THE STEVE JAN & THE RABBITS DREAM
working as an assistant at a veterinarian's, no maybe it is an animal shelter. All they have is rabbits--time for me to feed the rabbits. Twelve bowls are laid out on the floor in three rows of four, covering a large amount of the office space, the rabbits appear one or two at a time, hip hop, as I pour food into the bowls, when my back is turned, I never see from where they come--they seem to have a free run of the office. They are big rabbits, giants, in size not unlike monstrously over-stuffed neutered tom cats, though not the least bit intimidating, frightening or unruly. Each sits behind its food dish eating quietly or patiently waiting. There are two types of food: the pours from a box, large flat clover-shaped pieces like a dry cat food; the second comes in pouches, sealed, like the moist morseled variety. My method of feeding is entirely random--first the bowl by the first rabbit present, continuing onward whatever bowl I fancy, occupied or not, some bowls get dry, some moist, some both, by no preordained thought. The rabbits, white with individual splotches of black, umber and sienna, long heavy floppy ears, don't seem to care or take notice. Every bowl or two I have to make a trip back to the counter at the front of the room for more food.
After eleven rabbits are present and eating, I notice the last empty bowl. No rabbit has come for it, so I go up front for the last of the food, nonplused, deciding to go ahead and fill up for the eventual arrival of the final rabbit. I walk to the bowl, middle row, to the far right by the wall, and I see Steve Jan sitting cross-legged behind it. He is a friend and former neighbor who had to leave his apartment because of his financial plight. I have been wondering where he went.
He looks up at me, I smile, naturally, asking him what he would like to eat, showing him first the dry food and then the moist, indicating with my gestures and intonation that I believe the moist to be the far tastier of the two. He deliberates for a few moments, I think he is going to choose the moist and I am pleased. He asks instead if I have any peanut butter. I am speechless, about to answer in the negative, when I spy, on the far side of the room, on a counter beside the boss and a person he is talking to, there stands an open jar of peanut butter with a knife sticking out of it. Whether my boss is eating it or was feeding it to the rabbits I'm not certain. I tell Steve Jan sure, walk over and retrieve the jar. I hand it to him, and he says, "Okay, I'll take this and something else."
I don't know what something else means, if there is anything else, I wonder if I should tell him to go over to my house and see what he can find, if he is even allowed to leave the premises, I realize that I am really at that moment in another city at my parents' house, so I don't know if there is anything to eat at my house, or whether my roommate is so poor and hungry as to object, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, my lungs are full, I cough and cough and I wake up, I am at my parents' house lying in bed in my old room in the basement, it is pitch black, I have to piss, the fan rattles at the head of the basement stairs, it is 4:00 a.m.