Running Free
The gate was open. Wild green tangles caught my eye while I poured coffee. Scampering into the crisp morning, I closed it but spotted Basil’s door swinging free.
Basil was bought out of guilt seven years ago after our fifth failed IVF treatment. It was Abigail’s sixth birthday and, breasts swollen and moody, I believed I was finally going to give her the gift she asked for every year, a sibling. At the doctor’s office, my blood swished into the vial, I imagined the “congratulations!” Then I felt that distinct dampness in my underwear and wiped scarlet. On my way home, through tears, I saw Open blink at the pet store. She got a bunny, not a sibling.
Sliding the hutch bolt in place, I thought, “the girls must have brought Basil in for the night.” But back in the house I remembered, the girls, Abigail and Megan, aren’t friends anymore. Now my body betrays me, confusing adrenalin for estrogen, my ovaries throb and nipples feel like they are being stabbed with pins, like I’m letting-down milk.
Megan and Abigail were inseparable little girls, giggling over pizza, pillow fights, performances with loud singing, and always dressing Basil in a little tutu. Slowly they transformed into big girls, whispering with each other, walking alone to pick-up our sushi order, spending hours painting their nails, and always painting Basil’s claws blue. Megan was the youngest of five kids and her parents often called to verify that she was with us, saying “Oh phew! With everything going on we lost track of her!”
In Abigail’s room, she and her new friend with bunny allergies are burrowed deep in their sleeping bags. There is no Basil. I pull up the security camera footage rewinding, morning becomes night. The hutch door swings until midnight, when it was closed. I watch as the greenish brown night vision picture of Megan appears. She opens the gate whistling so as not to startle Basil. She opens the hutch and I hear her whisper “Now you are free!” But Basil doesn’t move. Megan lifts Basil out, places her in the grass, then walks away. Basil seems dazed but then slowly hops after Megan through the open gate.
The first weekend that Megan didn’t come for a sleepover, Abigail simply said, “I just want a break.” By the second weekend Abigail told us that Megan was sneaking out of the house to “feel free.” “What does she need to be freed from, she’s so stupid!” said Abigail. We took the usual parental action, calls were made, discussions had, confessions poured out that Megan had lied about sneaking out to make Abigail feel jealous, Megan was grounded, and the girls haven’t spoken since.
I keep watching the video, hoping Basil will hop back onto the screen. Instead, I hear a yip, far away, perhaps a neighbor’s dog. The call intensifies in volume and number, coyotes. They found dinner.