Thursday, November 10, 2016

New Bunny, New World

Yesterday I was trying on a pair of mirrored sunglasses in the shape of lovehearts when the states started turning red. Real-red. They were pink if undecided, then red if decided. There were only a few dark blues. I had stopped at the second-hand store on my way out to the countryside to pick up Kiki's first pet, a white baby bunny rabbit she'd already named Fluffball. And the states just went deeper and redder the harder I fossicked amongst the dust. Somewhere amongst a picnic setting and a pile of old rugs I alerted Mr Rabbit in a text message: They're going red! He was outside building a hutch.

Don't worry. It'll just be the expected states.

But there are so many of them! And they're going all the way up through the middle and even out to the sides! There are hardly any blues!

It'll be fine. Don't worry.

The takeaway coffee and prepared Spotify 'Get Feisty' playlist didn't ease the tension as my car sped out and out, past trucks with trays of pigs in them, and trailers tugging neatly bunched piles of logs. At each hour I flicked from whomever's lyrics I was screaming out to the hourly news.

3pm. Donald Trump is edging ahead...

4pm. Donald Trump looks set to defeat...

The white bunny was the cutest thing I had ever seen. She curled into a ball in my arms. The owner, gumboots high 
in hay and dung, didn't know or care was happening, and didn't appreciate my tranquility-shattering 'TRUMP!' as I sprang from the car to greet her. She nudged the bunny's instructions and bag of feed into my arms and turned back to her hutches.

Speeding back, Fluffball appreciated what was going on. I made sure not to turn the music up too loud, or to scream. My phone ran out of batteries, no more Feisty. We concentrated on the road, biting our nails.

5pm. Donald Trump closes in...

Fluffball seemed still and I worried she was dead. At a traffic light I reached around to peer into the cat cage. She was in a tight ball in the corner, trembling, with shallow breaths.

It's ok Fluffball. We're nearly there.

And then, at 6pm as we turned into our street:

6pm. Donald Trump has declared victory.

As promised, I honked on arrival. A little girl, heart full of nothing but pure hope and joy came running out. Inside she had covered the floors in soft rugs and toys, to make Fluffball feel safe.

Trump! I said to Mr Rabbit, trying not to shatter the fragile moment of Fluffball's first hops.

No.

Yes! He's president.

No way. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He had been ignoring it. Seeing it as impossible. Enjoying, instead, the sunlight of the day, the manual joy of preparing a new home.

Fluffball bounced around, getting to know her environment. Kiki bounced around after her, eyes streaming with joy.