This story is inspired by Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge: http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2016/01/15/flash-fiction-challenge-choose-your-title-and-write/
Jay and Joanne Living had the prettiest house on the block. They ignored the common real estate wisdom that one was supposed to buy the worst house on the best block. Rather, their gorgeous Tudor shared the street with what would otherwise be considered a shanty town. But, while some would bristle every time they passed the eyesore that was their neighbors’ domiciles, Jay and Jo drove along merrily, elatedly knowing they were pulling up upon their dream home.
Jay and Jo appeared to be the perfect couple. They were both catalogue handsome, and both had well-paying jobs that they seemed to tolerate better than the average office schlub. But what no one ever knew about the Livings is that they were absolutely and irreparably infertile. The extent of their infertility was almost curse-like. They had tried everything from in vitro to adoption – all to no avail. Somehow, the paperwork always got lost, or a mistake was made in a medical process. There was always something to keep the Livings from having or adopting a child.
After several painful years of mishap and misery, the Livings finally decided to give up their quest to add to their family. Of course, no friend, coworker, or extended family member was made privy to this painful plight. Rather, the Livings acted the very embodiment of a happy, childless-by-choice, modern couple.
“Oh the earth is over-crowded as it is,” Jay would say, ever the conscientious citizen of the world.
“All children are our children,” Jo would add in, herself the beacon of humanitarianism.
We all bought it at the time, of course. And why wouldn’t we? They would so charmingly waive off questions about their childlessness at cocktail parties that one began to believe, in fact, they never felt a need to procreate. Not every couple had such an urge, after all.
As the Livings suffered silently with their decision, they supposed they ought to at least lavish love on something. Thus did they begin what would become an infamous collection. They adopted dogs, cats, and gerbils. They built a chicken coup in the backyard. A few goats and a pig were soon added to the lot. Jo found some lovely parakeets. And, finally, the last soul to be added to the Living House was a black and white rabbit named Perchance.
Perchance was found, as his name would suggest, rather by chance. The Livings were in a foul mood coming home from a movie that featured the humorous quotidian joys of family life. When their silver Volvo made the last turn toward home, the little black and white rabbit crossed the road and forced Jay to slam the breaks. Hanging posters and perusing personal ads did nothing to find the rabbit’s owner. After a respectable waiting period, the Livings knew the rabbit now belonged to them and they christened the little fellow in honor of their first meeting.
It was around this time that the Livings began changing. They became more and more infrequent at cocktail parties and one could scarcely get them on the line. When they did grace us with their appearance, Jay and Jo seemed to have nothing to speak about other than their rabbit. Finally, after much badgering, the Livings invited us over for dinner. When they sat us at the table, we were quite astonished to find a bassinet next to the table, with the dear rabbit tucked tight inside.
“Oh, Jo! As much as I’d love to meet your rabbit, I’m afraid I’m terribly allergic. Would it be alright if he weren’t at the dinner table?” Glenna asked in the sweetest way she could find. One could practically see the hives begin to bubble near her throat.
“I’m sure that’s quite impossible,” Jo responded, “Perchance Living is a family member. Would you excuse little Patty from the table if I asked?”
Glenna, a bit taken aback by the suggestion that her human daughter might cause a dinner guest allergies, said, “Well I’m sure I would accommodate my guests’ needs to the utmost of my ability.”
“Well, that’s just it. We are not able to acquiesce to your request. We won’t be offended if you feel the need to excuse yourself from this dinner,” Jay said sternly.
Glenna, feeling unwelcomed, did indeed excuse herself. The rest of us remained at the table for the dinner’s duration. We did not know how else to react other than simply pretend all was customary. We smiled as the Livings cooed over Perchance, and feigned interest as we learned all about Perchance’s feeding habits, play style, and nap times. Surely, we thought, this was just some sort of phase they were going through.
As fate would have it, Jo found herself pregnant not too many months after the dinner. We were certain that all the nonsense about the rabbit would cease now that she was with child. But, if anything, the doting over the rabbit only intensified. As Jo’s belly grew, so too did the affection lavished on Perchance grow in sync.
So single-minded was the young couple’s attention, that the lovely Tudor dream home began showing its neglect. Weeds grew with abandon and the other animals recidivated to an almost feral existence. The most beautiful house on the block became a sideshow.
One night, Jay accidentally left the front door open when he finally had to remove some trash from inside the house. The rabbit slipped out. With great fear and urgency, Jay and Jo wandered up and down the street hollering, “Perchance Living!”, “Perchance Living!” All night they searched for their beloved rabbit. Jay, with the sliver of reason left in him, thought the stress might not be suitable for his pregnant wife and he urged her to go lie down. Sheer exhaustion forced her hand, but not without the promise from Jay that he would keep looking.
Later the next morning still found the couple rabbit-less.
“It’s Perchance Living,” Jo moaned to Glenna over the phone, “he is missing.”
“Heavens! I know how much he means to you both,” a distraught Glenna answered. Glenna had always been a sympathetic ear.
“I know this sounds strange, but Perchance Living had always given us a sense of hope somehow, and now that he’s gone, well, I just don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Hope in what, dear?” Glenna asked.
“Hope that we could get pregnant. We never told anyone how desperately we wanted a child. We kept up such a pretense that we didn’t want it, that we could do without.”
“But darling,” Glenna said, nonplussed, “you are pregnant now. Can’t you let Perchance Living go?” She wanted to add, it's just a rabbit, after all, but wisely thought better of it.
“Oh, Glenna, you don’t understand!”
Jo’s emotions had overwhelmed her, forcing her to hang up on the poor, bewildered Glenna. She just couldn’t explain to her friend what she was truly going through. All she could do was lay in the bed and pray as hard as she could that Jay would soon return with their beloved. But Jay was to return empty-handed.
Slowly, the Livings began putting their house back in order. They sold or gave away all the other animals they had and focused on getting the house ready for the baby. The healthy baby girl arrived just after Easter. The auspicious timing of her birth, as well as the remembrance of their beloved, inspired the couple to name her Bunny.
“You know, darling,” Jay said, while the two were sitting with the little one, “maybe Perchance Living just came into our life when he knew we needed him. Maybe, in some odd way, he helped us create her.”
Jo was touched by the sentiment. “There are holiday rabbits and rabbits in moons – I don’t see why a rabbit couldn’t be involved in this miracle,” she said gamely.
There remained in both the Livings, however, a taint of sadness that no one could explain, least of all themselves.
After the Livings had returned to relative normalcy, we were very pleased to see them out and about again. We saw them at parties, the grocery store, and out for strolls in the park. We never broached the topic of Perchance Living ever again. We wouldn’t know what to say to them about it, anyway. When I bought them that little stuffed rabbit and placed it on the road in front of their house, I had no way to know that they’d create a whole mythology around the thing – or else I never would have done it. I simply thought it was a charming addition to their little farm, something to make them smile. And Glenna never would have made the joke about allergies if she knew they would take it so seriously. Glenna and I felt horrible when we stole that little thing back and burned it, but we truly thought the baby would overshadow a stuffed rabbit. They still talk about that thing every so often. One or the other will get a far-away, almost nostalgic look in an eye. “Maybe,” they say, “just maybe Perchance Living will come back to the house.”
Jay and Jo appeared to be the perfect couple. They were both catalogue handsome, and both had well-paying jobs that they seemed to tolerate better than the average office schlub. But what no one ever knew about the Livings is that they were absolutely and irreparably infertile. The extent of their infertility was almost curse-like. They had tried everything from in vitro to adoption – all to no avail. Somehow, the paperwork always got lost, or a mistake was made in a medical process. There was always something to keep the Livings from having or adopting a child.
After several painful years of mishap and misery, the Livings finally decided to give up their quest to add to their family. Of course, no friend, coworker, or extended family member was made privy to this painful plight. Rather, the Livings acted the very embodiment of a happy, childless-by-choice, modern couple.
“Oh the earth is over-crowded as it is,” Jay would say, ever the conscientious citizen of the world.
“All children are our children,” Jo would add in, herself the beacon of humanitarianism.
We all bought it at the time, of course. And why wouldn’t we? They would so charmingly waive off questions about their childlessness at cocktail parties that one began to believe, in fact, they never felt a need to procreate. Not every couple had such an urge, after all.
As the Livings suffered silently with their decision, they supposed they ought to at least lavish love on something. Thus did they begin what would become an infamous collection. They adopted dogs, cats, and gerbils. They built a chicken coup in the backyard. A few goats and a pig were soon added to the lot. Jo found some lovely parakeets. And, finally, the last soul to be added to the Living House was a black and white rabbit named Perchance.
Perchance was found, as his name would suggest, rather by chance. The Livings were in a foul mood coming home from a movie that featured the humorous quotidian joys of family life. When their silver Volvo made the last turn toward home, the little black and white rabbit crossed the road and forced Jay to slam the breaks. Hanging posters and perusing personal ads did nothing to find the rabbit’s owner. After a respectable waiting period, the Livings knew the rabbit now belonged to them and they christened the little fellow in honor of their first meeting.
It was around this time that the Livings began changing. They became more and more infrequent at cocktail parties and one could scarcely get them on the line. When they did grace us with their appearance, Jay and Jo seemed to have nothing to speak about other than their rabbit. Finally, after much badgering, the Livings invited us over for dinner. When they sat us at the table, we were quite astonished to find a bassinet next to the table, with the dear rabbit tucked tight inside.
“Oh, Jo! As much as I’d love to meet your rabbit, I’m afraid I’m terribly allergic. Would it be alright if he weren’t at the dinner table?” Glenna asked in the sweetest way she could find. One could practically see the hives begin to bubble near her throat.
“I’m sure that’s quite impossible,” Jo responded, “Perchance Living is a family member. Would you excuse little Patty from the table if I asked?”
Glenna, a bit taken aback by the suggestion that her human daughter might cause a dinner guest allergies, said, “Well I’m sure I would accommodate my guests’ needs to the utmost of my ability.”
“Well, that’s just it. We are not able to acquiesce to your request. We won’t be offended if you feel the need to excuse yourself from this dinner,” Jay said sternly.
Glenna, feeling unwelcomed, did indeed excuse herself. The rest of us remained at the table for the dinner’s duration. We did not know how else to react other than simply pretend all was customary. We smiled as the Livings cooed over Perchance, and feigned interest as we learned all about Perchance’s feeding habits, play style, and nap times. Surely, we thought, this was just some sort of phase they were going through.
As fate would have it, Jo found herself pregnant not too many months after the dinner. We were certain that all the nonsense about the rabbit would cease now that she was with child. But, if anything, the doting over the rabbit only intensified. As Jo’s belly grew, so too did the affection lavished on Perchance grow in sync.
So single-minded was the young couple’s attention, that the lovely Tudor dream home began showing its neglect. Weeds grew with abandon and the other animals recidivated to an almost feral existence. The most beautiful house on the block became a sideshow.
One night, Jay accidentally left the front door open when he finally had to remove some trash from inside the house. The rabbit slipped out. With great fear and urgency, Jay and Jo wandered up and down the street hollering, “Perchance Living!”, “Perchance Living!” All night they searched for their beloved rabbit. Jay, with the sliver of reason left in him, thought the stress might not be suitable for his pregnant wife and he urged her to go lie down. Sheer exhaustion forced her hand, but not without the promise from Jay that he would keep looking.
Later the next morning still found the couple rabbit-less.
“It’s Perchance Living,” Jo moaned to Glenna over the phone, “he is missing.”
“Heavens! I know how much he means to you both,” a distraught Glenna answered. Glenna had always been a sympathetic ear.
“I know this sounds strange, but Perchance Living had always given us a sense of hope somehow, and now that he’s gone, well, I just don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Hope in what, dear?” Glenna asked.
“Hope that we could get pregnant. We never told anyone how desperately we wanted a child. We kept up such a pretense that we didn’t want it, that we could do without.”
“But darling,” Glenna said, nonplussed, “you are pregnant now. Can’t you let Perchance Living go?” She wanted to add, it's just a rabbit, after all, but wisely thought better of it.
“Oh, Glenna, you don’t understand!”
Jo’s emotions had overwhelmed her, forcing her to hang up on the poor, bewildered Glenna. She just couldn’t explain to her friend what she was truly going through. All she could do was lay in the bed and pray as hard as she could that Jay would soon return with their beloved. But Jay was to return empty-handed.
Slowly, the Livings began putting their house back in order. They sold or gave away all the other animals they had and focused on getting the house ready for the baby. The healthy baby girl arrived just after Easter. The auspicious timing of her birth, as well as the remembrance of their beloved, inspired the couple to name her Bunny.
“You know, darling,” Jay said, while the two were sitting with the little one, “maybe Perchance Living just came into our life when he knew we needed him. Maybe, in some odd way, he helped us create her.”
Jo was touched by the sentiment. “There are holiday rabbits and rabbits in moons – I don’t see why a rabbit couldn’t be involved in this miracle,” she said gamely.
There remained in both the Livings, however, a taint of sadness that no one could explain, least of all themselves.
After the Livings had returned to relative normalcy, we were very pleased to see them out and about again. We saw them at parties, the grocery store, and out for strolls in the park. We never broached the topic of Perchance Living ever again. We wouldn’t know what to say to them about it, anyway. When I bought them that little stuffed rabbit and placed it on the road in front of their house, I had no way to know that they’d create a whole mythology around the thing – or else I never would have done it. I simply thought it was a charming addition to their little farm, something to make them smile. And Glenna never would have made the joke about allergies if she knew they would take it so seriously. Glenna and I felt horrible when we stole that little thing back and burned it, but we truly thought the baby would overshadow a stuffed rabbit. They still talk about that thing every so often. One or the other will get a far-away, almost nostalgic look in an eye. “Maybe,” they say, “just maybe Perchance Living will come back to the house.”