Author’s Note: I have always written very quickly. In my early twenties, I worked for a while in a textile mill in South Carolina. I mentioned to a coworker named Herbert how fast I write.
He asked what kind of material I was capable of writing, and I said (perhaps arrogantly) “Anything you want.”
He smiled and said “Can you write me something about ghosts?” About ten or twenty minutes later, I returned with “Herbert’s Ghosts” in my notebook. He was pretty impressed.
He knew that I had written it because he could see me writing in my notebook with a pen from his spot on the floor. And he knew I hadn’t used AI or the internet for help, because this was during the pre-internet era.
That was back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, but they were just itty-bitty baby dinosaurs; it was that long ago.
when you work back-to-back 12 hour graveyard shifts alone in a quiet place where you rarely see anyone for more than a few minutes at a time
your mind goes squinty
you become one with sound
now, I feel the sounds of the traffic going by
I taste the sound of the planes coming and going from the airport
when these die down, I smell the sound of the leaves falling from the October branches
I hear coyotes yipping in the underbrush
but I don’t ever hear the bunnies
the bunnies are too quiet (so they can avoid the coyotes)
but I see them
after a while, they come to trust me as much as a wild bunny ever trusts anything that isn’t another bunny
as I make my patrols, and I stumble onto one, really close by, they no longer immediately dart away
now, they just sit there⠀ and munch on their grass, ⠀ as long as I don’t get too close
it’s more than just that freezing in place defense mechanism
they do that when anyone comes near, but it lasts only until you get within a dozen or so feet of them, and then they’re off like lightning
but when they allow you to come much closer, it’s special
or so I tell myself, to pass the time
I tell myself that it’s high praise, and I appreciate it
I appreciate it far more than most of the compliments I’ve ever received from people
for those little rabbits to just sit there, only three or four feet away from me, they have to know that I’m not going to suddenly lunge at them, try to eat them
when a person compliments me, I ask myself the same question,
“are they gonna try to eat me?”
the answer is usually yes
but the bunnies, they know me now
I see them, and as mean and cantankerous as I can sometimes be, as misanthropic and as nihilistic as I frequently feel, when I see a bunny, I still instantly, instinctively, turn into a four-year-old child
I begin talking like a fucking idiot, “hewo, widdle bunny wabbit. “you doin’ bunny stuff?”
a human, I’m instantly asking myself, “am I gonna have to “punch this motherfucker “in the mouth? “or is he just lost?”
but the bunnies can do no wrong by me
any person I see, I remain professional and friendly (enough)
but inside, I’m going cold and still, weighing what I think this particular coyote’s motives are
I sometimes deal with meth heads, homeless people, severely mentally unstable people, people who are just lost
I helped a guy get home had to call the police to come get him because he could only tell me his first and last name, didn’t even know his address
he referred to himself as “mentally incompetent” and apparently, he had wandered away from home when they weren’t looking (if they bothered to look) he hopped on the bus and got all the way out here wearing just shorts, a t-shirt, socks, and sneakers
I don’t know what his mental health diagnosis was, probably severely autistic, like Raymond Babbitt in the movie Rain Man I just know that he is someone who requires 24/7 looking after he never should have been out here with me and the coyotes in the cold
I still see his face ⠀ clearly in my mind, ⠀ I hear his voice ⠀ in the October leaves ⠀ ⠀ I still see the face of that cop who I turned custody of him over to, a big Samoan cop, looked like it was his first (or last) call of his shift, because he was beat, dead tired
it was something that I got to feel halfway good about
much better than just telling meth heads they can’t hang out here
better than telling homeless people, “hey, you can finish “collecting cans and bottles from “the dumpster. “I won’t call the police on you. “But you gotta pick up that “trash you threw on the ground.”
so far, they’ve all considered that a pretty good deal and they picked up after themselves
that’s a brutal existence
everyone is a predator when you’re dumpster diving for plastic bottles and aluminum cans
anyway, in the dark, the crisp leaves falling off the October trees, they sound loud, like intruders climbing over the fence
like hordes of barbarian invaders
and yet, you never hear the bunnies
you only see them
I imagine the older ones telling the younger ones,
“he’s okay. he won’t eat you. “he’s just the watchman. “he just sits in the dark over there “and reads, writes his poetry, “and plays that stick thing “they call a guitar. “he’s harmless.”
“besides,⠀ “he’s too sad and angry ⠀ “to chase us. ⠀ “he just chases words⠀ “and sounds.”
“but just the same, “don’t get too close. “he’s still a human, “and those things are “way more dangerous “than coyotes.”
