one in the same
1:28 pm, Sunday, Dec. 18, 2005

The cat is tiny and black and still kitten-fuzzy. It hops as it runs and crouches in a huddle when it stops and so it is called Rabbit. She tells it of The World and all of her secrets. It does not listen.

She turns up the subdued sound of some obscure band and drinks coffee while she wraps presents. She spends too much time - wrapping them carefully and precisely, using double-sided tape to hide the seams and carefully curling matching ribbon before tying on a candy cane. She doesn't have many close enough to warrant presents.

Later that night she will curl up in a cold bed under a red quilt and lay in the dark while she listens to the rain. There is too much beauty in the world to sleep, but it is too far away to keep her awake.

Later still she will dream of places she has been and people she doesn't really know. In her dream, she will reach out her hand and it will stretch out on and on forever but always just shy of what she wants to touch. Even in her dream she will be irritated by the obviousness of the symbolism.

In the morning, Rabbit will be curled in a corner, resolutely ignoring her. She will pull on pale green socks that do not match her red flannel pajama pants and walk through the silent house. Closing her eyes, she will think of Christmas morning. She will open doors on empty rooms and try to remember that feeling of rare magic that bloomed when she was small.

Later she will unwrap one of her carefully decorated gifts. Rabbit will obligingly play with the ribbon for a moment before losing interest. Before long both she and the cat will be curled back up to sleep and dream of other times.