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Frank the Bunny on Fourth of July

This is a true story, but names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

A few years ago on Fourth of July my husband decided I needed to watch Donnie Darko. Our neighbors had been setting things on fire in the street all evening and I decided that night it would indeed be best if I had something to distract me from worrying if they were going to accidentally burn our house down.

We had the hide-a-bed pulled out of the couch in the living room for some reason and we also had kittens. Our cat had produced three babies and they were big enough to crawl up on the bed and be generally cute and whatnot. So, we all settled in and watched Donnie Darko.
The truth of the matter is, I really didn’t like Donnie Darko. The plot was pasted together with construction paper, the characters were underdeveloped and the most philosophical line in the whole thing was “What's the point of living... if you don't have a dick?” So, I didn’t like Donnie Darko, but there was this one thing.

Frank the Bunny is the most terrifying god damned thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Seriously, that scene where he’s in the bathroom mirror. And I thought nothing was worse than that effing bear for three seconds in The Shining.
Sweet dreams tonight. I dare you.

Either way, while I was busy being traumatized by Frank the Bunny, my husband fell asleep. When the credits had finished rolling, I tried to wake him up to no avail. I even put kittens on him and unleashed their jingly ball, but it was useless. I gave up, turned the TV off, took all my clothes off went to sleep on the hide-a-bed.

In the night I had a dream that Frank the Bunny was tearing our kitchen apart, throwing pots and pans, demolishing the toaster. At some point I realized I was awake. I sat up and was blinded by a blue light. Generally disoriented, it was then my mind comprehended that someone was banging on our door. Not just like, ‘knock knock, this is somewhat urgent,’ but literally pounding on the front door.

I woke up a little more and realized the TV was on one of the blue stations, but it gave me enough light to dig through my clothes and find my glasses. The pounding on the door had stopped and I climbed up on the back of the couch to look outside.

Standing in between our two vehicles was this strange, tall, shadowed silhouette. As if that’s not freaky enough, my mind pieced together that it looked a lot like my very tall 16 year old brother. “Oh my god,” I thought, “Something must be terribly, horribly, phenomenally wrong.”

So, I grab my underwear which of course on that night had to be the skimpiest pair I own, and then managed to get my shirt on, backwards. I stumbled out onto the porch, pretty much in a panic.
The figure turned and I instantly recognized, of all people, a guy I went to high school with named  Harvey. He had sat behind me in homeroom for four years. He was always completely stoned and had deep conversations with me about the pictures in our textbooks.

So, there I am in a backwards T-shirt and a thong on my porch at three in the morning and Harvey  breaks into this big smile.

“Heeey, Leandra, what’s up?” he gave me this weird thumbs up so I would know he was cool, I guess. “I didn’t know you lived here, man.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Harvey,” I said, like I was his mom or his boss or something. “What are you doing?”

He kind of blinks and stumbles around my driveway. “I’m looking for Jessica, we were gonna hang out.”

Jessica, our neighbor. She was Harvey and my age but she had 4 kids and still partied like she was in high school. I pointed. “Next door down.”

“Ohh, yeah, I didn’t think she had cars like this.” He pointed at my husband’s truck. “Well, thanks. Later.”

And Harvey stumbles away, just like that, for me to not see again in another five years, perhaps.
I went back inside, double locked the door and hoped our neighbors wouldn’t get any wild ideas to invite me over to their party now that Harvey knew I was there. Upon investigation I found that my husband had rolled over onto the remote and caused the TV to turn on. I turned the TV back off, scooped up the kittens and carried them to the bedroom. Momma cat followed and soon the four of them were asleep at the foot of the bed.

Two minutes later my husband comes stumbling in, attesting that I woke him up because I left him. Because throwing kittens at him, or Harvey from high school breaking down our door doesn’t wake him up, but my lack of presence does. 

So then we all go to sleep, our neighbors successfully manage to not destroy anything with fire, and Frank the Bunny doesn’t eat me.

And that’s my completely random off-topic story. Happy Friday the 13th.


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