Bunnies and Marigolds

"I used to be a playwright, Once upon a time." The dark-haired, blue -eyed woman laughed awkwardly. "I... I didn't think I'd be able to share tonight. Truth is I wanted nothing more than to grab a bottle an hour ago. " The woman laughed uncomfortably again through the computer screen. "Six years... six years and... that's still where I want to run."

Marc heard the woman clear her throat for the group. She was no great public speaker but at least she was nice to look at. They collectively watched her fiddling through some papers. Maybe that was why she was asked to be the speaker for the meeting; pity. Not that there wasn't enough to go around but she seemed to have cornered the market on it.

"That brings me to what I decided to share tonight."

What's that old Cary Grant line? All writers are drunks who beat their wives? They're also socially stunted misfits. This was going to be a long ass meeting.

"There's this beautiful play called 'Wit'."

"Oh Jesus..." Marc said before double checking both his camera and mic were turned off. He'd managed to talk his way out of four DUIs before he was sent off to church. Everything about this was irritating. The computer screen, the faux camaraderie, the covid-style AA meeting, all of it grated on him. At least he could do it in his boxer shorts and a glass in hand. Court ordered AA when no one was allowed to congregate. He was getting Zoomed to sobriety against his will. 'Alcoholics Anonymous in the Time of Corona' That sounded like a pretty good title. Maybe he should be a writer too.

"... and then the mother bunny tells the baby bunny, 'If you run away and become a fish, I will become a fisherman and fish for you...'"

Had he 'zoomed' out that much? He was tipsy sure but far from drunk.

"Finally; the little bunny says-"

Marc shut his laptop. Court order or not there was only so much corny and pathetic he could take. He downed the remainder of his drink, then made his way to the kitchen for another, but found nothing but an empty bottle. He groaned looking at his phone; it was getting late but if he hurried he could get to the liquor store before they closed. He grabbed his jacket and dawned a ball cap, sunglasses, and a covid mask. Under normal circumstances he'd be worried someone would recognize him but luckily there was a global plague going on. He ran out the door barely managing to catch the bus in time. When the bus arrived near the liquor store Marc noticed a bottle of Corona in the window with a small sign that said, 'This isn't my fault.' At least someone had a sense of humor about the state of things. Marc waved 'hello' to the clerk.

"Hey , how are you?" asked the clerk.

"Good, and yourself?" Marc made a b-line for the cheapest whiskey in the store.

"Could complain, but who'd listen?” The clerk laughed.

Marc put the whiskey on the counter. "That's the spirit." Marc sliced his card through the machine tucking the card back in his wallet. "Take it easy, man."

The clerk gave a small nod. Marc liked that. There was nothing worse than the times when the clerks gave him those judgmental glances. After all, why should they? He was practically putting their kids through college with how much he spent.

He sat outside on the bench, cradling his little brown bag while waiting for the bus. When it finally did arrive he rushed to it so quickly he bumped into a dark haired woman with a bobbed hair cut.

"Oh I'm sorry." He took a step back to let her on the bus.

"No, you're fine." The woman quickly boarded the bus.

They were the only two people on the bus, not so surprising given how late in the day it was. The woman sat a row behind Marc.

"You ride the bus often?" asked the woman.

"I'm sorry?" Marc said looking back at her.

"Sorry just the two of us I felt a little pressure to say something. Um, do you... ride the bus often?"

"Oh, yeah lately I have been.” He lied “It’s better for the environment too."

The woman nodded. It was then that it struck Marc who she was; the dark hair and light eyes.

'Oh, God,' he thought to himself shrinking a little in his seat.

"Have we met?" asked the woman. "I never forget a face or voice lately." The skin around her eyes puckered with a smile beneath her mask.

"No I don't think so," he said hastily. A few moments passed. "I saw you speak.” For the life of him he didn't know why he said it, but once he did the woman raised her head in recognition

"You... left a little early," she said softly.

"Yeah, I... I had an appointment I forgot about."

She just nodded, still smiling.

A few more tense moments ticked by. "How did the story end?"

The woman was silent for a moment. "Well, the professor is reading from a book called 'Runaway Bunny' as Vivian, the main character, lays dying. The baby bunny says he wants to run away and the mother says 'if you run away I will chase you,' so the little bunny says 'I will become a fish,' so the mother bunny says 'if you become a fish I will become a fisherman and fish for you,' and on it goes until the professor stops and says 'Would you look at that, it’s a little allegory for the human soul. Wherever it hides,” She stared at him with perfect blues eyes. 'God will find it.'"

The bus came to a stop and the woman glanced out the window before getting up. As she passed Marc spoke. "I don't think I got your name."

"Mary, Mary Gold." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, like the flower. My parents had a bad sense of humor"

"No wonder you're a drunk." He gave a small laugh from the safety of his sunglasses, hat and mask. She laughed as well bowing her head for a moment.

"And you..."

"Marc Rice." He shook her hand.

"It was nice talking to you, Marc." She smiled at him before exiting the bus.

Marc slowly took off his glasses and hat and looked down at the little brown bag. The words seemed to hang in the air. Wherever it hides, God will find it.