He’d had a rabbit when he was a kid, before his dad went away. Lefty, that was its name. One ear hung down over its eye. It was his, all his. He forgot and left it outside during a hard freeze and it died. There was no blood. It was just all stiff and bony in the bottom of the cage when he found it, flat on one side, ice crystals on its soft fur. He cried a lot over it. At first he was faking it, because Mom and Dad were watching. But then they left him alone and he couldn't stop. He held the cold, hard bunny in his arms and cried and cried and cried. He cried till his throat and his eyes hurt and he didn't know why he couldn't stop. Was he crying for the bunny, freezing to the hard wire floor of the hutch--that it was dead, or for himself, because he didn't have a bunny any more, or because he'd made a mistake? Or was it the injustice that he forgot it, or because his parents couldn't comfort him, or because he’d failed?
He dug a little hole under the sod in the hard ground of the front yard, his tears dripping on the rusty trowel, and dropped the stiff form into the earth. Then he stopped crying. It was gone, done.
Was that why he wasn't crying now? Would he have cried if he'd seen her, if Lucy had let him in? Was it because Mom wasn't here? She was deep under the soil.
~
Jonah sat in his regular seat, waiting for his last class of the day to begin. It was a large auditorium. The seats were new, a soft beige fabric. There was a stage behind the podium. Jonah was not sure if he wanted the class to be over or last forever. He put his feet up on the seat in front of him.
Lucy had packed up and left.
"You take care of yourself, Mister Perris," she said.
He didn't want her to leave, but she just picked up her case and marched to her car: not on a first name basis.
Students began to drift in. One at a time, in groups, little sprinkles of humanity across the banks of seats. Mary's clique went to their usual spot. They were laughing again.
So many people. So many people to talk to.