nose-to-nose for a few precious moments. I tried my best to make myself invisible as they went about their thing -- I may be a rabbit, but some affection deserves to stay private.
Mom pulled away from the embrace. "I borrowed a packet from Janice today," she said matter-of-factly, "In fact, Janice wouldn't let me go without taking some. She said we needed something different in our lives."
Dad sighed. "Everyone's a critic. The jokes and remarks are getting pretty bad at work, too; if it weren't for discrimination laws I don't think I'd have a job there anymore."
My mom's nose and whiskers twitched and she put a claw on his chest. "Don't give them any reason to can you, bunny-boy."
"They'd have to dig pretty deep to find anything; and I don't see any long-ears willing to burrow for them." They laughed together for the moment while I stifled a groan; when you live in a rabbit society you just have to take the corny in-jokes and puns as you go, and hope for the best. It could be worse, though: at least we didn't live in burrows or graze in the fields...
The laughter went on until it started to sound forced, then Mom changed the subject. "I've been getting calls about Mayberry's... groupies at school. Apparently it's getting to be pretty bad. Though Mayberry seems to think it's no big deal... our little trooper. Isn't that right, Mayberry?"
I sneered. "Mom! I'm not your 'little trooper' anymore; I'm a full-grown rabbit! Next year I'll be off to college!" The mere thought brought Rudy back to the forefront of my mind, and I had another dry heave. I was able to keep it from looking _too_ terribly obvious.
Thankfully, My mom didn't notice. She was too busy taking my words to heart -- you could see it in how her ears started to droop. "You'll always be my little rabbit, Mayberry" she said with a smile. "Always."
"Unless this vote doesn't go through," my dad corrected her.
"And you think it won't?"
"Maybe." He sighed. "I'm even thinking of voting against keeping Vinewood."
"Sunfall!"
"I'm sorry, dear. I'm just trying to think about what's best for the community."
"And what's best for us is disbanding the one thing that opened our eyes to a better life," she spat. "What are you thinking? Pumping rabbit blood into our veins is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to this family!"
"Yes." He shook his head. "But if we have to deal with this flak, what's the point? Things are great inside the walls, but take a step out and you're a living, breathing target."
Mom smiled. "You're a rabbit. Did you expect anything less?"
"I'm not joking, Strawberry." His split lip was pressed thin, so as to hide his buck teeth from view. "We can't live like this."
"It will pass."
"It will get worse!" Dad shook his head violently. "Can't you see? Every time this topic comes up in the news the protests get a little worse. First it was a comment in passing from a stranger. Then it was a little jeer from across the street. It's livable now, sure, but what about next time? What do we do then?"
"It can't get any worse."
He barked a single syllable of laughter. "You're kidding yourself. It's just a matter of time before they push their barriers a little farther, a little harder... we can't fight it forever."
"So you just want to count your chips and be out of it."
He nodded solemnly. "Hazel-rah knows he's going to lose -- that's why he confirmed Fiver. Nothing like a martyr to swing a vote----"
Mom's eyelids furrowed and she put her big, floppy foot down. "Sunfall! Not in front of Mayberry!"
"It's true, though."
"But Fiver is his friend!"
He walked over to me and wraped an arm around my shoulder. "Boy's a man now; he can make his own decisions. If I were in his shoes I'd want to hear all the sides too. Isn't that right, Marvin?" He gave me a forced smile.
I nodded weakly.
"Great." He released me, walked over to the dinner table, and flopped down. Only then did his high-browed attitude fall away. He slumped in his seat and let his head fall to the table with a thud. His ears folded over his arms as he groaned into the table. Mom and I didn't move to comfort him; he never wanted it when he was like this. We just went our business as if he weren't sobbing his woes into the table.
Yeah, Dad could sometimes be an asshole. It was his way of dealing with what he couldn't change.
Five minutes passed before Dad lifted his head from that oak table, and when he did he was all smiles. "From now on, let's leave politics at the door, okay? Let's try to make this last week palatable."
"You brought it up," I replied playfully. He winked at me and tried to put on a saint's face -- that didn't work too well. We both collapsed in laughter. Mom started ladling the soup while Dad and I calmed down. I poured glasses of water for everyone while she took the soup to the table, and then I took my seat by Dad.
There was an unspoken agreement to enjoy the soup for at least a few minutes before we did anything; it wasn't often we ate something genuinely salty, much less with the all-too-familiar taste of a meat product. Anything more than a bowl of chicken noodle soup probably would have taken its toll, but for now we didn't care. We needed the comfort.
Dad finally decided to break the silence. "So," he coughed. "Mayberry, have you thought about where you're going to spend that Lapine Endowment? There's a whole world of rabbit-friendly colleges out there just waiting for you."
"A little," I said weakly. I hoped he'd take the hint and leave the whole mess alone. "Though lately I haven't had much time to think about anything. Our life is in the air."
"But you've had a few thoughts, haven't you?" He sipped his soup and then swung the spoon idly in the air. "What struck you?"
"None of them." My Dad's eyebrows spiked as I said it. "In fact, I have an offer to go to the University of Iowa."
"They're not on the Lapine Endowment's list," my dad warned me.
"I know." The soup felt hot and clammy as my stomach turned somersaults. "But they're offering a full ride. All I have to do is wrestle."
Faces around the table fell. My dad managed to mumble "Oh." Mom just stared at me, not exactly sure what to do or say. I was too busy trying to keep the soup down to do anything. We sat in that uneasy silence for a goodly while, the thoughts seething under our cool, loving lapine surfaces.
And then my Dad exploded again. "Why isn't the endowment good enough for you, Mayberry? Your education is paid for----!"
"If I stay a rabbit," I countered. "But as things stand Iowa is a great option, especially if this vote goes south."
"But you'd have to lend that vote a helping hand."
"Maybe. You said it yourself: 'We just can't keep living this way.' Iowa would be a fresh start to my life."
Dad sighed. "They're trying to buy your vote. It's a good price -- I'll agree with you there -- but I don’t want you making your decision based on a bribe. You hear me?"
I nodded. Mom continued to glare at us both, as if we were blaspheming.
"I'm serious about this, Mayberry. There's going to be a lot of pressure on all rabbits in the next few days. Protestors will line up at our gates. Dirty politicians will offer money for the confidence of a vote. People will resort to blackmail to try and sway our decision one way or another." Suddenly his face grew stone cold. "If this warren's going to go down, it's going to be because the rabbits say so. I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Me neither." The coldness in his features softened a bit as he sipped on his soup. Mom seemed to calm down -- too calm, it seemed, for the corners of her lips were still turned at odd and tense angles.
Dad sipped his water. "Fiver will be happy to hear that, I think. May give him some much-needed hope----" he didn't finish the sentence because of the loud knock at the door. Mom wordlessly stood up to answer it while Dad and I tried to relax with our soup.
But we weren't able to relax long. "Boys!" Mom screamed to us, "Come quick and give me a hand! Fiver's here, and he isn't looking too good!" We came running to find the boy-rabbit doubled over in the entryway.
Jacob looked like ground beef rolled around in the mud. Dad and I spent the better part of an hour cleaning the abrasions on his face and limbs, icing his swollen eyes, and tending to grapefruit-sized bruises that traced down his legs. Mom busied herself trying to clean and fix his rabbit ears, in which the wires had been bent, the fur charred, and the headband itself snapped in two.
"I never let them out of my sight," he said. He was looking over to where she was working on his pointy-eared headband. "They tried to take it away but I never let them."
Dad smiled and patted his shoulder -- carefully, I might add, for Jacob sported a burgundy bruise that stretched across his shoulder blades. He replied, "You should have been more worried about your own safety. We can replace the ears, sure, but there's only one of you. And it looks like you've been through the wringer."
Jacob ignored my dad's reasoning. "They caught up with me in the courtyard after lunch. I was walking along and suddenly they were on me, trying to tear my ears off. I tried to stop them but they threw me down and ran my face on the concrete..." He smiled, but the gesture hurt enough to shock him back to a straight face. "I don't remember much after that; I think they pounded on me some more, then I got up and ran and... well, here I am."
"Do your parents know about this yet?" Dad asked.
"I tried calling them... they told me to not come home. They found a cross burning in the yard last night."
"I understand." He sighed and stifled a swear. "This whole mess is insanity."
"We're almost done with it," I said, trying to sound positive. By the angry stares I received I had a feeling I did more harm than good.
Jacob shivered and tried to wrap his arms around himself, but the scabbed burns protested. "It's cold in here," he said weakly, "and my clothes are filthy. Can I loan some from you, Marvin?"
I blanched. "Uh... sure. But most of my stuff is in storage -- I don't wear much clothing anymore."
"What about that Iowa T-shirt you got today?" I expected him to laugh, but his face was icy and serious. "That's probably a one-size-fits-all, isn't it?"
- - -
Jacob wanted to walk off some of the soreness in his limbs within Vinewood's protected walls. Mom didn't want him to go, but since he didn't have any broken bones or seriously impeding injuries Dad told her not to worry. "The air will do him good," Dad explained to her. "Better he relax in Vinewood than worry on the outside -- you and I both know that."
But Mom did insist that I go with Jacob, just in case. She didn't have faith in Vinewood. A few more days of this waiting and she wouldn't have faith in anyone -- I knew I was well on my way to that conclusion, at least.
We stepped outside at a very leisurely pace -- Jacob's injuries probably hurt worse than he let on -- and found our way to the walking path. It was an odd midwinter day; the sun was shining, the snow and ice had melted, and temperatures stayed at a comfortable sixty degrees. Perfect day to enjoy with a friend.
Jacob wasn't in much condition to enjoy much of anything, what with his ripped ears and hamburger face. Every time my eyes caught his I winced and turned away. But, for all the damage done, he was in pretty good spirits. "Guess I won't be wrestling Saturday." He smiled and took a deep breath. "You want to celebrate with a splurge? We could go to that all-you-can-eat Asian buffet in town..."
"I think we should try to stay low-profile for a little while," I warned him. "You of all people should know that."
He laughed. "Guess I just don't learn."
"Maybe." We walked a little further without saying a word. He favored one leg over another, I noticed; his gate listed to the right as he walked. "Charlie horse?" I asked innocently.
"Like you wouldn't believe." As if on cue he bent down to rub his left hamstring. "Right after I fell someone drove their knee right into the thick of that muscle. Heavy guy, too."
I winked at him. "I thought you said you didn't remember any of it...?"
"I don't think your parents would understand or even appreciate the details of a good fight," he replied smugly. "They just seem conservative in that regard."
"_Too_ conservative," I mumbled. "Around them you'd think being a rabbit was all about playing nice and caring and sharing and being a good little bunny."
"And it isn't?"
I laughed. "It's all up to interpretation. The idea is to become a better _person_, rid of the most powerful evils of humanity."
"Broad definition."
"And it's always left up to interpretation." I shook my head. "Did I tell you that the town council banned the formation of little league teams? Something about competition being evil."
"And they're right, when you're talking about the little league level. Those people are _psychotic!_"
We shared a forced chuckle.
"But why does competition have to be evil?" I asked him. "Why does Vinewood instill that an antiseptic life of peace, love, and understanding is the be-all and end-all of existence?"
"It makes life more pleasant," Jacob answered simply.
I shook my head. "For about a year, it does. But then life just starts losing its flavor. There's no conflict, no strive, no _drive_ to do much of anything! All you do is love and care and learn how to do those two things better."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Hell yes!" My voice was getting out of control, I realized; I puffed air out from behind my buck teeth until I was calmer. "When you don't have to fight for it, love and care become pretty boring. There is no contrast. There is no fun. There is no need to yearn for something more. There is _nothing_ here for us, Jacob."
"Fiver."
"We've been over that," I warned him.
He ignored me. "Maybe it's just here."
"Maybe you're deluding yourself."
"And if I am it's a fine illusion." He crossed his arms and tried to hide the fact that he was wincing. "Maybe you're just not cut out for this place, y'know? Maybe it takes a different breed of person to be happy in this kind of utopia."
"You're trying to tell me that you're that kind of person." He nodded solemnly; I walked off the path to let loose with a gigantic guffaw. "I _know_ you, Jacob; you're not the type. You'd reach your boiling point at one month, if that."
"Are you sure you know me?"
I glanced at him over my shoulder. "We terrorized our kindergarten teacher together. I've known you for longer than anybody -- except your parents, I guess."
"And me." He stopped and stood proud, despite his battered and bruised exterior. "I know who I am. I know what I want."
"Good." I continued walking up the path, ignoring him. "Then you know that you want to turn in your ears and get on with your life."
Curious, I looked back to see if Jacob had followed my lead. He was still standing tall and menacing in the path. "I want to change my life," he said firmly. "If you can't come to terms with that, that's just fine. One way or another I'm going to wear these long ears."
I sighed. "Sure, Jacob. And you're going to take all this crap to do it."
"If need be."
"You've never been one for tact," I said, smiling. The gesture disarmed my friend, and before I could say another word he had caught up with me on the path. "I just wish you would have come to me earlier about this. Couldn't you have talked about it with me, at the very least?"
"Then you would have talked me out of it."
"You think?"
"It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's on your mind," he added, winking. "And quite frankly you've been thinking about Vinewood for a long time indeed."
I looked down at the Iowa shirt he wore. "Yeah," I mumbled. I hated walking with Jacob. He asked all the right questions and gave me all the wrong answers. At least on the mat I could beat on his head enough to stop him from talking, when he got this way. But out here, under the stars, he was tearing me apart one point at a time.
Jacob itched at the burns on his arms. Then he moved in for the kill. "See, I know what's eating you. I know why you're putting yourself between me and my goal, Mayberry."
"Of course you do. It's not like I made a secret of it."
He chuckled. "No, I don't think wrestling has much to do with this. It's more like icing on the cake."
Right. Like I was going to let Jacob tell me what my heart was saying. He couldn't even screw his own head on straight; how could he possibly unravel his friend's brain? I couldn't help laughing as Jacob tried to stare deep into my eyes as if to provoke an epiphany by willpower alone. "Then explain the Iowa shirt, and the scholarship, and the mat in my basement. My dream is outside this world."
"This was before wrestling became a problem," he continued, heedless of my protest. "You've been hiding it behind your eyes ever since you etched your name onto that gene pump. The wrestling debacle didn't help matters -- though it gave you a place to channel the bigger picture."
I sneered at him as menacingly as my rabbit body would allow. "Okay, genius. If you're so smart, then lay it on me. Why is it that, even though I spend every waking moment thinking about getting back onto the mat, my problem isn't with the lack of wrestling?"
"I never said that the problem didn't _involve_ wrestling," he corrected me. "I just said that there's a bigger matter at hand."
"Now you're just stalling," I spat. "Let's have it."
And, with a grave expression, Jacob gave it to me straight. "You're afraid that you'll fail," he said simply.
"That's it."
"Yep."
"That's your grand revelation."
"Yessir."
I laughed. "Isn't _everyone_ afraid to fail?"
"There's a difference. Most people are afraid of letting themselves down. You, on the other hand, are worried about not finding absolute success."
"Which I have in wrestling."
"Right."
I gave him a few seconds to explain himself, but as I glared at him he only returned the gesture with a "ball's in your court" smile. He stood smugly -- if that's at all possible -- with his shoulders held square and his eyebrows constantly jumping, as if he were challenging me.
Finally, I just shook my head. "You're crazy. Wrestling is just a sport that I love."
"Then explain why you won't get involved in Vinewood," he retorted. "Explain why you hold on to the successes of your past and hide from your future."
"Not get involved in Vinewood?" I struggled for words, I was so angry. My paw shook angrily in front of his face as I hunted for the words.
"Don't try to feed me bullshit, Mayberry. I've been around the warren more than once; your friends are my friends, and your parents are going to be my parents."
"_If_ the vote passes."
"Fuck the vote," Jacob spat. The word sounded odd coming from my friend's usually clean mouth. "We're not talking about the future of Vinewood here. We're talking about the future of you. And what I see isn't good."
I shrugged and thrust my hands to where my jeans pockets would have been, if I were still human. "So I hate rabbit life. Is that such a bad thing?"
"I think you really love it," Jacob corrected me. "Those first two months were heaven; they must have been, because you were on cloud nine every day. Then they pulled your safety net."
"Safety net? You're making me sound like some unstable lunatic!"
He ignored me. "See, I've talked to your friends and found out how you live life in the rabbit world. And I have to ask," he paused to make sure he was making eye contact, the kind that made you want to break out in a sweat right then and there. "Why don't you live your rabbit life?"
Rabbit life? What kind of cruddy terminology was that? I lived the life of a human-rabbit caught at the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. Jacob was making me out to be some sort of spiritually deprived heretic who wasn't giving his lifestyle enough credit. It was crazy...
Then I took one look at the Iowa shirt Jacob wore and realized he could have a point.
Jacob saw me looking and turned away so that I couldn't read the words. Then he continued to hammer his point home: "You don't get involved with your warrenmates anymore. You don't attend the optional rabbit gatherings. You don't go to Hazel-rah's lecture series, or even make pretense as to why you miss them. When visiting rabbits come in to share their teachings you hide in your room until they're gone."
"So?" I kept on walking. "What does that mean, anyway? Can't I just hate something outright and call it a day?"
"But I don't think you hate it." Jacob's tone grew more excited by the second. "I think you've closed it out because you're afraid you just might learn to like it -- and that would spell the end to your wrestling career."
"Sounds reasonable to me."
"What if you were to find happiness here in Vinewood again?"
I chuckled. "Like that would ever happen."
"You can never count that sort of thing out." He took a wrestling stance and did a few shadow shots, despite his condition. As he mocked a match he turned to me and grinned. "We've had one of the best teachers for that sort of thing, you know?"
"No, I don't."
He stopped wrestling and recollected his proud stature. "Let's put it in context for you. Think of Vinewood as the kid down fourteen-zero in the third period, thirty seconds to go, his last hopes of winning laying on a wing-and-a-prayer headlock throw. If he misses, the match is over. If he does nothing, the match is over. If he succeeds..."
"He tosses the guy to his back and pins him," I finished for him. "Yeah, yeah. Sounds great, but that never works."
"That's not the point." He struggled to think a way to word what he was about to say; as I tried my best to look bored he shaped the words with his hands and strange facial contortions that looked pained on his rash-ridden face. He looked pained and empowered all at once, as if the revelations he passed onto me gave him strength.
The words finally came out in a heap: "Mayberry, it _can_ happen. That's all that matters. And that's what you've forgotten about. Things may not be probable, but they can happen." He smiled and pointed to his own rag-tag set of rabbit ears. "After all, if the underdog keeps fighting he's bound to win sometime or another."
"You're crazy."
"Maybe so. But that doesn't change a damn thing. I'm still here. I've got my ears. I'm still down fourteen-zero in the third period, looking for the upset." He looked me square in the eyes, his determined glare piercing right through my fur to send a chill down my spine. "I'm going to beat the odds, Mayberry. If I have to fight for the rest of my life to do it I will. And, Frith willing, I'll make you understand what you're missing." The last word hung on the air for a moment longer than it needed to, until the night winds carried it off into the chilly noontime sky.
We stood locked in that intense moment for what felt like an eternity. I tried to look away. I tried to laugh. I tried to move, to breathe, to think a thought outside of Jacob's last sentence, to do _anything_ to break the tension. His eyes demanded my full attention. The intensity gave way to discord, discord to anxiety, and suddenly my heart was pounding, pounding, pounding at my ribs, begging for release...
"That's my mission," he said suddenly. I jumped at the sound as the spell dissipated. "And I'm not going to let the bigger wrestler get away without a fight."
- - -
We didn't talk much on the way home, and yet it didn't feel strained. What had to be said had been said -- what was the point in saying anything more? As Jacob walked I shot sidelong glances at him, trying to read his expression. I was expecting him to be at least a mite bit angered, or at least frustrated. But Jacob's baggy eyelids and bruised cheeks only looked tired. I opened the door for him and he collapsed on the living room couch.
Myself, I wasn't really tired. If I had laid down I could probably have slept for a week, but my body felt too sick to just lay out and call it a night. I was so exhausted I was restless. Time passed as if reality were but a bad dream, seconds stretching to minutes, minutes to hours.
That dreamy state was the reason I ended up in the common building, staring blankly at the gene pump. When I came to I was sitting in one of the chairs on the pump's raised stage and looking at a long list of names etched in glass. The list seemed to go on forever, and the older names had lost much of their luster to a decade of aging. And, at the very bottom, a small odometer counted a hundred transformations.
That's a lot of people to let down, I thought to myself.
My ears picked up the faint sound of shuffling feet. When I turned to the sound I found a decrepit old rabbit making his way up the aisle. He was without his cane, but when I went to help him he waved me off. "I'll be fine," Hazel-rah said with a weak, raspy voice. I watched as he struggled down to the stage, ascended the stairs, and reached out to grab the podium for support. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked gently.
His eyes communicated a warm sort of cordiality that, for all that I wanted to be alone, I just couldn't refuse. With a nod I stood and helped the old rabbit into my chair. "Just pull another up," he said. The way he said it made me feel welcome, just like listening to a friendly grandpa talking to his grandchildren. He waited while I grabbed another one of the plastic chairs, and as the silence dragged on I noticed that the old rabbit wheezed when he breathed. It sounded strained.
"Thank you for the seat, Mayberry--it is Mayberry, right?"
"Yessir."
His smile glowed. "Yes. I remember writing your confirmation. You felt so honored when I gave it to you."
"I guess so."
"Thankful, even." He wheezed and gasped for breath; I leaned out to help but he waved me off until the fit passed again. "I was proud of you, too."
"Thank you," I said.
"There you go again. Always the polite one, you were." Hazel's eyes drifted off into the distance. "Yes... I always knew you'd make a good rabbit. And I was right."
"About that..." I started, but I stopped before the words left my mouth. Hazel-rah already looked like death warmed over; he didn't need _my_ woes on top of that. But it was too late to go back; after the sudden stop his gaze snapped back to meet my eyes.
I tried my best not to look nervous. I tried to think of a good lie. Those failing, I skirted the subject. "It's about Jacob," I said in a rush. "I know he wants to be a rabbit, but I think you should reconsider your confirmation."
"Oh?" The rabbit's body creaked and crackled as he leaned forward. "Jacob is very excited about becoming one of our warren, Mayberry. I see no reason to deny him that dream."
I shook my head. "No, you misunderstand me. Jacob deserves to be a rabbit -- he'll make a great one, I'm sure -- but I think now isn't the right time for him to try."
Hazel's eyes dimmed and his gentle smile faded away. Apparently I wasn't alone in my thoughts. "You have to understand that this whole thing revolves around politics. I can't turn the gene pump on until this whole mess blows over. At least this way he gets a vote in the situation."
"I guess so." I respected Hazel-rah's decision, even though it wasn't the one I wanted to hear. Tough decisions always leave naysayers behind.
"But it is a shame, though." He pushed off the chair and leaned on the gene pump's empty glass cocoon. "The thing looks much more imposing when there's not a body in it, you know?"
"I think it's the other way around."
"Depends on your perspective," Hazel countered. "If you just look at all the intermediate stages, then yes. It can be rather revolting. But if you take the time to look below the skin and see what's happening..."
He trailed off. I joined him at the pump and let my paws trace the grooves of names that had gone before me. Beyond those names the pump's hydraulic needles sighed a restless sigh. I looked closely at the way the glass's reflection caught the wrinkles barely hidden behind Hazel-rah's thin fur coat, wrinkles that were intensified by the lack of light in the room.
"We're changing the world, Mayberry. It may take ears and a tail to make the point, and we may only be able to change the world one person at a time, but in the end we're still trying our damndest to make the world a better place. If it takes losing Vinewood to prove that to the world, then so be it. I'm willing to take it as far as anyone dares take it."
My jaw dropped. Hazel's voice seemed ten years younger as he said it; there was a drive and dedication to the sound that made me shiver from ears to toes. Sure, bunnies could be brave, but this old rabbit had balls to casually put his lifetime's work on the line! Hazel-rah chuckled as I struggled to find words; all that came out was a series of unintelligible squeaks and squeals.
Hazel-rah clapped me on the shoulder and beamed. "What, you didn't expect to see drive and dedication from an old rabbit?" he asked. "You shouldn't be surprised. From what I've heard you've got more drive in your little finger than I do in my whole body."
Okay, I had heard enough. This was downright blasphemy! "But I thought the gene pump removed those kinds of wants from our body!"
"The gene pump makes you a rabbit," he countered. "Socially speaking rabbits have powerful ties to the warren, and from a human's perspective we can be gentle and compassionate to anyone. That's what's most important; with that perception we can rely on the placebo effect to do most of the work."
"Excuse me?
"Placebo. You know, like using a sugar pill to cure a cold? It's all up here, Mayberry." He tapped his wrinkled forehead with a paw. "And, up until now, Vinewood's had enough of that little mental fudging to hide a rabbit's true nature."
I tried to stop and counter him before I heard any more, but my throat was tight and my body unwilling.
"See, rabbits are actually very nasty creatures. In the wild we fight within our social group all the time. Mating involves beating the female senseless. And... well..." he saw my gaping mouth then. "Let's just leave it at this: if the Vinewood warren knew how rabbits _really_ acted the government would have shut us down ten years ago."
"I see."
"Rabbits are very aggressive creatures, Mayberry" he said in a low, serious tone. "We don't make that fact well known, but it's true. Vinewood's residents choose to believe that we're a docile, caring species, but deep down inside we all feel it, some more than others." His glare pierced me. "When the time comes for action a good rabbit will do whatever it takes, no questions asked. And I'm sure you're a _very_ good rabbit."
I lowered my head.
He put his hand on my chin and lifted my face to meet his. It was all warm and beautiful again. "Come now, little kit. You can't be too hard on yourself! Sure, right now you don't quite fit into the mold, but someday people may learn to understand and accept us -- could possibly be in our near future."
"Will it be fast enough?" I asked him. There was acid in my tone that I didn't want there, but I couldn't stop myself.
For all the hate I put into the sentence, the old rabbit didn't even blink. "We'll see. For now all we can do is fight.
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome." He groaned as he leaned back in his chair, and we silently agreed to end the discussion there. "I'll talk to Jacob about it first thing in the morning," he said. The tone told me it was a dismissal. "For now, though, I want you to go home and sleep. After what happened today we're pulling all young bucks and does from school, so try to relax. Tomorrow is going to be hell."
With that said he turned to the gene pump and waited patiently for me to get out of the building.
- - -
I walked back home feeling a little better about myself, as if I were carrying an important secret and a real purpose. Suddenly I didn't feel so terribly out of the loop; instead, I felt as if the world hadn't discovered the right way yet. When Hazel-rah spoke it felt as if that the veil had lifted over a large mystery; for a split second I understood it all, every motivation, every reason, every bit of logic, every reaction my body garnered...
And I had hope for my rabbit way of life. It wasn't more than a dim flicker that comes from a one-in-a-million shot, but even a little light will shine brightly in pitch darkness.
I ambled back into the house to find Jacob sitting up on the couch, an ice pack over one eye. Most of his major cuts bathed in antibacterial cream, open to the air. We hadn't a bandage in the house. When I shut the door he put the pack down and gave me a little grin. "Trouble sleeping?"
"You could say that."
He chuckled. "Maybe I should beat the shit out of you; best barbiturate going. Makes you sleep like a baby."
"No thanks." I took a seat at the same recliner. "I think I don't terribly like the side effects."
He nodded solemnly and lowered his voice. "Tomorrow's the day."
"Yep."
"Made a decision yet?"
"No."
"I see." He sighed. "This whole thing is crazy."
"Excuse me?"
He pointed to the TV. "I was watching CNN and they did a report on Vinewood. People are going to wreck this whole warren no matter how the vote goes; on top of the protestors some prime investors are bribing key rabbits. Police patrols catch at least a dozen paparazzi a day hiding out in the bushes with hi-power camera lenses."
"I'm not surprised."
"I am." His fists balled as he talked. "We just want to make our lives better -- that's all. Why can't they just leave us alone?"
"Human nature," I replied simply. "You can't just tell someone to 'leave something alone.' They'll always be looking to get their slice of the pie, or trying to find some way to cut down the people who have life figured out. Think of it as humanity's way of maintaining equilibrium."
"It's crap."
I shrugged. "It's life. I'll just be glad when it's over, no matter what we end up doing."
"Easy for you to say. At this rate you're going to get exactly what you wanted."
"You sure of that?"
"You always did come out on top," he said with a false smile.
"You sound jealous."
"Maybe." His eyes carried the pain of a sore loser. How I hated seeing that! Jacob had rolled over and given up on his dreams, and made sure I knew it. It made me want to slap him right across the nose, just for showing that sort of contempt. It was giving up. It was a cop-out.
It wasn't the Jacob I knew.
"So sorry to hear that," I spat. Before he could say anything more I stomped up the stairs and into my room, locking the door behind me.
- - -
I stayed in my room for the rest of the day and long into the night. Jacob never made any attempt to say anything to me. Dad tried to intrude, but the door stayed locked until three in the morning when my insomnia got the best of my need for isolation.
Jacob was jealous! Of all the crybaby emotions he could possibly have going into this vote, it had to be jealousy! How could he possibly be jealous of me? My world hung in a terrible balance: either I could vote for humanity and take Jacob's dream away, or I could vote for and chance losing my own ambitions.
I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. Who would want _that_?
When I woke up Jacob was just walking in the door; I heard my parents talking to him about Hazel-rah. The muffled mumbling I heard up in my room sounded tired, broken. My heart skipped a beat; maybe Hazel-rah really _did_ convince him to hold off! With a little squeak I threw open my door and thundered down the stairs, my heart suddenly light as a feather...
...and when I laid eyes on Jacob's rabbit ears my heart sank to my toes.
"He gave me a final warning," Jacob said to my parents. He made a painstaking effort not to look at me. "It was one of those, 'you sure you want to do this?' kind of moments. Not like he was going to change my heart on _this_ one. I want this more than anything." Mom and Dad patted him on the back as if they were proud of him. And, on the outside, he seemed pretty confident in himself.
But Jacob was terrible at faking it. His face gave him away: under brave, jutted out chin and hardened eyes was a scared little boy going along with his own decision only because his dad told him to finished what he started. He knew that he was going to lose. And, as his eyes met mine, I knew exactly who he would be angry with...
No, not angry. _Jealous._
Jealous! How dare he think such a thought! He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and yet he envied me. I hated it. I wanted to vote against Vinewood just to spite him. I thought of ten thousand ways for Jacob to lose his lust for rabbitdom and reveled in how each shattered his mind into a ten thousand crushed pieces...
What was I thinking? This was my _friend._ How could I possibly bring so much malice down onto someone I could trust with my very life?
It was crunch time. And at crunch time all bets are off. I balled my paws and stepped into the entryway just long enough to thunder down into the basement. Jacob followed close behind.
I walked over to my mat and bounced on my toes, as if I was warming up for a match. My back was to Jacob. I continued to bounce around until I heard him strapping on the pair of wrestling shoes at matside. Then I stopped and mumbled, "You shouldn't put those on."
"And why not?" He had the shoes tied and was fumbling with the Velcro lace covers.
I pointed to his battered face. "Because you're hurt?"
"This?" he pointed to a long abrasion on his forearm. "Nothing. You've wrestled with worse. Remember the dislocated shoulder?" He had me there. Not many people would finish a match after having their shoulder slammed back into socket. I had no grounds to tell Jacob to exercise caution. None at all.
"Come on, then" I beckoned to him. "We could both use the stress relief."
"Thought you'd see it my way." We started hand fighting, a basic drill made to practice getting into good position. Mostly it was a game of butting heads and grabbing the underhook at the right time, nothing more. It was a good way to pound out some aggression, when performed at full speed. We kept it to a low roar to warm up and talk.
"Big day," I said. I was summing up something we already knew. "Lots of stuff on the line."
"Like the future of your wrestling career." Jacob sneered and dug his forehead into my ear. "I bet you're excited."
I swam my arm under his. "Either way I'm going to lose. If it's not wrestling it'll be the guild of losing Vinewood."
"Jacob suddenly went limp. I fell onto the mat as he backed away, eyes wide open despite the swelling. "I still don't get it," he said to me. "You obviously love vinewood and all it entails. Why would you leave it all behind for wrestling?"
"It's six minutes of glory," I replied. The words came out as a reflex.
We locked up again. "Explain," he asked as the drill started to heat up. We were moving a little faster and throwing a little more muscle into the moves.
"Shouldn't you know what I'm talking about, teammate?"
"Humor me." I tried to sniff him for humor; there was none there. "Tell me about wrestling, Marvin. Why is it special for you? What keeps you coming back?
"You sure you want to hear this?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." I took a deep breath -- as deep a breath as our drill would allow. "See, for me it's all about that moment before the match. You walk out onto the mat, strip off your warm-ups to reveal your singlet, and you start to feel your heart pounding. The referee checks your names and your body feels light, fast, strong... ready. Your heart pounds out of your chest. On goes the leg bands; you look at your opponent, back at your coaches, to your opponent again. You're alone out there; no one can save you, jump in if you need it, help you if you're losing. It's you versus him. It's a game of wills, of finding triumph when it really counts."
"...And?"
"And when you stand off face-to-face with that man and shake his hand, you realize that you love every second of that feat." I stopped wrestling, then. "Damn it, Jacob, I love this sport."
"I see." Jacob put his hands over his head to breathe better. "But you live, you learn, and you move on."
"What?
"Life will get _better_, Mayberry. Doubly so if you stay a rabbit. You'll never believe it until you see it for yourself, but it's true."
"Okay." I threw my hands to my sides and stifled a scream; this time, he had gone too far. "You can't go around throwing that sort of shit around, especially to me. You don't even know what you're talking about."
"But I know you."
"You don't know jack shit about me!" I screamed. Jacob shied away, but I refused to let him shrink from the conversation. "You know everything there is to know about Mayberry but you turn a blind eye to Marvin. Isn't that just _convenient_? You think everything good in life is because of Mayberry and all the _evil_ just goes to lil' ol' Marvin! Yeah! That's it. Let's just all be bunnies and live happily ever after, la di da, and we'll tra-la-la-la-la our way through the happy tree forest until we all hang ourselves for lack of interest. That sounds like a great plan, Jacob!"
"But---"
"But nothing!" I stood him down so that we were nose to nose, eye to eye. "All this time you've been trying to manipulate me, trying to get my vote to go your way. I see it in your eyes, you little shit; you're just trying to get your way at any cost, even if it's your good buddy Marvin..." I threw my hands up into the air. "But wait! You want Marvin _dead to the world_! Yeah, just let Mayberry run free in his happy rabbit ways, that's it! Let's you and me go hopping off into the forest together and call it paradise!"
"Mayberry----"
"But you miss the point, Jacob. You look past the one gaping problem with rabbit life. It's _boring as hell_! All the rabbits want to do is hop and jump and sing and be happy that they're rabbits and act as if the world were just a lemon drop in a candy bowl! Don't try to _even_ start a competition -- no sir! -- they'll shut you out in a heartbeat and call you evil. They don't even notice the snipers sitting in the bushes, eager for the chance to take them out with one well-placed shot to the tail, now do they?"
"You're taking this too far."
"Too far?" I laughed a maniacal laugh. "Me, take this thing too far? Oh no! 'Too far' is allowing genetic technology to even get to this point. 'Too far' is letting children make life-altering decisions that affect the rest of their life. 'Too far' is creating a commune of freaks and crazies, all dressed up in rabbit costumes, trying to make believe that the world is beautiful and there's no need for strife."
I turned away from Jacob and shook my head. "These rabbits haven’t even _seen_ a real rabbit in the wild! They don't know the first thing about _real_ rabbit society. You people have no fucking clue how terrible a creature a rabbit is! You just cling to this storytime bit about taming humanity with a gentle creatures genes. You just want to pump out the bad and put in the good, but it's not even that good!"
"Listen----"
"No, _you_ listen!" With that I reared back and cocked Jacob one square on the jaw. He bent back until the recoil and pain doubled him over. Before I could feel any remorse or reconsider my actions I brought my knee to his face; something soft burst under the pressure and red confetti splattered over my fur.
There was a moment of silence as Jacob felt his face. I braced myself for the inevitable bum rush, my mind fully ready to fight. For the first time in a year I felt exhilarated, empowered, alive... I felt _real!_ My heart pounded out of my chest as I stood at the ready, waiting for Jacob to retaliate...
But Jacob only pulled himself upright with a slow and deliberate air of pride. His fists were unclenched and his eyes hadn't a hint of a fighter's rage. He took a moment to readjust his ears before gazing into my eyes with all the compassion he could muster.
"You gonna rabbit out of this too?" I asked him. My fists were balled and ready to strike if he so much as moved a muscle. The muscles in my legs were tense as a bowstring waiting to be plucked. I stood there, waiting, tasting blood on the very tip of my tongue. "Huh? You gonna be a pussy and let me walk all over you?"
"If that's what it takes, yes." He stood proudly, hands at his sides while blood poured from a reopened cut on his cheek. When I looked into his eyes they were calm, relaxed, prepared for what may come.
I looked at the University of Iowa t-shirt -- _my_ University of Iowa t-shirt -- as he stood idle. He didn't deserve to wear that shirt. "You're just going to let me kick your ass, then."
"If you wish. That, or you could come to your senses and we could talk about this like rabbits."
"Rabbits!" Rage boiled the blood in my veins as I let loose with a monstrous kick to his midsection. He doubled over without his face ever changing. "Damn it, Jacob, when are you going to see the point? The rabbits lost! It's over! All that innocence, all that wishful thinking... it's gone! _We can't go back!_"
He wheezed a few times, until he had enough breath to speak again. "We don’t need to go back. It's you."
I put my knee into his nose and felt it crunch under the blow. "You want to tell me that _I've_ got the problem? You, the idiot who's crazy enough to _want_ to be a rabbit when this shit hits the fan?" The force form the last blow brought his head to my level; I smacked him across the face as his calm eyes met mine. His face sprinkled crimson across the mat and onto the floor. "Fuck you! Fuck you for even thinking about such a god-damn thing! Fuck you for making my life difficult!"
He turned to me again. His face looked more like hamburger than human skin, now; the bloodied surface shimmered under the basement's halogen lights. Deep down I knew I should show compassion, but rage kept me seeing red, anger and hatred driving me on when my rabbit self would have turned and vomited.
And yet Jacob would not shy away. His eyes -- his ever loving, ever caring, ever determined eyes -- continued to pierce me.
"Damn you!" I had his now-red shirt collar in my paws; with a growl I pulled him closer, so close that I could smell the blood seeping from the furrows in his face. "Stop looking at me like that." No response. I shook him again. "Stop that damn puppy eye act! Give it up! You've lost! It's over! Just give up!"
"I can't." As he spoke I saw his lip start to fall away from his face like a banana peel. "Not now. Not when you need it most."
"Damn you for making this difficult!" I screamed at him. "Why can't you just turn tail and run away?"
"Because I know I'm right."
"Fuck you." I cocked my head to one side and moved closer to his face -- so close that a drop of his blood stuck to my nose. "This would be so fucking easy if you'd just call it quits, Jacob. I could make my vote in _peace_ and get on with my wrestling career. We just can't win, Jacob! You can't... We can't..."
With nothing more than a gasping sigh Jacob's eyes rolled back into his head. I was holding a limp, tattered rag doll in my arms. The blood from his face dribbled onto the mat with the soft "pitter-patter" sound of a spring rain. My University of Iowa t-shirt fluttered in the ceiling fan's gentle breeze where my claws had ripped the fabric to shreds.
"Oh God," I managed. My fingers went numb and Jacob's body slumped down onto the mat in a pile. There was my best friend in the world: battered, bruised, bloody and mangled all on a count of his dreams.
And yet he never backed down.
Suddenly I was weak in the knees. And all this time I thought I was dedicated to _my_ goals! There Jacob lay in a growing puddle of his own blood, all because he refused to give in. I looked down at my own body, noticing how my mangy fur matted where the blood had started to dry.
Me, dedicated? Not hardly. Jacob put my paltry wrestling dedication to shame.
My mouth struggled to say something -- anything. "I'm sorry," I finally managed to whisper. Then I turned to one side and emptied my stomach out onto the mat. I wanted to just curl up and die right there and then...
But I shot back up at the sound of wood splintering just beyond the basement door. The sounds of a thousand strained and bloodthirsty voices were close behind. I heard the dull thunk of wooden torches and two-by-fours as they made contact about seven feet off the ground. Since our house was built on a hill our basement door opened up to the backyard; and, as I stared out the frosted windows, the privacy fence bowed slightly inward. Above the fence were the dim lights of torches -- a score of them, at the least.
The protestors were taking action. And, as my eye caught the glint of fresh nails embedded in their two-by-fours, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty. Hoping they hadn't seen me yet I slowly lowered myself under the windowsill and crawled over to my battered friend.
"Jacob!" I said in a hushed whisper. "Jacob, you with me?" The blood and vomit on the mat stung my nose and stopped any chance I may have had at catching the protestor's scent. Instincts I had never known existed started to control my mind -- some human, some rabbit, some born of necessity at the spur of the moment.
But one thought thundered above all others. Jacob and I needed to get out of the house, and fast!
I patted my friend's cheek and tried not to think about the sticky feel of blood on my paw. "Come on, Jacob, wake up for me. Wake up for Marvin." I continued patting his cheek until I heard the fence splinter again, and anxiety got the best of me. That's the last time I ever reared back and slapped Jacob across the face with any sort of force.
Suddenly his eyes shot open. "What?" he screamed as he came back to life. He looked left, right, up, down, all the while skin from the lacerations on his face flopped around like the gills on a fish. I felt like vomiting again; lucky me the mob waiting just outside my fence kept the urge down.
"God, I'm sorry about this," I said to him in a rush. He opened his mouth to reply but I hushed him. "We gotta get moving, Jacob. Can you walk?"
"What's the rush?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know." The wood splintered again. "Let's try to get you up." He didn't have time or presence of mind to reply, so I grabbed onto one of his arms and hoisted him onto his feet. We stayed in that awkward position for the longest five seconds of my life, until Jacob finally managed to get his feet flat on the ground.
"You think you can do the stairs?" I asked him.
"Why not use the back door?" he replied with a smug, concussion-induced grin. I didn't have time to even dignify him with a reply; I swooped his body over my shoulder and started to fireman's carry him up the stairs.
I didn't get terribly far, though. A heavyweight of a man stood in front of our only exit and held out a hand to stop me. A single brass band wrapped around his knuckles. "No exit," he said. A grin carved its way into his chubby face.
We were trapped like rabbits!
"Change of plans," I said to Jacob as I turned back down the stairs. My voice was cold and emotionless in hopes that I could keep my head on straight through this ordeal. Jacob found his footing as I slid him down my back and dove into the stairwell cubby-hole.
"What's happening?" Jacob asked. He sounded calm and confused. It was probably better that he wasn't in his right frame of mind for this; at least he might not remember this when it's all said and done.
The fence supports shattered with one loud crack. This was all my fault, I thought to myself as I fished two wooden baseball bats out of the storage hole. If I hadn't beaten him to within a shred of his life we could have just plowed right through that heavyweight and out the door, to where safety in Vinewood's numbers would keep us from harm. If he wasn't already weak from two fights in a day we could easily have marched out the door and made a break for it. If Jacob were only healthy...
But Jacob wasn't healthy. All we could do was to face whatever came across that fence together. As friends.
"Jacob!" I screamed. When he turned I tossed one of the bats to him. "We're gonna need these." I ran up to the door and sidled up to the handle side, bat cocked and at the ready. The mob charged forward; I heard them closing ground on our backyard, ready to charge our basement door full-force.
"What?"
"This could be it, friend" I said to him. My muscles were so tight they hurt. My chest labored to keep oxygen in my body. I could see the blood leaving my knuckles as I gripped the bat, even through the thick layer of brown fur.
His mind must have cleared enough to see what was coming and he blanched too. "I see what you mean." He looked to me. I looked to him. His bright eyes, gentle smile, and ever-proud ears were mottled under a thickening layer of blood.
The basement walls shuddered with the mob's first impact. Jacob and I hunkered down reflexively, expecting the worse. He knew he shouldn't be there in his condition. I knew the police wouldn't be here in time to do any good We both knew this was going to get ugly real quickly.
Our eyes locked as the mob receded for a second charge. "I'm sorry," I managed through my strained lungs. "I should never have doubted you; we're going to die because of it. You'd have made a hell of a rabbit, Fiver."
"I _will_ make a hell of a rabbit," he corrected me. "And I'll share every minute of it with my best friend Mayberry. Side by side."
I nodded and retightened the grip on my bat. The door burst open and I swung with all my might, my bat catching the first invader over clean on bridge of his nose. From there they just kept pouring in, a veritable army of torches and crude weapons bent on two bloodthirsty goals. I swung and swung, screaming as my body thrashed about for its own life, and yet the circle closed down on me. Down, down, down they collapsed, each swing of their weapons coming closer and closer...
And with a defiant yell Fiver jumped full on into the fray to stand shoulder to shoulder with his fellow rabbit. I don't remember exactly how it happened; one moment I was against a corner, hoping for the best, and the next he's there beside me, a stolen lumber-with-nail in hand. He pounded it in his free hand as the crowd fell away for an instant. As they receded their feet unveiled a half-dozen unconscious human bodies.
I looked up from the ball I had curled up into to see him standing there. My lips barely formed the word "Fiver" as I unwound myself and pushed up to my feet.
"Mayberry." He pointed to another lumber-with-nail laying on the ground. "I hope they didn't bash you too badly."
"Nothing worse than what I gave you." I spoke slowly and deliberately as I picked up the nearest weapon and held it at the ready, staring at the shaken mob with hungry eyes.
The mob started to disperse. Some looked disappointed, others appalled, and still others seemed hungry for revenge but not hungry enough to go hunting for a second helping. Apparently they had seen enough when we laid out a few of their own. "Who knew rabbits could fight back?" I heard one say as he filed out the door. His arm dribbled blood from a puncture wound probably inflicted by Jacob's little maelstrom.
"Got you pretty good," Jacob said. He pointed to two dozen puncture wounds all over my fur. "How'd I do?"
"You don't look any better than when I finished with you, that's for sure."
"Heh." The last intruder left the basement before we let our weapons drop. "Adrenaline's a wonderful thing, you know?"
"I know."
We smiled at each other one last time before our muscles gave out and the room faded to black.
- - -
The next thing I knew I was listening to the click of metal valves and the fwoosh of water draining from the gene pump. _My_ gene pump. Maybe the memory was ingrained and supplemented by every human being's time in the womb: a time of growth, change, passion, and a yearn to discover what tomorrow brings. Some rabbits even kept a copy of that sound on a CD and used it like many people would use a recording of a cascading waterfall, so as to create a soothing atmosphere in a room.
Something felt different this time. I remembered that during my first pump I had been harnessed into a large chamber, in which I could move around during those rare moments of clarity. The glass seemed much closer this time, and I had a hard, warm surface flush against my back.
As the liquid drained and I felt the surface move I came to slowly realize what was going on. It was a tandem gene pump -- not often done at Vinewood, since it requires heavy sedatives to keep the patients calm -- but in a pinch we made do. We saved it for emergency use only.
Two strong bucks in white lab coats opened the glass cocoon and took me by the arms. With a sudden jerk they pulled my body out into the chill air of Vinewood's commons, amidst applause from the crowd. "Welcome back," one of the rabbits said to me. "You look ten times better than before you went in."
I looked down and, indeed, I was whole again. After the job the mob did on me I wasn't expecting to ever look the same again -- I had remembered every detail in horrible dreams: every poke, every puncture, every grazing blow. I had imagined that I'd come out with a polka-dot pattern to my fur, what with the scars and all.
The rabbit that had been at my back was helped out shortly after me; I waved to him politely, as if to I were thanking a friend for sharing crash space. He nodded to me as if he were expecting to be escorted off stage -- much like I was expecting -- but instead he was helped over to where I stood.
There was a round of applause from an audience I didn't even know existed up to that moment. Suddenly I was aware of someone making their way to the pump, someone with a unique gait, complete with cane. Hazel-rah turned and nodded to both rabbits, but before we could say anything a troupe of rabbits descended upon us both with a half-dozen towels. After taking a deep breath he turned his backs to us and spoke to the audience for a bit, but I could hear nothing for my caretakers conveniently had my ears covered for most of the speech.
The other rabbit turned to me and winked. I smiled and nodded, trying to dismiss the strange creature. I just didn't want to be sociable at the time.
As if the wink were a cue the rabbits released the stranglehold on my ear so that I could listen when the strange, fawn-colored rabbit opened his mouth. "We did it," the strange rabbit whispered. "You and me, Mayberry."
"What?" I did a double take. This man was supposed to be in some hospital in the city, with layers setting up a case against Vinewood for unfit conditions or something.
"I told you adrenaline was a wonderful thing." He winked at me and swung an imaginary bat through the air. Suddenly it clicked and, despite my usually stoic attitude, I wrapped my arms around him in the tightest hug I've ever given anyone. Whatever Hazel-rah was talking about, it was immediately drowned out by a rousing cheer.
"We did it," I said to him.
"We did," he replied. We patted each other on the back for a few more moments, until the crowd noise started to die down. By that time our caretakers had pulled up chairs for us to sit and face the congregation as a whole, chairs in which we sat tall and proud.
Hazel-rah turned to us and winked. Then his gaze traced over the crowd, making sure to meet eyes with every rabbit. "Ladies and gentlemen, does and bucks: I present to you two of the bravest kits I have ever known. Mayberry and Fiver rabbit withstood terrible injuries with impossible odds for survival but one month ago. Now they stand together on this very stage, just as they stood together against the horde of protestors on that fateful day."
I shot a glance over to the other bunny. "He doesn't know, does he?"
"I don't know."
"I mean... well..." I sighed and gave up on even trying to figure things out. The drugs flowing through my brain made it hard to think of anything, really. Better to just accept things and try to make right with the past. "Well, it's done. No hard feelings, right Fiver?" I put extra emphasis on the name. It felt good to call him that, I noticed; it rolled off the tongue and felt _right_, as if he had been born to carry the title.
The name also had the added bonus of making him grin from ear to long ear. When he took my paw into his it was with a strong, affirming grip. "Clean slate," he said through that wide grin. "Mayberry Rabbit, I am Fiver Rabbit. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." We kept shaking paws until Fiver chuckled and broke contact.
Hazel-rah paid no mind to us until Fiver calmed down, at which point the old rabbit ambled his way toward the gene pump. "Follow me, lad" he said. His voice sounded considerably weaker when he spoke to Fiver, for the sound wasn't pointed to the back wall of the commons.
Sitting by the pump was a Dremel with an etching tool.
Fiver could barely work the tool, he was shaking so badly. A few of our caretaker rabbits steadied his arm as he slowly made his mark in the gene pump's glass. The crowd waited in patient silence until at last the new bunny pulled his tool away from the glass, at which point they hit the ceiling trying to fire off a standing ovation.
He was still shaking when he was led back to his seat; I put my arm on his shoulder. I chuckled and asked, "Heavy, isn't it?"
"Heavy? It's the happiest damn moment of my life." He shivered once and grinned wider.
During the ovation Hazel-rah had picked up the Dremel tool. With it he etched a thin white line right above the new rabbit's mark. He pointed to it as he addressed the crowd once more. "Jacob turned Fiver Rabbit, ladies and gentlemen. He marks a beginning."
"What's he talking about?" I asked my friend, but he only shrugged his shoulders.
"He has seen what we're up against," the old rabbit continued. "With Mayberry's help he managed to stare down the barrel of hatred and win. Granted, his victory was not saccharine and wonderful as we rabbits often wish for, but that's sometimes not possible. This is _reality_."
Hazel-rah's voice redoubled in firmness and volume. "I know both these individuals personally. These are our future leaders, rabbits. They have the brilliance. They have the dream." He turned to me deliberately. "They have the gall to put their foot down for the rabbits of the world."
He traced the cross-beams on the ceiling with his free hand as he talked. "We often consider this place to be a sacred realm in which the evils of human conflict have been driven from existence. Evil comes from the outside, evil in the form of protestors, evil in the form of the media, evil in the form of government mandates asking for us rabbits to roll over and die... but I know better. You may not realize it, but you know better."
With a little half-grin, he leveled his gaze with the nearest rabbit. "The only evil we deal with is reality. We built this sanctuary to try and find peace within ourselves, and we went so far that the simple facts of life turn our stomach. We would see ourselves as a group of winners, above all conflict. But we have lost touch with what the real world truly is: a mass of small battles, each with a winner and loser.
"Small battles," he repeated. "We're stuck with Vinewood's battle, rabbits, come hell or high water. There will be winners. There will be losers." He looked to us for a split second. Suddenly I realized what it meant to be a martyr.
He sighed and pointed back to the glass line again. "Remember that line, fellow rabbits. It is the day we start our fight. And before this is over you will _all_ have to carry the banner and do your part in the battle.
"This is the point of no return, rabbits. It is no longer a question of if, or when, or why. We _must_ fight this battle. And we _must_ win. And we _must_ do it together. As rabbits."
Silence. Hazel-rah let out a long, deep laugh before brightening his tone. "I'm preaching to the choir, though. We've stuck out tough situations before, and we'll do so again. For now, though, let's just get on with family dinner. I know two rabbits who would _love_ to stretch their legs with a little dance. What say you?"
The crowd shot to their feet with a rousing cheer and started clearing away tables. In the meantime the old rabbit turned to the two of us with a wide smile. "I'm proud of you two," he said in that grandpa voice he reserved for the children.
"You don't know the whole story," I blurted. "See, before the protestors came in... well..."
"You two had a fight?"
"A big one."
"I thought as much," he said with a smile. "Best way to reconcile a relationship going down the toilet, I say. Great way to take out that aggression, Mayberry."
"And it's not to shabby on making someone step back and look at reality," Jacob added. Then his face iced over. "Should we tell them about the fight?"
Hazel-rah leaned in close and brought his voice down to a whisper. "Let's just keep that our little secret, hmm? What they don't know don't hurt them." He stood and offered a hand to help me up. "Right now, though, I just want you two go to have fun. I've know a few does who are dying to see you and your new friend, Mayberry." He winked and gestured to the does standing just at the bottom of the stair, staring at them with glassy eyes.
"We've got a lot of dancing to do," Fiver said with a smirk.
"We never learned to dance," I reminded him. "We were always too busy with wrestling to really bother with it. All the good dances took place at all the wrong times at school." I looked over to the gene pump, to the etching of my name that had all but destroyed my life a few months ago. I thought of my wrestling dreams, of Iowa, of friends almost lost, of futures never to be found again.
"It's a good time to learn." He nodded to me. I nodded to him. And, with a proud gait and a bright, genuine smile, I laid eyes on the first doe at the stair and decided that she'd make a great dance partner. We walked out onto the dance floor and never looked back.
