Miss Baby, O Lovely and Dark (as Told to Mr. J.C. Harris)

Bruh Rabbit

My first memory? I thought this was a interview for that newspaper of yours down to Atlanta. I ain't know you expected me to turn my head inside out and let you look close. It seem like you might want to talk to me a bit, warm up to me some before you try to get in my business.

Now before we start with anything, we need to talk about my name. Cause you don't need to know a whole lot else about me, man.

All right, so "Brother" is what my Mama name me; it ain't just a pet name or what they call me in church. Mama say she name me that to remind everybody to do like the Good Book say and treat me like kin cause all creatures is loved by the Lord the same. But that ain't do me no good. Bless my Mama's heart, she tried. I sure loved her. You can write that down.

So I guess my name really is "Brother–Brother Rabbit," but I'm giving you the privilege of calling me Bruh. You might want to take notice cause these white peoples don't be saying my name right and don't be spelling it right, neither.

Like I say, you don't need to know everything about me, but I will tell you what I been knowing. Since the beginning. Ever since this garden was planted Farmer been keeping the creatures down. It started when my Daddy's Daddy's Daddy was a little critter. And probably even before that. Generations of Rabbits been persecuted by Farmer since Hector was a pup and now he a full-grown dog. It's like a family tradition. Matter of fact, Hector live right around the corner from me, so you can ask him. Go ask him. He'll tell you.

Say, "Hector," say, "how long them Rabbits been trying to scratch out a living and Farmer been keeping them from it?" He'll tell you.

The first thing I do remember don't belong to me so I can't be claiming it. It was a story my Daddy told me. My Daddy's memory. He told me the first time he ever saw Farmer, Farmer was holding a shotgun on him. My Daddy before he was my Daddy won't even a creature yet, just a critter, and facing down death already in the garden. The proof was there. Half-chewed carrots laying around and my Daddy too full to move. He on his back and his belly pooched out. Daddy look to the left and then look to the right and there ain't no place to go even if he can get the juice stirred up to run, which he can't. Farmer standing there with his shotgun pointed so far down near the dirt cause my Daddy ain't but a short ways up from the ground. And Daddy's life can't flash before his eyes cause he ain't lived long enough for him to cogitate on nothing.

Farmer say, "Well, now, critter," he say, "I sure hope you in a praying state of mind."

And my Daddy just a trembling. And Farmer laughing and then hefting his shotgun up on his shoulder.

"You ain't big enough for a sandwich." And just like that, Farmer walk away.

I never did plan to be a criminal. I had dreams for myself like anybody else. Wanted to live in a green place, bring my critters up right. Teach them about the glory times when visiting a garden won't so bad. These days seem like I can't catch no break. Sometime, I just got to pray over it but I know things ain't always been this way and a better day, it's gone come again. A motherland with lettuce and carrots and you ain't got to be no sneak thief. I got me some faith.

Wait a minute. Now why you got to go...