Below, is a little snippet that combines some images of spring and summer. It has a rabbit in it. I have a things for rabbits. I actually have a very big thing for rabbits.
I FRIGGIN' ADORE THEM!
I think this is another "where I grew up thing," but I can't get enough rabbits. Real rabbits I mean. None of this kitschy bunny slippers stuff. I mean Eastern Cottontails nibbling on ground ivy, jackrabbits outrunning tumbleweeds, and Swamp Rabbits that attack Jimmy Carter! I have my pet rabbit Carson and while he is infinitely incorrigible, I do search for those wild traits still left in him.
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After the Storm
by Garik Charneco
by Garik Charneco
It sounds like a final breath. The gulping noise the water makes when it fills a pocket in the beach house's interior. The tide brings in the water to the cubby holes along the rear of wall of the living room and the space below the refrigerator. Then the tides sucks the back water back out, leaving the soft shucking noise and a rime of silt as the only evidence.
Hurricane Danny just skirted the coast of the bay, but still knocked the beach house off the stilts that kept it ten feet into and two feet above the water. After the storm, the call went out and Sadie was the first on the scene.
Sadie pulls on the straps of her windbreaker, bringing in the nylon hood around her hair, which frizzes up in the humidity. The rental car she drove here is at the far end of the crushed gravel path from the main road. She notices the iridescent crushed oyster shells and buffed sea glass in the driveway. She wants to ask if those were always there, if they were a part of the gravel driveway or something washed up from the sea. She steps over the exposed pipes of the outdoor sink where her dad scaled the fish he caught from the porch. She remembers how tiny the fish where and how scaling them just seemed like something to impress all the kids; all the cousins, sisters, brothers, and friends that spent summers here. The spigot to the sink lies in the fronds of a cabbage palm, a little glint amongst all the fallen green.
The driveway leads to a wooden gate that never closed during the summers. Feral cats walked through it and batted at the little minnows just below the porch. Sadie's mom always called them Hemingway Cats, visitors from the Keys. Sadie pulls on the gate, but the entire piece comes off the hinges, which were held on by only one rusty screw. The storm water permeates each knot in the wood and it feels heavy in her hands. The corner of the gate butts into the gravel and leaves an exposed gash. Sadie props the entire thing against the broken urn her father always claimed he dredged from the Mediterranean. She now sees the grey breadth of a concrete lawn ornament.
The porch held up during the storm and only the emerald fronds of sea grass litter the wooden floors. Sadie turns the corner and expects the familiar folding table littered with dominoes and the skiff tied up to the railings. She sees more sea grass and hears the noise again, the sound of the sea coming in and out. The door to the actual house is open, forced open by a sea swell.
Avocado colored bowls pepper the living room and the ear-wax yellow refrigerator lies on its side. It is filled with brown seawater, that Sadie churns with broom handle. She pulls out more sea grass and the quivering body of jellyfish. She flings that back out into the bay. She keeps away from the area the jellyfish touched while sweeping everything up into a little pile. Silverware, plates, headless dolls, and a mound of Q-tips. She brings all this to the center of the room where she knows her mother would prefer the mess. "Easier to get into the bags, dear," Sadie mutters to herself. The sound of the sea beneath her becomes more rhythmic, a soundtrack to the salvage.
The living room attaches to the rest of the house by a aluminum door. The bottom of it is mottled with rust and screeches against the wood. The large bedroom is divided by a curtain that is still tied to it's hook on the wall. Every bed is a bunk bed and Sadie sits on the edge of the soaked mattress looking for the messages she left in magic marker. She traces the line of a heart, but strains to remember the letters in it. "S and I?" Enunciating every letter and scrawl fails to take her back, instead it feels like she should just get back to cleaning.
Another noise breaks the sound of tidal push and pull. It sounds like a soft oinking, a strong nasal noise followed by a pitter-patter. Sadie feels a swish against her feet, a sees a ball of cotton dive under the bed. She shoots up from the edge of the mattress and slams her head against the top bunk. She winces a curse and then sees the rabbit running around her feet.
It is a sandy brown with a few bands of white intermingling with the rest of the fur. Its ears drag against the floor, their bell shaped bottoms soaked like paint brushes. Sadie squats down and scoops in half circle. The rabbit trashes, kicking its back feet like someone kicking off a pair of flip flops. The rabbit quivers and the wet fur leaves a trail against Sadie's coat. In the corner of the room she notices a cage. Black wires and a green plastic cover. She doesn't remember a rabbit at the house or rabbits by the sea. The cage bottom is lined with wood shavings that clump together around wet spots left from the condensation against the top bars.
The rabbit stops trashing and tucks its legs into the fold of Sadie's elbow. "Did you float over here?" She asks this into one of it's ears. The rabbit continues to coo.
The rear window of the room is gone and the storm left a bare rectangle in the wooden side. The cage is below the exposed window and in the mangrove trees behind the house, Sadie sees more of the wood shavings coalescing around the roots. Sadie puts the rabbit down on the mattress where it stands on its back feet and nuzzles her forearm. The rabbit looks drowned, it's hair wet and slick to its body like an otter. It shivers while standing up, but whether from the strain or the cold, Sadie can't tell. She strips her jacket off and places it on the bottom of the cage. The rabbit allows itself to be picked up and digs its way into the folds of her coat. Sadie brings her arms to her shoulders and tried to warm itself. A sort of fog fills the room and through the window she sees another gutted beach house and imagines the line of properties further down the bay.
Hurricane Danny just skirted the coast of the bay, but still knocked the beach house off the stilts that kept it ten feet into and two feet above the water. After the storm, the call went out and Sadie was the first on the scene.
Sadie pulls on the straps of her windbreaker, bringing in the nylon hood around her hair, which frizzes up in the humidity. The rental car she drove here is at the far end of the crushed gravel path from the main road. She notices the iridescent crushed oyster shells and buffed sea glass in the driveway. She wants to ask if those were always there, if they were a part of the gravel driveway or something washed up from the sea. She steps over the exposed pipes of the outdoor sink where her dad scaled the fish he caught from the porch. She remembers how tiny the fish where and how scaling them just seemed like something to impress all the kids; all the cousins, sisters, brothers, and friends that spent summers here. The spigot to the sink lies in the fronds of a cabbage palm, a little glint amongst all the fallen green.
The driveway leads to a wooden gate that never closed during the summers. Feral cats walked through it and batted at the little minnows just below the porch. Sadie's mom always called them Hemingway Cats, visitors from the Keys. Sadie pulls on the gate, but the entire piece comes off the hinges, which were held on by only one rusty screw. The storm water permeates each knot in the wood and it feels heavy in her hands. The corner of the gate butts into the gravel and leaves an exposed gash. Sadie props the entire thing against the broken urn her father always claimed he dredged from the Mediterranean. She now sees the grey breadth of a concrete lawn ornament.
The porch held up during the storm and only the emerald fronds of sea grass litter the wooden floors. Sadie turns the corner and expects the familiar folding table littered with dominoes and the skiff tied up to the railings. She sees more sea grass and hears the noise again, the sound of the sea coming in and out. The door to the actual house is open, forced open by a sea swell.
Avocado colored bowls pepper the living room and the ear-wax yellow refrigerator lies on its side. It is filled with brown seawater, that Sadie churns with broom handle. She pulls out more sea grass and the quivering body of jellyfish. She flings that back out into the bay. She keeps away from the area the jellyfish touched while sweeping everything up into a little pile. Silverware, plates, headless dolls, and a mound of Q-tips. She brings all this to the center of the room where she knows her mother would prefer the mess. "Easier to get into the bags, dear," Sadie mutters to herself. The sound of the sea beneath her becomes more rhythmic, a soundtrack to the salvage.
The living room attaches to the rest of the house by a aluminum door. The bottom of it is mottled with rust and screeches against the wood. The large bedroom is divided by a curtain that is still tied to it's hook on the wall. Every bed is a bunk bed and Sadie sits on the edge of the soaked mattress looking for the messages she left in magic marker. She traces the line of a heart, but strains to remember the letters in it. "S and I?" Enunciating every letter and scrawl fails to take her back, instead it feels like she should just get back to cleaning.
Another noise breaks the sound of tidal push and pull. It sounds like a soft oinking, a strong nasal noise followed by a pitter-patter. Sadie feels a swish against her feet, a sees a ball of cotton dive under the bed. She shoots up from the edge of the mattress and slams her head against the top bunk. She winces a curse and then sees the rabbit running around her feet.
It is a sandy brown with a few bands of white intermingling with the rest of the fur. Its ears drag against the floor, their bell shaped bottoms soaked like paint brushes. Sadie squats down and scoops in half circle. The rabbit trashes, kicking its back feet like someone kicking off a pair of flip flops. The rabbit quivers and the wet fur leaves a trail against Sadie's coat. In the corner of the room she notices a cage. Black wires and a green plastic cover. She doesn't remember a rabbit at the house or rabbits by the sea. The cage bottom is lined with wood shavings that clump together around wet spots left from the condensation against the top bars.
The rabbit stops trashing and tucks its legs into the fold of Sadie's elbow. "Did you float over here?" She asks this into one of it's ears. The rabbit continues to coo.
The rear window of the room is gone and the storm left a bare rectangle in the wooden side. The cage is below the exposed window and in the mangrove trees behind the house, Sadie sees more of the wood shavings coalescing around the roots. Sadie puts the rabbit down on the mattress where it stands on its back feet and nuzzles her forearm. The rabbit looks drowned, it's hair wet and slick to its body like an otter. It shivers while standing up, but whether from the strain or the cold, Sadie can't tell. She strips her jacket off and places it on the bottom of the cage. The rabbit allows itself to be picked up and digs its way into the folds of her coat. Sadie brings her arms to her shoulders and tried to warm itself. A sort of fog fills the room and through the window she sees another gutted beach house and imagines the line of properties further down the bay.
________________
Well, not every wacky combination can be chocolate and peanut butter. Peace!
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