“I have you,” he sighed. Or was it I love you? Clarissa’s eyes jolted. How to clarify without disrupting the afterglow? She loved him so much. Or did she? Did she really know love? It was too soon, in her opinion, to face this crossroad. There had been previous disappointments. She wanted to make certain. Oh, but how she hoped he said love and drifted to a light sleep. The room filled with magic eight balls. “Does he love me?” she asked each one. “Concentrate and ask again.” Her face contorted. A guttural cry escaped. “Love shouldn’t be this hard!”
The crisp air hinted autumn. The sky azure, darker than sky blue, lighter than sapphire, devoid of clouds. Suddenly, police began to run south. A buzz erupted. “Did you hear? Did you hear?” I walked swiftly through Times Square and held tightly to my purse, aware that scoundrels strike when police are distracted. The buzz escalated to shouts of twin towers. Planes. Fire. Panic gripped my heart. My husband and many of our friends worked at the World Trade Center. Hours crawled before we learned that he and all our friends narrowly escaped the horrors. We were the lucky ones.
I expected rabbits to talk; to be carrot-munching wise guys, waiting for the next pratfall victim. Imagine my disappointment when I first encountered them at my grandparent’s backyard. They were nervous, wild-eyed creatures in wire cages, impossible to hold with thumping back legs. Rabbits were neither Bugs Bunny nor Peter Cottontail. Yet, their thick fur truly was heavenly to the touch. Beautiful whites, browns and every shade between. They smelled bad, though, probably due to the heat and humidity in Puerto Rico. Unlike the fancy church ladies of New York, who wore fur on Sundays, rabbits couldn’t remove their coats.