Year of the Rabbit (2011)

 

 

 

It was New Year's Eve. Inexplicably, the lads had started to balk at raising a little Hell. I was starting to get impatient. Despite the city's leaders putting on airs, this old town grew on the working class' back and work ethic, aptly christened by one wag as the City of Thieves. I knew well of whence he spoke. Due some unnamed, inner tension I meant to make an example.

"Gimme that damn thing ..."

 I was throwing on layers against the cold. Last of all, the pak boots; you must keep your feet warm, or all is lost.

I stopped for a moment to admire them, the way they fit, how they felt. I carefully tucked my jeans in, blousing them just right. They reminded me of soldiers in the Great War, their mud-stained puttees, crouching in trenches, dirty fingernails and sweat-drenched brows. As of late it felt we all languished in trenches in this old part of the city.

"What about the cars? We can't put it in the middle of the street."

"Fuck 'em. This is our street, ain't it?" 

A half-smile grew on young Brad's face - out of nervousness or admiration, I couldn't say.

"It was you guy's idea in the first place, right?"

Their uncertainty was starting to piss me off.  KC was still apprehensive. He hadn't seen me this way for a long, long time.

"We'll miss the opportunity. C'mon!"

Quickly now, our boots sounded down the stairs, only thirteen steps into perdition and winter's ire. I stopped and put my hand up like some point man on patrol. 

"Wait for it."

A quick scan of the street for trouble, not to mention the police. Fifteen minutes past midnight and a few cars might still be on the prowl. As luck would have it, we were able to march directly to the middle of the road. By coincidence, the storefront church across the way was just letting out. It was the only inhabitant on a block of boarded up businesses, their ramshackle fronts the only clue to a bustling bygone era. The congregation eyed us with trepidation.

Another day, another flock from the old chapel back home, another class of migrants making their way. River City, singing praise to history's rhyme exactly as the century past.

Kneeling on the center line, I produced a Zippo from my pocket: 'guaranteed to have a thousand lights'. Random headlights glimmered timelessly in the distance of season and falling snow.

"Move your hand - get your face outta there."

A few tries with even more muttered oaths produced an alluring hiss and sparkle. We stood up quickly just as a beat-up SUV drunkenly rounded the corner. I made a motion for the driver to stop, causing him to honk his horn in rebuke.  Standing my ground, legs wide apart, I pointed my index finger sternly, blind in the headlights;

"Hold it right there, buddy!"
 

at precisely the moment a barrage of a thousand showers of glittering balls erupted high above the dullest of streetlamps.

Strobes of colored light illuminated the brick buildings to the crack of shot and whistle amplified and echoing down their narrow alleys in the crisp night air. From an open window above, little Izzy jumped up and down, clapping his hands with joy while the lady of the house bellowed a drunken, "Happy New Year!"

A few more cars appeared, slowed cautiously, then sped past the gunpowder's roar, gunning their engines in annoyance, or, delight? The patrons of Iglesias Cristiana Cedros del Libano appeared enthralled at our display. I didn't care. I couldn't stop grinning. 

Just then, a glimpse of a figure moving through the flash and black shadow caught my eye.

mother rabbit -- leaping adrift then back again, never touching down.