Image provided by Monday's Child
Little Bobby Bunny. That's what they used to call me. Little Bobby Bunny. Or Bunny Boy or, in the unfortunate Winter of my 13th year (and for reasons I'd rather not divulge), The Flopster.
Truth be told, I never really liked the name. Before that day. That sweet and sticky Summer day. I remember it well: the air smelled of fresh dirt and candied carrots and the garden was heaving with a new crop of buttered lettuce. I was in the middle of surveying my culinary options when I became distracted by the dance of a butterfly. And that is when I first saw her.
Bow in her hair as soft and pink as a sow's ear and lashes that went on for days. She seemed to notice something too. She sat straight up, tilted her head to the side and, in a voice as welcome as the dinner bell, she spoke: "Is it you? Little Bobby Bunny? Is it you?. . . I've been waiting."
I felt a rush of excitement and an unfamiliar fluttering in my tummy. "Yes, it's me" I stammered in response. "Come then" she whispered as she hopped closer, "Our Story is about to begin."
And here I am: several Summers later, gathering my childhood friends by the Wishing Tree. Callie Crow spoke first. "Well . . . " she snapped expectantly. "Well . . . " I smiled. A proud, new smile. Full of hope and the promise of a new day.
"He's here." I announced as I tried to hold back a single happy tear. "He's here." And with that, Mrs. B hopped carefully towards us, our little bundle wrapped tightly in her arms. "Meet my boy, friends. Meet my boy."
I glanced towards my love and she back at me, a wisdom in her eyes as she bent down to soothe the coos of new life. We will call him Little Bobby Bunny. Junior.
The above story was written for Monday's Child, a new challenge site which asks those who are interested to write a short story or children's verse in response to an image provided. This is the first prompt, which I discovered by reading the very talented Julia Christie's blog.