by Various
“She’s not been herself lately.” Her words were cold and hollow as her heart.
“I told her we were friends, but I don’t think she believed me.”
“Friends?”
He stuck out one hand. “My name’s Finn. Finnegan Miller.”
“Alice.” She reached for his hand, and he clasped it tightly. His warmth made her feel colder. “I should go inside,” Alice said. “Thanks again for returning this.”
“No problem. You know where I live. Don’t be a stranger.” He smiled once more and jogged off down the middle of the street as if he didn’t want to come too close to the sidewalks. Alice stared at the houses standing sentry and imagined them all tipping like dominos.
Starting with her own.
It took a full five days for Alice to gather the courage to venture back into the Miller’s backyard. This time, she made sure both Finn and his mother were absent. His mother worked at Thomasville Memorial Hospital and Finn at the gas station over on Midway. She’d tracked their comings and goings from afar. On this particular day, Alice waited until the sounds of Finn’s motorcycle faded into the distance before sneaking into the backyard. To both her relief and dismay, the white rabbit was there.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” the rabbit said with a petulant note to his voice.
“You said Finn was a monster,” Alice whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the neighbors.
“Isn’t he? Aren’t they all?”
Alice didn’t come to argue about the merits of Finn’s character. There were more important issues to tackle. “Why are you here? Why am I the only one who can hear you?”
“Why do you think?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with more questions.”
“We wouldn’t want to be rude, dear Alice.”
Alice paced in front of the hutch, reviewing what she knew about the rabbit, glancing over every now and again to catch him being a simple stuffed animal. Meanwhile, the rabbit watched her with its one ear raised and the other flopped forward, giving him the appearance of only half-listening.
“White is a human construct, Alice.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice rose with frustration, and she quickly tamped it down.
“Some things won’t fit into a tidy box, no matter how you bludgeon them.”
“Is that why you’re here? To frustrate me with riddles?”
“I’m here to advise you, Alice, on matters of consequence.”
Alice stopped pacing. She put aside the incredulity of having a conversation with a rabbit, living or stuffed, and focused on that which mattered to her most.
“Can you fix my mother?”
The rabbit cocked its head as if in deep contemplation while his eyes lowered to half-mast. After a moment, he said, “There is no easy fix.”
Alice knew that already. She’d tried everything since the congressman left. She went along with her mother’s redecorating plans, brought home paint samples, tried out new colors. Of course, they weren’t talking about anything of importance then either, but Alice hoped that after some time, they would.
“I can’t fix your mother,” the rabbit said at last. “But perhaps you can.”
“She gets worse every day.” Alice worried she was already too far gone.
“You have to make her see the truth.”
Her mother had seen the truth already. This was her way of dealing with it. “How?’
“Let the well dry up.”
Alice stared at the rabbit, slowly realizing his meaning. Her mother was poisoning herself with all that liquor and wine. Alcohol was causing her to act this way. Alice simply had to take it away.
“Run along now, Alice. You haven’t a minute to waste.”
Alice hurried back to her house where her mother lay, half-conscious on the couch with an open bottle of Merlot on the coffee table. Alice marched to the table and scooped up the bottle.
“Alice,” her mother said feebly.
Alice took the bottle to the kitchen and poured the remainder down the drain. Then she went down to the cellar and began pulling bottles off the shelves, letting them fall to the ground and shatter, upsetting crates and barrels until the cement floor was stained purple and shards of glass lay everywhere.
When she came back upstairs, her mother had locked herself in her bedroom. Alice went to her closed door and knocked softly. “Mom?”
She waited for a noise from within. “Mom, I want to help you. Can we talk?”
No reply.
“It didn’t work,” Alice said to the white rabbit when she met with him alone again.
“No?” He didn’t seem too surprised.
“Now she watches TV all day long. The shows replay and she watches them again. She’s traded one addiction for another.”
“Hmmm, well there’s an easy solution for that.” He pointed his left ear toward a shed. “There’s an axe inside there. It’s very sharp, Alice. Be careful you don’t cut yourself.”
Alice scratched at the four parallel lines on her arm, like a measure of music. She used to play the piano, the baby grand in the observatory, where the notes hung like tiny souls in the still air. The house was always so lonely, as inviting as a tomb.
“Hey there, Alice.”
Alice spun around to find Finn approaching when he was supposed to be at work.
“I suppose I’m trespassing,” Alice said.
“I won’t press charges.” He smiled. “Visiting the rabbit?”
“I was just passing through and…” If she told Finn about the conversations she and the rabbit traded, what might he think of her then?
“Make up an excuse to make him go away,” the rabbit said.
“I’m awfully thirsty,” Alice said. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”
“It’s no trouble. You want to come inside?”
“I’ll just wait out here.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
He turned toward the house. Alice waited until he’d shut the door behind him, then dashed toward the shed. She found the axe easily, propped up between a rake and shovel. She held the metal close to her chest and drew one finger down the length of its blade.
“Alice?” Finn called to her from the backyard.
Silently, she sneaked around the side of the shed and ran away toward home.
Her mother was reclined on the couch, zombie-eyed, her skin lit by the blue glow of the television, when Alice swung the axe. In one fierce blow, the television screen exploded in a flash of light, then darkened black as a hole. Alice was sweating and shaking as her mother glanced around at what Alice had done.
They stared at each other. Alice searched for a sign of recognition, and then her mother said, “I’d better clean this up.”
Her mother spent the next week cleaning. She began by sweeping up the shards of glass and mopping the floors, then moved to the observatory where the broken plates still lay on the tile, then to the basement where the spilled wine had turned black with mold. Once that was done, she brought out a toothbrush and bleach and took to cleaning the grout of every tiled surface of the house.
“We should sell this house,” Alice said. There was no end to her mother’s mania.
“This house is all we have.”
It wasn’t true, Alice thought, for despite everything that had happened, they still had each other.
“You look terrible,” the rabbit said when he saw her a few days later.
Alice dropped the axe on the ground and sat down beside it, exhausted. She hadn’t been sleeping well. It was difficult when her mother vacuumed at all hours of the night. That and the fumes from the bleach and disinfectants gave Alice headaches.
“I’ve made things worse,” Alice said.
“We’re on the curve of the bend. The end is near, but not in sight.”
Perhaps Alice put too much faith in the white rabbit. “I’m not sure where to go from here.”
“If you don’t know where you are go
ing, any road will get you there.”
It was chilly that morning and much like the color white, school had become a human construct. She had hoped the rabbit would offer some guidance, but he seemed as lost as she was.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Alice jumped up. Finn had sneaked up on her again.
“You’re supposed to be at work,” Alice said. “I heard you leave.”
“I rode for a few blocks and then walked back. I wanted to see if you’d come.”
Alice was caught. He must know that she only visited when he and his mother were away. “I was just returning your axe.” She picked it up and handed it to him.
“I was looking for that.”
“I should have asked you first.”
“I would have let you borrow it. You didn’t have to trick me into getting you a glass of water so that you could take it.” He looked hurt when he said it, and Alice felt bad for treating him so unkindly.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good friend. I’m a bit out of practice.”
His expression softened. “Forget it. What did you need the axe for?”
“Tell him you were chopping wood,” the rabbit said.
Alice opened her mouth to repeat the rabbit’s lie, then decided it was a bit unbelievable. Besides, the truth would surely scare Finn away, and maybe that was for the best.
“I smashed our television set.”
Finn raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“So my mother wouldn’t watch it anymore. Last week I broke all the bottles of wine in the cellar so she’d stop drinking.” She scratched at her arm without meaning to.
“What’s that?” Finn asked. Too late for Alice, he’d already seen it.
“Tell him I scratched you,” the rabbit said.
Alice laughed at how ludicrous that would sound to Finn. A stuffed rabbit, locked in a cage with no door, had scratched her.
“What’s so funny?” Finn asked. Concern darkened his face.
Alice quieted. “I should go.”
“Wait, are you hungry? Let me make you a sandwich.”
Eating was also a human construct.
“He’s going to ask you about me,” the rabbit said. “And if you tell him, he’ll think you’re crazy. He’ll have you put away with criminals like the congressman.”
“He’s not put away,” Alice said.
“What?” Finn glanced from Alice to the rabbit.
“Nothing.” Alice’s world was spinning out of control, each moment more confusing than the last. She put one hand to her forehead.
“Let me get you a chair.” Finn walked across the yard and retrieved a plastic lawn chair, which he set before Alice. She sat down gingerly while he grabbed one for himself.
“You’re in some kind of trouble.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on?”
Alice glanced at the white rabbit. He was shaking his head. Finn noticed the exchange, and the creases in his forehead deepened.
“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, because I’m not myself.”
“I work at a gas station,” he said. “I see a lot of strange things. Try me.”
Alice took a deep breath and pulled at a loose thread on the hem of her school uniform. “I’m having a hard time distinguishing what’s real and what’s not.”
“Like the rabbit?”
Alice nodded.
“He talks to you?”
She nodded again.
“You probably think I’m crazy.”
He shrugged. “Maybe a little. But all the best people are, right?” He smiled, and Alice relaxed a little. She appreciated his kindness and was about to say so when her stomach grumbled, loudly.
“That’s right. I promised you a sandwich.” He rose. “You like peanut butter and jelly?”
“Yes.” Her mother used to make her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sliced diagonally with the crusts cut off.
“Grape or strawberry?”
“Strawberry, please.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He gave her a stern look.
She smiled. “I won’t.”
As soon as he was inside, the white rabbit began jumping around spastically. There wasn’t room for him to jump freely, so his hind legs kept banging on the sides of the hutch, causing the whole structure to shake.
“You’ve really done it this time, Alice. He’s probably calling for someone to come and take you away.”
“He wouldn’t.” She spied him through a window. He appeared to be opening cabinets.
“He won’t understand about your mother, Alice. You shouldn’t trust him.”
“I suppose I should trust you, though?”
The rabbit stopped jumping and stood on his hind legs. Both ears drooped, and he had a stricken look about him. “I’m here to help you, Alice. Why else would I be here?”
“You said Finn put you in there.”
“It’s a human construct, Alice. I’m not here because of Finn; I’m here because of you. And if you can’t trust me, then you can’t trust anyone, which means you are truly and utterly alone.”
“Shush,” Alice said sharply. “He’s coming back.”
“So, you go to school around here?” Finn handed her a paper plate with the sandwich and napkin. The sandwich still had its crusts, and it was cut straight instead of diagonal.
“Yes.” Alice unfolded the napkin and laid it on her lap. Finn watched her with curiosity.
“That private school?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously. “How about you?”
“I got my GED. School wasn’t my thing.”
“It’s a human construct.”
“A what?”
She shook her head dismissively. “A hoop. Some dogs are better at jumping through it than others.”
He nodded and seemed satisfied with her explanation. Meanwhile, she tore apart the sandwich bit by bit and put the portions into her mouth, chewing and swallowing with care. Halfway through she had to take a break because her stomach was full.
“So, the rabbit,” Finn said, “what does he say?”
Alice shrugged.
“Did the rabbit tell you to trash the wine cellar and smash your television?”
Alice stared at him. “It was my idea.”
“And did it work?”
“Yes. And no. Now she’s cleaning. The house is big. I’m afraid that as soon as she finishes, she’ll just start all over again.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
Alice thought of the conversation they’d had last night, when Alice said she was hungry and her mother told her to take the money on the counter.
There is no money on the counter, Alice had said, determined to drag them both into the light of reality.
Of course there is, her mother said. This house is made of money, Alice. It’s everywhere. I’ve nearly got all of the wallpaper down and not a minute too soon. The painters are coming tomorrow…
“I’ve tried talking to her,” Alice said. A memory from years ago struck her, the first time they’d visited the congressman at his house. Alice in her Sunday best, creases sharp and shoes polished with two braids down her back. Remember your Ps and Qs, her mother said severely, as if their entire future hinged on Alice’s ability to mind her manners.
“This house is worthless,” Alice said aloud. At that moment an idea struck her. “May I have a drink?” she asked Finn. “A cold glass of milk perhaps?”
“Of course.” He stood up.
As soon as he was out of sight, Alice turned to the rabbit. Before she could utter a word, he said, “I never said anything about burning it down.”
Alice imagined it, flames licking those tall, spindly columns. The walls cracking and splintering from within, everything reduced to a black pile of rubble. For a moment she felt elated, a tethered balloon set free.
“Are you opposed?” She valued the rabbit’s opinion. He seemed to be the only one w
ho understood the depth and complexity of her predicament.
“The idea has merit.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to do it.” Her every nerve was electric, her senses heightened. She stared at her hands, imagining their potential.
“It’s quite simple. There’s gasoline in the shed. Finn stores it in a red gas can.”
Alice wondered how the rabbit would know that, having never left his cage, just like the axe. But some questions were less relevant than others. “Finn will notice that it’s missing.” She glanced over to where he was coming out the back door to join her.
“Come back tonight. They’ll both be at work.”
“What about my mother? I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You’re a clever girl. You’ll figure something out.”
Alice was quiet, turning the plan over in her head like a shiny copper penny.
“You’re still here,” Finn said with a smile.
He offered her a tall glass of milk as the rabbit whispered, “You’ve always hated that house.”
Alice returned that night to find the white rabbit reposing with both eyes open, tracking her as she slipped though the backyard and over to the shed. There, next to the riding lawn mower, she found the red gas can, full and much heavier than she expected. She’d have to borrow the wheelbarrow as well in order to transport it back to her house.
She was just reaching the edge of the yard when the outside light came on. She heard the familiar creak of the back door and saw Finn’s frame silhouetted by the lamplight.
“Alice?” He took a step onto the lawn. “Is that you?”
She froze and hoped he’d turn around and go back inside, but instead he came closer, barefoot and wearing only blue jeans.
“My mother’s car ran out of gas,” Alice said. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“It’s awfully late. Where’d she break down?”
“Not too far from here.”
“Let me give you a ride.”
“That’s okay. I got it.”
“Alice, you’re carting around a wheelbarrow in the middle of the night. Let me help you.”
Alice tried to remain calm as she said, “I don’t want your help, Finn. Please go back inside. I’ll return your gas can in the morning.”
