Monday, April 23, 2012


My stuffed bunny Bean is my best friend. He’s old now. Nothing on him looks how it is supposed to look. His eyelids are loose. His nose has no fuzz anymore. His blue scarf has come untethered from where it was originally sewn on. His two teeth stick straight up. His fur is matted. His bunny tail is squished. I can’t bear to think of a time when for some reason I wouldn’t have him any longer. He is alive to me. If you feel around the outside of his nose there is still a little fuzz left to remind you. His little tongue used to be pink but is faded now. He’s been through the washer, dumped in a toilet, carried by his hand to the Grand Canyon. I tried to brush his hair once but since it’s not real hair I think I only made it worse. I worry that a day will come where he will lose his magic to me. What is supposed to happen to him as I get older and get married and am “an adult”? I don’t know why there must be such a separation of childhood and adulthood. Are we not the same people from one to the other? And yet everything that was so easy then seems so difficult now and it makes me sad. It’s like playing a game and we dress up and we parade around acting like we know everything but we don’t know anything. I don’t want to be one of those people. I can’t stand the idea of insulting Little Katie by throwing away her passions and dreams and stubbornness and so I refuse to. 

I’m 24 years old and this is my rebellion. 

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