The Easter Bunny - Part Two

Brer Rabbit careered through the dingy alleyways, tipping rubbish bins over as he ran. Trying to be quiet at this point was useless; his pursuer knew exactly where he was, and all he could do was try to slow him down. A cat screamed at him as he threw aside the garbage bag it had been hiding behind. Brer tripped and landed face-first in a puddle but was up again in an instant, his feet scrambling frantically on the wet ground. He reached into the left pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small revolver; no easy task when running for one’s life. He reached into another pocket with his other hand, pulled out a small handful of rounds and set to work loading the diminutive chamber. Bullets spilled out of his hands as he sped towards the street lights at the end of alley, but he didn’t mind losing a few as long as he had a fully-loaded gun in his hand by the time he reached the streetlights. The rumble of a large motorcycle echoed through the alley behind him and he slowed down slightly to risk a glance over his shoulder. The silhouette of a helmeted head with two large ears poking out the back cast a colossal shadow on one of the buildings and Brer heart leapt to his throat. ‘Surely not,’ he thought. ‘Isn’t he one of ours?’ With renewed energy Brer burst out of the alley into the quiet main street, being careful to hide the gun back in his front pocket. There weren’t many late-night shoppers about, but it was well-lit, so his chances of survival were higher. As he ran past a pawn shop he snatched a large fur coat off a rack and threw it around his shoulders. It was distasteful for a rabbit to wear fur, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There are worse things to cover oneself in than mink – Brer knew that from experience. He slowed to a jog and crossed the street, intent on throwing his pursuer off the scent. How the hell did they find him?

Until earlier in the evening Brer rabbit could have been the poster child for the Witness Protection Program; he was living a new life with a new name in a new place every three months. Life was good and, for the most part, normal, if you ignored the fact that there was a large bounty on his head. The whole saga had started four years previously when Brer found himself unable to pay off debts to the Tar Baby, a particularly successful and violent loan shark. Brer had turned to Tar Baby for money after the banks had rejected his application for a boat loan, citing the insecure nature of Brer’s job as an insurance salesman. Tar Baby agreed to lend Brer the money for his boat on the condition that the money was paid back at a rate of twenty percent interest per month. Brer agreed on the spot and was soon the proud owner of his dream vessel. Shortly after the deal was struck a drought crippled the region and the river levels dropped, taking the fish stocks with them. Brer’s fishing business went under, and he was unable to maintain his loan payments, so Tar Baby sent a couple of goons around to Brer’s house to ‘rough him up’. Brer, beaten, bruised and terrified for his life, went straight to the feds the next day and offered to trade information on Tar Baby’s illegal dealings in return for protection. The feds agreed. The racketeering case against the Tar Baby had come to a standstill and they needed reliable witnesses to take it to trial. Brer was held in protective custody for a week before being spirited away to an undisclosed location in preparation for his entry into the Witness Protection Program. He stayed successfully hidden for four years.

Shortly before Easter during the fourth year Brer received a letter from the Tortoise Consortium congratulating him on his lottery ‘win’ and subsequent promotion to ‘Easter Bunny’. He did not know how the Consortium knew of his whereabouts, and he hated the idea of being the Easter Bunny, but he knew that he was species-bound to accept. Any rabbit that declined the ‘invitation’ disappeared permanently. Maybe it was time that had relaxed his guard, or maybe he felt that the threat of a cruel execution at the hands of Tar Baby had passed; whatever it was, Brer accepted the post of Easter Bunny.

The next day he was running for his life.

Brer glanced behind every couple of minutes, scanning the scant crowd for his pursuer. His fur coat hid his dirty mechanic’s overalls well, and its softness reminded him of his mother. She had been a good rabbit, and was taken from him too soon. Myxomatosis was a cruel disease. Brer sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye before stopping in a shallow alcove to light a cigarette. As he inhaled the pungent smoke a thudding rumble of a motorcycle filled the street. Some of the late night shoppers paused to look at the black and chrome beast, but most of them just continued about their business. Brer whipped around and saw the bike come tearing across the street towards him. All he could do was reach into his pocket and pull out his gun.

‘I don’t now who you are, but I swear, man, if you come any closer I’ll kill you!’ he yelled, his outstretched arm shaking. A deep laugh came from inside the rider’s helmet as he slowly took of his gloves to reveal large fluffy paws.

‘I swear I’ll shoot!’

The large paws rested on the bike’s fuel tank for a moment, and the helmeted head cocked to one side. ‘I don’t think you have the plums to pull that trigger,’ said the deep voice. Something about the tone triggered something deep within Brer’s brainstem, and he pissed himself.

‘Oh look what you’ve done now, Brer,’ said the helmet. ‘You’ve gone and ruined an expensive coat!’

Brer still had the gun pointed at the figure, but his hand was shaking so much that an accurate shot was out of the question. The rider’s paws moved up to the black helmet and slowly pulled it off. Two massive fluffy ears, their tips flopped over, sprang to attention as not-so-little Bunny Foo Foo’s face was revealed.

‘Oh Jesus fuck,’ whimpered Brer.

Foo Foo grinned. ‘What’s up, Brer? I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.’

Brer just whimpered. His whiskers were twitching like trees in a hurricane.

‘The tortoises would like me to pass on a message from Tar Baby.’

Something tweaked in Brer’s head and his brow furrowed. ‘Wait, what? The tortoises? What have they got to do with this?’

‘Oh, quite a bit. See, the Tar Baby paid them to rig the lottery to bring you out of hiding. Ingenious, really. I was paid quite well for that idea,’ said Foo Foo with a faint smile.

‘Oh you piece of shit,’ said Brer. ‘You’re working with the tortoises and Tar Baby?’

Foo Foo slowly clapped his massive paws together. ‘Well done.’ His booming voice seemed to fill the street.

‘Why? You’re one of us!’ Brer punctuated the statement by stabbing his gun in the air.
‘I know which way the wind is blowing, I’ve seen the writing on the wall. The tortoises were shamed and embarrassed by that stupid bet Basil made up years ago. Sure, they won the race in the end, but only by disqualification. They managed to make the result seem more honourable with their “Slow and steady wins the race” campaign.’ Foo Foo unzipped his leather jacket and pulled out a sawn-off shotgun. ‘Turns out they want to go even further than that though. They want to wipe out all the ‘famous faces’ in the rabbit population. They figure that once they’re gone, the public will have no reason to like us anymore.’

‘This is about a petty grudge?’

Foo Foo nodded.

‘But you’re one of the famous faces,’ said Brer.

‘I’m fully aware of that!’ snapped Foo Foo. ‘And I had a choice: I could either be ‘One with the Dodo’, or I could work with the tortoises. It wasn’t a hard decision to make – I fucking hate most of the famous faces. They draw attention away from me, from my stories, from my struggles! When this is over, I’ll be the last one standing. I’ll be the one that will be remembered.’

Brer’s shaking had calmed down while Foo Foo talked, and he was focusing every ounce of concentration on aiming the gun.

‘You’ll be remembered as a traitor!’ Brer pulled the trigger and a few things happened at once: the sound of the gunshot bounced off the tall buildings, frightened shoppers looked around for the source of the sound, Foo Foo moved slightly as the gun flashed, and Brer stood open-mouthed as he watched the bullet punch a hole in Foo Foo’s left ear. Foo Foo yelled out in pain and lunged at the high-beam switch on his bike. Bright light cascaded over Brer like a spotlight and he was frozen to the spot. Foo Foo raised his shotgun.

‘Like a rabbit caught in the headlights,’ he mused. The shotgun was louder that Brer’s handgun and made a much bigger mess too. Foo Foo took a photograph of the vaguely rabbit-shaped blood splatter on the wall for his client before picking up one of Brer’s paws. Foo Foo tapped the paw on his own paw and laughed. ‘Guess they’re not so lucky after all.’

He climbed back on his bike and took his time fitting his ears into his helmet. His left ear hurt like hell, but after examining it in the mirror decided that he liked the addition of a bullet hole – it made him look even scarier. The bike started with a rumble and the rider hummed ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo, riding through the forest…’ as he reversed the bike off of the footpath.

He put it in gear and roared off down the street.

The Easter Bunny - Part One

Peter walked with a limp and winced with every step. ‘Easter Bunny Lottery,’ he muttered as he set down his basket. ‘Stupid fucking idea.’ He sat down on a convenient log and rubbed his aching, blistered feet, cringing as he applied pressure. It was a few hours before dawn and he still had a long way to go before his work was finished. Sure, the job had its perks; the shiny new waistcoat with gold buttons was nice, but something didn't sit easy with him. The others thought the same way - there was something going on and none of them could work out what it was. Peter gingerly got to his feet and stretched his back before picking up his basket of chocolate eggs. He only made it a few steps before he tripped over a tree root. ‘God-fucking-dammit!’ he yelled to the sky as the eggs spilled out of the basket. ‘Why me?’

A sparkly sound filled the air as if in answer, and a spectacle-wearing tortoise appeared in mid-air. ‘Because you won the lottery,’ it said as it looked over a clipboard.

Peter got to his damaged feet and brushed the dirt from his waistcoat. ‘I know why me, but I don’t get why is has to be me. This is bullshit and you know it, tortoise.’

The tortoise smiled. ‘Tut tut, Peter, you know the rules.’

‘You’re an arsehole,’ growled Peter.

The tortoise cleared his throat. ‘Section III, paragraph seven: “Easter Bunnies shall not engage in profane behaviour or language which may cause distress to minors”.

‘I don’t care. I’m not doing it, you prick. This is bullshit. I refuse to do this anymore. I’m tired, I’m sore and I didn’t sign up for this. I swear, if you tell me to do it one more time I’ll take a shit inside every hollow egg and rewrap them. The kids won’t notice until it’s too late.’

The tortoise’s face turned mean. ‘Do that and you’ll get calicivirus’d.’

Peter’s face fell. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he said.

The tortoise grinned silently and looked at Peter over the top of his glasses.

Peter was nervous but put on a brave face. His whiskers hardly twitched at all. ‘How did it come to this, tortoise?’

‘You know exactly how, Peter. The previous owner was a terrible gambler, PLUS he was a cheat.’

‘He didn’t cheat! He was shrewd!’

‘No, he cheated. He substituted his runner with a narcoleptic hare at the last minute, and was subsequently disqualified, despite the hare losing anyway. So now we control the Easter Bunny Company and manage it how we see fit. The Selection Lottery model is just the first stage of our company-wide sweeping changes,’ said the tortoise.

‘And the lottery is random, is it?’ said Peter, arms crossed across his chest.

The tortoise scrunched its face. ‘Yes. It’s random, and I don’t appreciate your tone.’

‘It just strikes me as odd that this year’s Easter Bunnies are all well-known individuals.’

The tortoise continued to frown and made a mark on the sheet on his clipboard. ‘Lotteries are random. The results are random. You think that just because well-known rabbits are working together on the one night is a good reason to be suspicious?’

Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t say anything about it being “suspicious”.

‘Thinking something is odd is to think of something as “suspicious”. Do not put words in my mouth,’ said the tortoise.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. The tortoise was right about both things; the previous franchise owner was a terrible gambler and a drunk and an idiot, and just because well-known bunnies were on ‘duty’ tonight didn’t mean anything was wrong. Still, he didn’t like the direction the company was taking. The Tortoise Consortium was slowly running the place into the ground, and there was nothing the employees could do about it. Word on the street was that anyone who spoke up against management went to the Big Farm in the Sky.

An owl hooted somewhere overhead. Peter looked around and took a deep breath. ‘Fine. Whatever. No more questions, I’ll do my job, even though it sucks, but you’ll have to find a new Easter Bunny for next year.’

‘Oh of course,’ said the tortoise. ‘You know very well that’s how it works. Once you’ve been an Easter Bunny your name is permanently taken out of the lottery. You won’t ever have to do it again.’

Peter picked up the basket and started loading the eggs back into it. ‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said.

‘You’re a rabbit,’ said the tortoise, ‘Your species is jittery almost by definition. Good night. You will be finished by sunrise.’

The tortoise disappeared with a popping sound and glittery crap cascaded to the ground. ‘I hate that fucking tortoise,’ said Peter to the owl.

‘Hoot!’

‘Yeah, you said it.’ Peter brushed the last of the dead leaves off his knees and ambled off into the forest.

Teeth

The phone rang, and Michael, half asleep, stuck his hand out from underneath the quilt and felt around for the vibrating handset which he knew was somewhere on the floor.

‘m’hello?’ he said, his eyes still closed.

‘Are… are you sleeping?’ said the voice on the other end.

‘I was.’ He groaned and sat up. ‘What’s up?’

‘You know that Boat trailer I was telling you about?’

Michael rubbed his eyes and peered at the clock on his desk. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Phil, it’s 11am and it’s Saturday. Why are you even awake?’

‘I was up at 6am – already had five cups of coffee. Gotta keep moving, got things to do,’ said Phil. He made a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Anyway, can you?’

Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes with his right hand as he carelessly held the phone with his left. ‘Can I what? I just got up, man.’

‘Can you help me with this trailer thing?’

‘Trailer thing?’

‘Yeah, the Boat trailer. I need to go have a look at it before deciding whether to spend money on it or not.’

Michael walked over to his computer and turned it on – it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to sleep. ‘Can’t you just do that online?’

‘Nah, gotta see it in real life, full size. See if there are any problems with it.’

‘So why do you need me?’

‘Because you know about this sort of stuff. You’re good at spotting details and shit.’

Michael stared at the ceiling and scratched his stomach, turning the idea over in his head before making a decision. ‘Yeah, alright, I’ll give you a hand,’ he said as he tried pulling on a pair of jeans one-handed. ‘But you owe me lunch. Where are we going?’

‘Port Wakefield, see you in ten minutes!’
‘Port Wakefield? That’s two hundred kilometres away!’

There was a click as Phil ended the call.

‘That dirty bastard.’

Phil’s car was a clapped out shit-box with a custom exhaust. It sounded like a cement mixer full of nails and looked like it was held together with hopes and dreams, if dreams were made of duct tape and car bog. When Michael opened the passenger-side door it fell off. He was left holding the handle.

‘I see you bought a new handle,’ he said.

‘Yeah, it’s good, hey? Just slip the door back on its hinge could you?’ said Phil.

As Michael re-hanged the door Phil turned up the volume on his stereo.

‘GOT A NEW STEREO,’ he said.

‘I KNOW!’ said Michael, ‘IT DOESN’T HOLD THE DOOR ON!’

‘YEAH! ABOUT TWO HUNDRED WATTS!’

‘WHAT?’

‘YEAH!’

They both nodded at each other, content that the messages had got across. Michael slammed the now-fixed door and turned the music down as it had already rattled the rear-vision mirror free from its mount.

‘So why are we going to Port fucking Wakefield, man? Can’t you just be like a normal person and suss it out online or something? What new information are you going to gain by driving all the way out there?’ asked Michael.

‘Told you on the phone, man. I have to see it full-size, otherwise I won’t be able to make a wise purchase,’ replied Phil.

‘Remember, you’re buying me lunch.’

‘’course.’

A short while later they were rattling along the highway, just shy of the speed limit. Michael stared out the window at the salt bush that dotted the landscape and tapped his foot to the music coming out of the stereo. Despite hating long car trips, he did like this part of the country – it was colourful, textured and interesting. The occasional dead tree dotted the landscape, every available branch weighed down with optimistic bird nests.

‘What do you suppose the birds think when they build those nests?’ Phil said, interrupting Michael’s day-dreaming.

‘Huh?’

‘The birds. What do you reckon they’re thinking when they build a nest out in the open like that?’

Michael looked out the window again and paused. ‘I reckon they’d be thinking “You’d have to be mad to drive to Port Wakefield to check out a trailer which you can look at from the comfort of your own home.’

Phil laughed. ‘Alright, fair call. But, really, what about the nests?’

‘The birds probably think “this is a nice spot to build a nest; lots of sticks for the frame, lots of saltbush for the mattress, lots of leaves to hide its position. Yes. This is a killer spot for a nest.” And then summer rolls around, all the leaves fall off the tree because it barely rains out here, and they say “awwww fuck. This is a stupid spot for a nest.” Then their wives leave them because of their poor decision-making skills. They then start hanging around dodgy pubs, drinking from the pools of spilled beer, quietly warbling their sorrows to anyone who might listen.’

Phil just stared at the road ahead. ‘That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

Michael stopped tapping his foot and turned the stereo down. ‘So what’s so important about this trailer? I still can’t believe I’m coming all this way out here to see it.’

‘It’s important. It’s a trailer for the Boat. You know how much I love the Boat, even though it isn’t ready to launch yet. I’ve spent heaps of time researching it, put heaps of energy into analysing every moment of its creation, and I just need this last piece of the puzzle to fall into place. I wanna start enjoying the Boat as soon as possible, so I need all the information I can get.’

Michael nodded and started tapping his hand on the window sill to the beat of the now-subdued music. A few seconds later the door fell off.

‘Please buy a new car, Phil,’ said Michael as they struggled to re-hang the door.

‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with this one,’ said Phil with a genuine look of shock on his face.

Michael stared at him, and then stared at the patchwork of repairs which covered the car. ‘Mad Max could’ve built a car better than this, man.’

‘Um, yeah. No shit?’ said Phil. ‘Mad Max is a genius.’

‘Mad Max is a character in a movie, mate,’ said Michael.

‘Yeah, I know. And he’s a genius.’ Phil bent down and examined the door. ‘I think the hinge is bent.’

‘Do you have any tools?’

‘Nah. Tools are for pussies.’

‘So we’re going to be here for another two hours?’

Phil scratched his chin with one hand and shielded his eyes from the sun with another. After a few seconds he pointed to some rocks a short way away.

‘Give me a hand moving those, could you?’

A few minutes later Phil had set up a makeshift anvil and was beating the daylights out of the damaged door with a large rock. He’d stop every couple of hits, assess the hinge, then beat on the door some more. Michael spent the time skipping pebbles across the road.

‘You’ll need to buy me two lunches. Good ones.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Bang. Bang. Bang. ‘I think it’s fixed. Give me a hand.’ They carried the door to the car and had it fitted in a couple of seconds. ‘See? Who needs tools when you’ve got a rock?’

‘People with better cars than yours, mate.’

An hour later they were nearing their destination - the change in landscape indicating they were close to the sea. Salt bush had given way to small shrubs and trees, and seagulls flew overhead. Michael marvelled at the effortlessness of their flight. ‘I think I’d like to be a seagull,’ he said.

‘Why?’ said Phil.

‘Because seagulls don’t ride around in shit-boxes like yours.’

‘That’s because seagulls can’t afford cars. They’re birds.’

They passed the ‘Welcome to Port Wakefield’ sign and slowed down. The car shuddered as the brakes engaged and the smell of burning brake pads filled the car.

‘I really hate this thing, Phil,’ said Michael.

‘Yeah, I gathered that.’

Phil eased into a petrol station a few kilometres down the road and switched the car off. ‘I’ll be back in two seconds with lunch.’

Sure enough, he was back a couple of minutes later with a couple of pies and a bucket of hot chips. He handed them to Michael and started the car. ‘We can eat them when we get there. We have plenty of time before it gets dark.’

‘This doesn’t count as one of the two lunches you owe me. This counts as dinner.’

‘No way!’

Michael just stared at Phil and pointed at the passenger-side door.

‘Oh, fine.’

They barely spoke as they waited in the car park of the only establishment left of its kind in the state. ‘Why do you suppose they closed places like this down, Mike?’

‘Because places like this are shit, Phil.’

‘How can you say that? Look at the size of this place!’

‘And look how empty it is. Seriously, why did you need to come out here to see this? You said you wanted to see it in ‘real life’, but this isn’t exactly ‘real life’, is it? I mean, come on, seeing it out here is exactly like seeing it at home.’

Phil scratched at a bit of rust on the car’s bonnet. ‘Nah, it’s not the same. If you look at the image online like you’re suggesting you’ll notice that it’s all shit. The image quality is terrible; you can’t make out any detail at all. You have to see it up-close on a big screen to get the full effect.’

Michael stretched out along the bonnet and up the windscreen. ‘I can’t believe I came out here to see this. This is mental. I swear, mate, if this movie trailer isn’t everything you’ve made it out to be, I’m going to be seriously pissed.’

Phil made himself comfortable on the car’s roof. ‘I sure hope they play it tonight.’

The lights dimmed, and the only sound that could be heard was Michael grinding his teeth.

Checkout Chick

Gary’s only purpose in life was to guard the east gate at Sydney International Airport. He had no wife, no kids, and no social life. He lived alone in a dingy one-bedroom unit at the end of the main runway and he’d lost all pigmentation in his skin because of nearly three years of nightshift work; he nearly glowed in the dark, his skin was that pale. The few friends he had never saw him due to his irregular nightshift schedule and he was staring down a tunnel without a metaphorical light shining at the end of it. He stared at his watch in the dim glow of the flickering lamp post.

‘And… there it is,’ he said as he watched the minute hand tick over to midnight. ‘Another Saturday night lost.’ He kicked at the empty Red Bull can he’d dropped on the ground moments earlier, emptied of its sleep-depriving glory. It was a tradition he’d maintained for a full year: drinking five cans of Red Bull before midnight every Saturday night, then kicking the empty cans down the stormwater drain by one o’clock the next morning. It wasn’t brain surgery, but it kept him occupied during his twelve-hour-long ‘how not to fall asleep while no one breaks in’ exercise.

By one o’clock the Red Bull cans had all skittered down the drain, making way for the next activity – throwing rocks at circling moths – which ran until 2 o’clock. Gary used this time to pretend he was a fighter pilot. He swooped around the lamp post and guard booth, arms spread wide, mouth making engine noises, before lining up for a strafing run. The area around his tiny booth was covered in fine white gravel, the sort one might put in a kitty litter tray, so he had ample ammunition to conduct his dogfight with. Despite all probability, the strafing game lasted until just before the sun came up which meant that Gary had to pretend to be alert as the first of the dayshift workers turned up to start their working day. He lifted the boom gate as they drove in, gave them a wan smile and a wave… and cursed their names under his breath as his fatigue-fogged brain started to shut down. When eight o’clock rolled around he swapped out with the dayshift guard, Steven, and made his way home via the supermarket.

Gary parked his car in the near-empty supermarket car park and winced as he got out of the car. His diet of crap food and energy drinks was catching up with him, especially in the stomach department, and the extra weight was taking its toll on his knees and back. By the time he reached the store’s automatic doors he’d walked off his limp and was moving more comfortably – perhaps spurred on by loosened joints, perhaps by the thought of his delicious impending purchases. He picked up a basket and strolled down the aisles, stocking up on the essentials: Red Bull, instant noodles, biscuits and finger buns. He tried starting a conversation with a pretty woman in a business suit, but she just scowled at him and walked away. Heart firmly in his stomach, he walked glumly towards the checkout, thinking of how he was going to fall into his small cold bed, alone.

When he got to the checkout he started unloading his basket onto the counter. He glanced over at the customer ahead of him and his heart skipped a beat – it was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. She was just shy of five feet tall, had luxuriant brown hair and a big smile – everything Gary could possibly hope for in a woman. He looked at her basket of groceries. ‘That’s a lot of fruit you have there. Making a fruit salad?’

The woman just stared at him.

‘Shit shit shit,’ Gary thought. ‘That was such a stupid line. I screwed it up.’

The object of Gary’s affection looked at his basket of groceries and sneered.

‘Yeah, my diet ain’t too healthy, but what can you do?’ said Gary, shrugging his shoulders.

As if in answer, the woman started thumping the counter with her hand. The cashier didn’t even look surprised – she just treated the situation as if was a daily occurrence.

Gary was surprised at his new-found friend’s behaviour, but wasn’t as taken aback as many people would be – he’d worked nightshift for three years, and had been awake for a good twenty four hours, maybe this is how people interacted with one another now? He turned away momentarily to empty the rest of his basket, and when he turned around again the women was standing with a palm-full of money held out in front of her. The cashier very delicately took the exact amount of money from the proffered hand and put it in the cash register, almost as if she was handling a bomb. Gary’s mouth was agape. ‘Where on earth did you keep that money? You’re not wearing any pants!’

The brunette grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of pearly white teeth. Gary felt light-headed and a bit wobbly – he’d always been a ‘teeth man’; it was as if this woman was reacting to his every lustful thought. As Gary paid for his groceries he summoned up every shred of courage he possessed and said, ‘My name’s Gary. What’s your name?’

The woman said nothing, but Gary noticed a bracelet on her left wrist which read ‘Jesse’.

‘Ah. Jesse. Nice name. Do you want to go out for coffee or something? If you’re not busy, that is.’

Jesse wildly flailed her arms and walked around in circles. She didn’t say anything, but, as Gary had read in a magazine, in these situations body language was everything. Gary took his shopping in one hand, and his new friend’s hand in the other. She did the same, and they walked out the door and down the street to a coffee shop.

Jesse got comfortable on a stool as Gary ordered a triple espresso for himself and a mango smoothie for her.

Gary sat down and tried his hand at small talk as they waited for their drinks.

‘So, Jesse, what do you do when you’re not eating healthily?’

Jesse just stared around the café and not-so-subtly scratched herself.

‘Relaxing, hey? Yeah, I’m the same. I work the night shift at the airport, so I’m used to spending time on my own. I’m not lonely per se; although I can usually find something to amuse myself with when I’m on my own.’

Jesse looked away, as if in disgust.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Gary laughed, ‘that came out all wrong. What I meant was I like reading or taking long walks. I’m happy with my own thoughts.’

Jesse upend the sugar bowl all over the table and chuckled.

‘Not a fan of sugar? I have to admit, it’s my one vice, except for the shelves and shelves of pornography I have at home. Do you collect Hustler? I collect Hustler, it’s a great magazine.’

Jesse got down off of her seat and started dragging the chair to another table.

Gary flinched. ‘Did I say something wrong? Oh I’m so sorry; I’ve forgotten what it’s like to talk to non-security guards. We’re always joking about stuff like that. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

Jesse took a bowl of sugar from another table, dragged the chair back to the table she shared with Gary and proceeded to pour the contents of the sugar bowl all over the seat. She started cackling wildly.

Gary relaxed. ‘Here I am stumbling over my own words and worrying while you’re just being all carefree and aloof. I envy you in some ways, Jesse.’ Jesse smiled and clapped her hands as the waitress arrived at the table. She gave Gary and Jesse a funny look and walked away quickly when Jesse started rubbing her leg.

‘If I did something like that I’d get in trouble,’ said Gary, ‘but I guess that’s one of the perks of being a vibrant young woman – you can get away with stuff like that.’

He sipped his espresso as Jesse gulped down her smoothie.

‘You don’t talk much, do you?’

Jesse continued to guzzle the pulped mango.

‘I don’t mind, it’s nice to just talk freely with someone. I don’t get much of a chance to do it at work.’ Jesse finished her smoothie and looked impatient. ‘Do you want to go? That’s fine, just let me finish my coffee,’ said Gary. He downed the remainder like an alcoholic doing shots at a bar, and rose from his seat. He picked up Jesse’s shopping along with his own and they set off down the footpath through the park. The sun was shiny and the birds were singing as the new couple ambled happily between the trees. Gary couldn’t help but notice Jesse’s unusual gait. ‘Do you ride horses by chance? I noticed that you walk a little bow-legged.’ Jesse let go of his hand and half-ran to the top of a small rise a few metres away. Gary walked quickly to catch her up. ‘I’m sorry, have I said the wrong thing again?’ He really didn’t want to blow his chances – it was the first sort-of date he’d had in years and he was going to do everything he could to hold onto Jesse for that bit longer. Out of the corner of his eye Gary noticed three men in khaki uniforms walking quickly towards him, and he glanced at Jesse. Her pupils were dilated and she was looking agitated. ‘What’s wrong? Do you know those men?’

Jesse tugged at Gary’s trouser leg and pointed at the approaching trio.

‘I don’t understand. What’s going on, Jesse? Are you in some sort of trouble with the law?’

Jesse let go of the trouser leg and reached her right hand around behind her back.

There was a damp sound and a brief pause before Jesse hurled the contents of her cupped hand at the uniformed men. ‘Don’t let him do that again!’ yelled out of the men as Jesse scarpered up a tree.

‘He?’ said Gary as he looked up at Jesse. ‘Oh… I see it now. You’re not a lady-monkey at all!’

He paused. ‘I mean “Ape”. Not a lady-ape at all.’

As he watched the men negotiate with Jesse from beneath a large umbrella, Gary some math in his head. ‘Yeah,’ he thought. ‘Definitely the best girl I’ve ever been with. Even if she WAS male.’