Page 16 of Ink Me Bunny

Lenny.

I grab everything including a six-case of beer from the fridge and climb down the four grades of the back porch leading to the golden hour setting on the horizon.

The gates are wide open.

Shades of coral and lavender skies stained in burning red encase her figure.

The swing oscillates back and forth to the slow rhythm of her caramel-sand prodded feet.

A friend suggested installing a basket egg chair next to the hefty palm tree in my backyard. I lined a few beach chairs, a table, and a cooler for our friends’ gatherings and it became our favorite spot.

I sit on the chair beside the swing. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” her sweet velvety voice nearly a whisper, “I don’t know.”

I extract two beers, open the cap, and hand it to her.

“Thanks,” she clinks our bottles, “Cheers.”

The light hitting her eyes flickers.

I take a long chug as we watch the sun vanishing slowly.

“You have a cat.” She points to the black ball of fur snuggling at her side.

“That’s Scar, he’s not mine. He’s free to wander around but he always comes back here.” A strategic move on his part, living in a place where he knows the owner doesn’t stay for long—he has the entire place at his disposal.

She observes the scar along the length of his left eye.

Scar nuzzles his nose in her thigh as she dotes on him like she has never seen a cat before.

“What a cutie pie you are.”

I wish I was that damn cat right now.

I focus on something else, like the fact she borrowed my shirt and it looks better on her. It hangs loosely above her knees, exposing the cute bunny tattoo on her thigh above a little bandage that covers her knee.

“What happened to your knee?”

“Oh that,” she chokes on a laugh, “An accident.”

“What kind?”

“Riding one.”

I swallow hard.I hope she’s speaking about the skateboard.Long gulps fill my throat as my nerves start to go rigid.

“Skateboard injuries are part of the fun. They’re like a badge of honor, really.” She explains innocently, rubbing Scar’s belly.

Scratching my scalp, I stretch my hands behind my head.

She. Is. Not. Mine.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

The bob of her throat trying to catch up with her beer-guzzling.

I don’t know how to answer that question. I should go to bed. I just don’t want to. I hate being alone with my thoughts, surrounded by deafening silence.