Free Bunny… Christine McDonald

Most folks on camp called me by my street name, Ellie, instead of Christine. With my high–country Oklahoma twang and long, blond hair, “Ellie” seemed like a fitting nickname. A nickname was a little less personal on the streets and in prison, so I was good with that. Somehow having folks call you by a pseudonym helped you disassociate from what you were doing, from experiences you were enduring, and from who you really were deep inside. It was one of the ways we protected our deepest, innermost selves.

Anyway, the white shirt had us searched. “Where’s the critter, Ellie?” There were a couple of officers there, so we knew we were totally caught. As they pulled our lockers out, the white shirt said, “I have no idea how you guys kept this thing hidden, but it’s going.”

CeeCee cried. I was shocked she had such a soft side most did not know about. I was even more shocked she allowed these officers to see her emotional attachment to the bunny, but I knew the secrets that CeeCee carried; I knew the weight of the cross she lived with daily. I had tears in my eyes, but I tried to maintain an appearance of indifference so they wouldn’t see they had taken our joy along with the rabbit.

Bunny had become quite tame. How on earth was he to survive outdoors? It was fixing to rain. The white shirt was on the radio calling for someone to come and get the rabbit, and we were getting a prison violation. CeeCee was overcome with tears after I said Bunny couldn’t make it in the wild.

The white shirt said, “That’s not my problem. You should have thought about that before you took it out of its habitat.”

I explained that the rabbit would have been killed by the mower.

“That’s life,” said the white shirt. “That’s how things work.”

CeeCee asked if she could please at least walk our Bunny to the fence with a guard and let him go, so that he might have a chance to survive without being killed by our prison grass mowers. No one spoke. Then, as we exchanged glances and waited for an answer, the white shirt radioed and said, “Disregard.” It was still open yard time for the rest of the prison; only our housing unit was on lockdown. The white shirt said, “Get your bunny.”

CeeCee and I both started to walk out, but the guard said, “Just one of you walks that bunny to the fence.” Then she said, “And don’t make a scene.”

CeeCee, being generally more calm and laid back than me, was surely the better choice. I saw the tears she shed in front of the officers, and I knew she needed to set the bunny free for her own peace of mind. Although I was attached as well, I knew I’d be okay. She let Bunny go. There were houses with children within sight of the prison yard, so we hoped for the best for our bunny…

To be continued…

Contact Information:
Christine C. McDonald
636-487-8986
Christine.CryPurple@gmail.com

“Love your neighbor, all of ’em.” -Christine Clarity McDonald

https://crypurplemovie.com/

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