Hopper
I once had a rabbit named Hopper.
My father had bought him for me on my birthday.
He was small and all white except for little black spots
on his back. He was a happy little thing, always moving around,
Never once staying in the same place. He liked to hop all day,
hop all night, hop, hop, hop, until he couldn't stop.
Hopper was no ordinary rabbit, I was sure.
Other rabbits just sat there, proving to be a bore,
Whilst Hopper sprang about, sniffing the underwear
in my mother's drawers, biting the heads off of flowers in
Grandmother's garden, and trying, but failing miserably to
bite his own stubby tail, twirling and twirling around in circles.
I loved playing with Hopper. I loved him like he was my own brother.
Hopper and I were inseparable. I looked out for him and he looked
out for me. We had each others backs. We stuck together like glue.
We would stay together forever, I decided, 'till death do us part.
Until one day, I couldn't find him. I looked high, I looked low,
My parents and I searched everywhere we could think of, but
came up with nothing. I was getting really worried, but I willed
myself not to cry. My grandfather once told me that men did
not cry, no matter what happened, so I didn't, because I was
a man and I would find Hopper, I just knew I would.
And I was right. I did find Hopper.
He was lying in the middle of a street downtown, ripped open,
sliced clean down the middle so that I could see all of his insides.
A pool of blood surrounded his body. His left leg twitched for only a
slight moment before going completely still.
I wanted to cry, Oh God I did, but I was afraid of disgracing my grandfather
and the rest of my family. Because, as he told me, men do not cry, no matter
what happened. They stood tall and fierce against the violent wind.
And that's what I did: I stood tall, I stood fierce, despite the loss of my dear friend
I called Hopper.
Copyright © Kristen Wallen | Year Posted 2010
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