Rabbit mafia

               I’ve never told anyone this before.

          When I was twenty three, it was decided that I really needed my own car… having gotten a license six months before, I required some measure of freedom, and having my own vehicle would help with that.  So, my father took me to a Ford dealership and it took all of three test drives for Betsy, a teal green Taurus, to become mine.  The conversation went something like this:

            “No, that’s not comfortable.  No leg room.  No head room.  No ANY room.” 

            “I can’t see the front of this one… no good.  Sorry.”

            “Um, this one’s mine.”  Yep, just that fast.  I drove it home and accidentally left the dome light on all night, causing her to have to return to the dealership the next morning for a new battery, and some work that needed finishing on the air conditioning system.  Perhaps my goof had been a good thing after all. 

            One of the quirks of buying a used car is dealing with the accoutrements the original owner paid for, like leather seats.  That summer, I went out on hot days and used old towels to rub Armor All into the seats, cursing at how it was burning my legs whenever I wore shorts.  I had to then get clean old towels to put over the seats to protect my legs when I sat in the car.  A bad incident with a halter top told me I needed larger towels.  But it was something I became used to over time. 

            One particularly warm day, I noticed something else.  The car had apparently come with its own set of guards.  Three rabbits, two large and one small, were constantly around the spot where my car was parked, even when it wasn’t there.  For fun, as they sniffed around the car and munched on the grass, I tried to get close to them.  They wouldn’t let me touch them, but they never got far from the car.  Their names became the Don, Sonny and Carlito. 

             For the entire time that I lived with my parents and the car was parked outside under that tree, the rabbit mafia watched my car.  I saw them run when I got within a certain distance, except for the little guy, Carlito.  He stayed under the car until I started it, at which point he raced away.  I can imagine the other two were shaking their heads and thinking he was going to cut it too close some day. 

            Years later and two states away, Betsy finally gave up.  She’d been great for driving the long distances I had to go to work each day, taking me back to Ohio for visiting my parents, and any other short trip in between for almost six years.  No longer safe to drive, the now-sixteen year old car had a hole in the catalytic converter and an engine mount that was almost completely rusted away.  It stings a bit to even remember the moment a Midas mechanic told me there was little he could do except recommend that I get a new car.  I drove home slowly, feeling the engine block shift every time I went over a speed bump and cried, wondering how I was going to afford a new car. 

            Fortunately for me, that part was easily taken care of at the time, and though no one wants to part with their first car, I made my arrangements.  But the strangest thing happened the night before the auto wrecker company was scheduled to come and pick up my old car.  I was taking out the garbage and I glanced over to look at the car, now sitting in the guest lot to make room for Sasha, a newer model, in front of the building.  Under it where I couldn’t have missed him on a moonless night was sitting a rabbit.  This neighborhood was known for dogs, and rabbits were never seen.  Still, there he was.  I sighed at the memories and wondered if this lone rabbit was getting warmth from the engine that cold November night like my other furry friends had on frosty mornings way back when.  In a joking voice, I said quietly “It’s okay, Carlito.  She’ll be gone tomorrow.  But thanks.  You did a good job.” 

            The moment I said it, the rabbit hopped a few inches toward me, out from under the car.  I froze and watched him look up at the car, then at me, and then run off toward the woods.  To this day, I wonder if I imagined it.  There’s an inner child in me that doesn’t think so, though, especially when people around me complain of vandalism and slashed tires and my new cars have been untouched by the stupidity.  The rabbit mafia is still out there, watching.  And they are not to be trifled with.