Young Writers Society

He called himself Rabbit, and wore the same pair of patch pants everyday. There he was, passed out near the platform of the train. Next to him, also sleeping, was an old lanky german shepard. They were both skinny, and emanated a desperate sadness that most people would consciously turn away from. As sad as it may be, I’d usually be part of the majority to look away. Yet I couldn’t, because I knew that sleeping man all too well, or at least, I had known him.

As I walked towards the train station, I stopped. And then it happened, a flash. Seeing him was like a portal to another life, and I couldn’t help but look. A bittersweet taste formed in my mouth, the memories.

I met him at a basement show. It was the kind of music that was fuzzy and loud, I’d say it was more sound than art. These types of shows popped up sporadically, and the summer after finishing high school, the spontaneity of adventuring through the city to see them felt like magic. I was so lost back then, with no clear path in front of me, wanting only to feel a part of something.

During one of the breaks at the show, when one band finished and another was setting up, I took the opportunity to step out for a smoke. It was a nasty habit that I had taken up towards the end of high school, when I knew that my marks would be good enough for graduating, and being stuffed into a big building with a bunch of kids was starting to kill me. It was outside on that hot summer night that I met them, a group of misfits and oddballs. Of course, Rabbit was the one who stood out. His dreadlocks had beer can tabs in them, his arms sported tattoos of foxes, and he was the tallest of them all, about 6’4”. And I, deeply inhaling the nicotine and tobacco of a Belmont-- oh how I miss those cancer sticks-- was looking at the stars. There was something to be said about how the light pollution of a big city suffocates stars that were too far away, as if only allowing the human eye to see the important ones, the close ones, the bright ones.

The beautiful aspect of smoking is that it is so damn social, especially when you’ve been drinking. You can be outside with a plethora of strangers, and immediately create a connection by sarcastically saying you need to quit, or cooly asking for a cigarette. So, naturally, after examining the night sky, I wandered to their group.

There were three of them, two boys and one girl. The girl had a bleach blonde pixie cut with streaks of faded blue and purple. She was medium height, skinny, and had an intimidating air, with heavy eye makeup and piercing green eyes. The other boy had long brown hair that fell past his back, thick glasses, and sported black combat boots. And then there was Rabbit, battered in tattoos. I had to meet them. “Quite the show, hey?” I said, cooly. The group looked at me with examining eyes, as if I was a foreign species.

“Oh absolutely. You know, there’s something about listening to garbage that I just can’t get enough of” Rabbit replied, sarcasm coating his words. I couldn’t tell whether he was being friendly or not. After three beers, everything was fuzzy, and my ears were ringing. I decided to offer them some of the contents of my flask, which I had saved for the end of the show.

“Hey, you guys want some? It’s Sailor Jerry’s, and there’s no way I’ll be able to drink it all.” Immediately, their faces lit up, and they began to look a lot more welcoming. The dreaded boy spoke up,

“You’re too kind. Don’t mind if I do. What’s your name?” he asked. He took a slug and passed it to the girl, but the guy wearing combat boots didn’t have any.

“Callie. And you guys?”

“I’m Rabbit, and this guy with the bug eyed glasses is Ben, and--”

“And I’m Jocelyn, wonderful to meet you.” The girl interrupted, leaning in to shake my hand. Her touch was soft, and she flashed me a warm smile. She was wearing a jean jacket decorated with patches. One of them appeared to be a sewn on cross hatched uterus. Her intimidating air shifted to something more flirtatious.

After smoking three more cigarettes and sipping down two shots worth of rum, Rabbit invited me back to his house. Of course, I accepted his invitation, and was pleased to find out that he lived on the same side of the city as me. We all packed into Ben’s old Jeep, and stopped at a liquor store for more beer.

Rabbit lived with his parents, and each member of his family smoked. The kitchen had a permanent haze, and a small but plump German Shepherd named Frett welcomed everyone at the door, he must’ve only been a puppy. The true hangout place was the basement, or as they called it, Hops. It was famously named after Ben had accidentally pushed a table over a table while wrestling with Rabbit, spilling four pints of Lucky Lager, and leaving a permanent hoppy smell. The furniture was comfortable and well used, and the mini fridge was always full. I have so many memories in that basement, from being high off my mind and staring at the psychedelic posters for hours to 4am existential talks about the universe. The first time I saw it, after that shitty house show, I was in awe. Slightly buzzed, and amped up from being in a new environment, everything was vibrant and exciting. Ben didn’t drink, and explained that, “Rabbit drinks enough for the two of us.” He also never partook in the pot smoking. But damn, could that guy play guitar. His voice resembled Dallas Green, and the way his fingers glided across his acoustic guitar was the stuff of Gods. Rabbit played the banjo, and I was soon emerged in an entirely new genre of music; folk punk.

It was fucking awesome. Hard, loud, cracked, and emotional. The kind of music that makes you want to punch someone in the face while simultaneously giving your best buddy a bear hug. I haven’t listened to that kind of music in years, it’d just be too much. That night, I was only a spectator, sitting on a big couch with Jocelyn’s legs sprawled on my lap, yet, I felt like I was part of something much bigger. I drank my face off, and ended up sleeping with Jocelyn.

The thing about me and Jocelyn’s relationship was that it wasn’t romantic. We were both lonely, and both in need of affection. Her skin was pale and soft, and she moved like a Goddess. When there was alcohol mixed into the nights, we couldn’t resist each other. Ben and Rabbit didn’t mind, and were just happy that we had each other. I only spent the summer with them, so our fling ended as fast as it began.

After that, I began going to Rabbit’s almost every night.It was only a bus away, and sleeping over was never a problem. It just felt natural. Jocelyn convinced me to dye my hair deep purple, and Rabbit gave me my first tattoo, a stick ‘n poke mountain on my ribcage that took all too long, the only physical trace of that phase that I have left. It’s quite faded now, as it was done with a sewing needle, india ink, thread, and a pencil. They were so weird, with their odd washboards used for music and wheezy harmonicas, yet they let me in so fast. Ben was the wackiest, and his sobriety never got in the way of him acting like a complete fool. He had this way of lighting up a room. Those big brown googly eyes with the thickest glasses I had ever seen--fuck, he was too young--and the way he would cheer everyone up by playing a song on his guitar. He loved Bright Eyes, and encouraged us all to sing along. He and Rabbit had one of the most honest and real bonds I had ever seen. Their ability to harmonize while playing music was enchanting, as if the squeaks and harshness of the lyrics were bits of glitter and gold.

About a month into knowing them, when the midsummer days were still long and hot, I was invited on a roadtrip. Rabbit had just gotten fired from his job, and emphasized that the city was killing us all.

It was going to be a four day trip, with about 10 hours of travel both ways. We were BC bound, en route to a campground just outside of Pemberton. Ben drove his Jeep, with Frett accompanying us, and we planned to drive the ten hours with very limited stops.

About an hour in, Jocelyn pulled out a small baggie with white powder in it. She meticulously poured out some of the contents on a hardcover book, shaped and cut it with her debit card, and made a gesture towards me after having some.

“Oh, no thank you. I just stick to weed and alcohol, didn’t even think that you’d do that kind of thing.” I explained, slightly nervous.

“Come on, Callie, this’ll keep ya awake! It’s a road trip, we’ve got to stay awake.” She pushed, resting a hand on my lap.

Rabbit chimed in,

“Trust me Callie, we only do this stuff when we need to, of course, minus Ben, cause he’s got all the energy in the world. Just give it a try! If you hate it, that’s totally cool.”

I hesitantly gave in, feeling confident that they’d have my back, and reasoning that it was just coke, nothing too scary. After snorting a line, everything felt clearer. I wasn’t just stuffed in a car with three people and a dog, I was beginning a journey with people I had grown quickly to love. The mountains were cheering us on, the trees were waving with welcome, and the clouds were opening their arms for embrace. As cliche as it sounds, it was as if my eyes had finally been opened, and for only a short while, as if I would be okay, and we would all be okay. I had a few more lines, and stopped when Ben gave me a worried look.

We arrived at the campsite around 10pm, and began setting up our tents. Looking up at the sky, I could see more stars than I could count, and they were so damn bright, the brightest I had ever seen. We were exhausted from the drive, and still had to set everything up. Ben quickly built a fire with the wood we had purchased and some newspaper. He then grabbed his guitar and began softly playing notes, strumming an original song. Jocelyn sat down next to him, with admiration shining through her eyes. Everyone liked Ben, he was the perfect kid. Only twenty years old, yet already so talented, and already so wise.

After setting up our campsite, we began drinking. For Ben, this meant asking a series of ridiculous questions to our drunk selves and taking as many pictures with a disposable as possible. I probably still have a few, carefully tucked away in my drawer of memories. With the alcohol came Jocelyn’s eager embraces, tracing shapes on my thigh with her fingers, breathing sweet nothings onto my neck, her soft lips teasing each part of me. Eventually, we left Rabbit and Ben and went to our tent. She was a lot more drunk than me, so I convinced her that going to bed would be the best option, and that there would be plenty of time to do other things together. She tried to protest, but soon, gave into the strong pull of sleep.

I listened to a podcast on my phone, and after about half an hour, took out my earbuds.

Rabbit was crying.

His sobs were shaky, he was clearly trying to hold it all in. I fought my urge to get out of the tent and comfort him, because just as I was about to, Ben spoke,

“It’s going to be okay buddy. You know, we’re all a little lost. That was a shitty job anyway, but I know it isn’t just about the job.”

“It-it’s fucking everything man. I’m so trapped, my only source of happiness is you guys. You know, I can’t think of one single thing I like about myself. When I think happy, I think of this. Campfires, music, alcohol, people.” Rabbit responded.

“But those things are great, dude! There’s so much to love. And don’t go on about how much you hate yourself. Shit, who doesn’t hate themselves in this world? You know, I’ve been feeling really messed up lately, things at home aren’t good, but I just have to keep going. We’re all fucked, but we have to accept it. You know?” Ben said, and damn, did that part hit me.

“I’m sorry man, but the thing is, my mom’s going to kick me out if I don’t do something with my life. She’s always telling me that these line cook jobs aren’t going to bring financial stability. She wants me to do something more. And my Dad, he doesn’t even look at me anymore. I think he sees a lot of himself in me. Everything’s just so fucked. I don’t want to do anything else. It’s the shit we play music about, about not conforming, and staying young, and just--just not losing ourselves.”

Ben took a long time to respond. He must’ve been in deep thought. When he finally did, I found myself in tears.

“Listen man, I know that things are hard, and I know you’re scared, but you’re not going to lose yourself. Rabbit, you’ve got this effect on people that is so damn strong, it pulls them in so fast. You’re so accepting, so caring. You were there for me when nobody else was, you let me back in, Rabbit. I’ve got nothing but love for you. Taking the next step in life won’t make you a different person, and it’s okay to not be okay. You’re mom’s just worried about you, and is trying to give you an incentive to take that next step. She cares about you, we all do.”

“I guess you’re right I just need to get over myself, maybe see if I can apply for schools again, I’ll have to get loans, but that’s fine. Thanks Ben. I didn’t know things weren’t so great at home for you. If there’s any way I can help, or if you just need to rant, you know I’m here buddy. I love you Ben, you’re so important to me.”

In that moment, I realized that Rabbit and Ben’s relationship was something I had never had with someone before. It wasn’t just about having someone around, it was about those late night conversations. It was about connecting with someone outside of common interests. I was jealous, but also very grateful to be involved with two rare gems.

The rest of the camping trip was pretty fun. We went on a few hikes, cooked lots of food over the fire, and gave the rest of the campground a great show with our music.

One night, just before the summer had ended, I went to Rabbit’s after work only to find out that it would just be the two of us.

I had just finished a long shift, and texted him to make sure it was okay to stay the night. On my way, I stopped at a liquor store to pick up a forty of Sailor Jerry’s. It had rained so much that evening that the rushing water was soaking my shoes, and I accidentally got off at the wrong stop, finding myself pulling out freezing hands to direct myself with my phone to his house. When I finally arrived, I was exhausted, and in need of some good music and good alcohol. Frett, the family dog, looked very sad.

Rabbit was in his room, on the top floor, and I quietly went upstairs to join him. He was reading a very large and thick book called Watership Down that I had vague memories of either reading or watching the movie when I was young. I could see tears streaming down his face, he was almost finished reading it. I sat on the bed next to him and patiently waited for him to be done.

Finally, he closed the book. It seemed as though he was struggling for words, so I tried to help out,

“Good book?” I asked,

“U-uh yeah. Really good, really sad.” He answered, trembling hands grasping the large novel. “I need a cigarette, here, take it.” Rabbit passed me the book, and left his room. I was too cold to follow him to the kitchen, and decided instead to leaf through the pages. It was well read, with parts earmarked and certain lines highlighted.

After a few minutes, he returned, and his eyes were still bright red. I assumed his tears were due to that empty feeling you get when you’ve finished a book; it’s as if you’ve just lived an entire life, only to find that you’ve been tricked, that it’s all just paper and ink and words. It wasn’t that though, it was something more.

“Hey Callie, I know you’re a new friend and all, but I feel like I can trust you, okay?” Rabbit began, his voice shaking.

“Yeah, of course man, you can tell me anything.”

“Okay. Last summer, Ben went on a bender, you know he’s an addict right? Well, it got really, really bad. He had been almost two years sober, then his brother died. So he started using last summer, mostly meth, lots of coke, and alcohol, of course. He stole $2000 from me, the money I was saving up for school. He did a few other shitty things, fucked my girlfriend, stole from my parents. When Ben is using, Ben is not Ben.” Rabbit explained, struggling to get the words out. I had had my suspicions, but I didn’t know that Ben was an addict. I assumed he had just had bad experiences with pot and alcohol, but nothing that serious. I put my hand on Rabbit’s, trying to provide comfort, and waited for him to continue.

“Eventually, he checked himself back into rehab. When he had put enough of himself back together, I let him back into the group, but there was one condition. If he started using again, we were done.” At this point, he turned to me, and I could see that all he wanted to do was run. He wanted to flee, his eyes reading, run, run, run.

“The other day, he showed up high off his face. He wanted money. That fucking kid wanted money. It had been about a week since we had hung out. I had no idea, or maybe I did. I guess I just assumed he was going through a rough patch, nothing this bad. So he’s cut, we can’t see him anymore. Please, I hope you can understand. It’s for the best. It really is. I just can’t do this again. You know that I love him, that he’s like a brother, but I--I just can’t.” Rabbit lay back in his bed, closing his eyes.

I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t just run away from a problem like this. I wanted to talk sense into him, to make a plan to get Ben back on his feet, to convince him to fight for his friend. I wanted to scream. At the time, the group was the only thing that kept me going. My parents thought I was a disappointment because I refused to apply for schools, and had taken up so many bad habits. They saw my group of friends as a bunch of scum bags and drop-outs. They didn’t know what I had become apart of, something so precious and important. Without Ben, I knew things would fall apart. We needed him, he offered the humour that we so easily forgot about, and was a saint for giving solid advice. I had no idea that his eccentric nature was a front to cover the darkness that must’ve possessed him.

I wanted to say so many things, and I regret it to this day. Instead, I just nodded my head. We spent the night watching tv shows on his laptop, and fell asleep together, fully clothed, on top of the blankets.

The following week I spent reading. I learned more about Rabbit in those pages than I ever had hanging out with him. I realized why he called himself Rabbit, or at least the Rabbit I had considered him to be. He was always running away when things got bad, fleeing his Warren to find a new one. He sought comfort in like-minded people, and had created a community of friends that were tight knit and close. Ben threatened the Warren, Ben was what made him flee. Finishing the book left a dull ache in my stomach, hollow. Rabbit wanted adventure, but more than anything, he wanted safety.

The day I finished the book, I got a call from Jocelyn. Ben overdosed, he was dead.

Although my time with those people was short, I grew so much. I had experienced casual sex for the first time, I had been exposed to an entirely new and foreign style of music, I had sewn my first patch onto a value village-bought jean jacket, I had formed relationships with people I’d never dream of talking to. And then it ended.

Ben’s death left an everlasting tear in the dynamic of our group. I couldn’t go to Rabbit’s house without seeing traces of him, he was everywhere. Jocelyn was crushed, she had known Ben since elementary school, and during a long night at my house with three bottles of wine, admitted that she had always had feelings for him. I didn’t want to ask where that would leave us, and soon enough, she found some other girl to fool around with.

Rabbit was devastated, and full of self-hate. The last time I saw him, there was something crazy in his eyes. He had a wild idea of fleeing the province and driving back to B.C to join a commune. He quit his new job and was determined that happiness would be found in the forest. Rabbit always wanted to run.

The idea was ludicrous. I was already planning to apply to schools for the winter semester, and was starting to listen to different music. After shooting down his invitation, we never spoke again.

Until now.

There he was, sleeping in the cold November air, Frett by his side. I couldn’t resist. I walked towards him and knelt down, then softly nudged his shoulder. Slowly, he rose. Frett also awoke, and his tail started wagging uncontrollably when he saw me. Rabbit’s eyes were extremely sunken, it had been nine years. His hands were shaky, the kind of shakiness of a user.

My heart sunk. I apologized for bothering him, as he clearly didn’t recognize me, threw a handful of coins in his empty coffee cup, and walked towards the train.

I didn’t want to admit my disappointment, because part of me knew it would end up like this. Ben, or at least the sober Ben, was Rabbit’s anchor, he kept him at bay. With his absence, Rabbit truly was lost.

I had often wondered what had become of Rabbit. Dreams of leaving the province with him would linger through my thoughts. Yet there was something that pulled me away from ever contacting him. Perhaps it was wrong, but I could see the look of sheer abandonment in his eyes the day after Ben died, when we met up in shock. He was already gone then, the part of him with passion, love, and joy at least. All that remained was his need to escape. Although I’d awakened on multiple occasions with heavy regret, it was too late now.

It was a life that I lived for only a few months, and it was like reading a book, with the abrupt nature of its ending. Rabbit never found safety, and he still continues to run.