It was the night of my 23rd birthday. I sat in the bathtub, covered in its blood and my own, unable to decipher where mine started, and where its began.
Just a little less than a month earlier, everything was different. I was having the best shrooms trip of my life. I stood in the bathroom, laughing hard at my reflection. I, for the first time in years, felt so beautiful. Had I never noticed before? Or maybe, I feared, it was that I could only really see myself with the power of substances. Some outside source.
Eventually I left the bathroom and forgot my fears, waltzing the night away with my best friend through the winding streets of Amsterdam. It was late spring, cusping on summer, and we were high on the beauty and love and the substances we’d forgotten we’d taken. It was my first time away from home. Everything felt so good, so possible. We ate dinner and were gluttonous, reveling in the warm air and our full stomachs.
When we finally went back to the apartment we were staying in that evening, we agreed we felt full of potential, and I was sure my life was taking off in the right direction. I had just graduated college. This trip was a gift to myself for the four years of hard work. Early the following day, we’d be taking a train to a hostel in the countryside. The last stop on my trip. Then life as an independent adult began.
We had to get up early the next day for our train, so we tried our best to go to sleep. The shrooms hadn’t really worn off for me. I closed my eyes and lay there half-asleep for what felt like hours. But I was finally asleep when my phone rang.
It was my friend back home who was calling me. It must have been around 1 am my time, which meant it was about 7 or 8pm for her. I stared at her name on my phone screen, watching it ring until it went to voicemail. She texted: Please answer.
I really didn’t want to answer the phone. This friend was watching my pet rabbit. My bunny, Momo. In a way, he was my whole life. He had kept me sane for the past two years. I knew something must be wrong if she was calling me at this hour; she knew I had an early train ride, and that I had taken shrooms. I suddenly felt a surge of guilt, remembering that I hadn’t even thought to check in on him all day.
She rings me again.
I finally picked up the phone.
I locked myself in the apartment’s small bathroom, and asked what’s going on.
There was an uncomfortable pause on the other line. I tapped my foot on cold tiles.
“Are you there?” I asked.
“Momo’s not moving.”
I found it hard to not drop my phone. I caught my eyes in the mirror – like Momo, I was prey. I asked what she meant, my voice suddenly sounded like someone else’s.
“He screamed and jumped, and then he shit himself. And he’s laying kind of flat on the floor.”
I couldn’t help but watch myself in the mirror; all the color flooded from my face. I didn’t recognize my twisted lips. I think of how I had been laughing in glee at not recognizing myself earlier. My stomach turned. I yelled for her to take him to the vet, and hung up the phone, pressing my back into the cold bathroom tiles.
Eventually my friend called me back and told me Momo was dead and that she was so sorry. I hung up the phone. A sudden rage was all I had to keep me from crying.
The next morning, we went to the train station. I looked absolutely insane. Europeans looked at me with freakish disdain. What the hell was wrong with this ugly, swollen American girl? I forgot how beautiful I had felt the night before. I had never been so hideous.
On the train, I sobbed for the entire ride, snotting routinely into my sleeve. I was in the middle seat.
Disgusting American.
As soon as we got to our hostel, I tried to change my return flight to that day. I had four days left. My friend was so supportive, but I didn’t want to ruin her trip. My family called me, telling me I would regret this, that I might not have an opportunity like this ever again. I needed to pet my bunny one last time. I needed to feel his fur, to see him, even if he was dead.
It would cost $1,000 to change my flight to that day. My dad told me I had two options, we could keep Momo in the freezer, or we could cremate him.
I thought about his fur freezing and his jaw still open, and I wanted to vomit.
“Cremate him.”
When I finally got home, I collected his ashes. I had a small funeral in my backyard. Holding a jar full of ashes did not feel like goodbye. It felt hollow and ridiculous. I was pathetic and so full of anger it made it hard to grieve. I felt insane for being this sad, but there was nothing I could do.
I thought that day would be the peak of my anguish but going back to my apartment was the hard part. I had recently moved into a one bedroom, and knowing I’d have a pet was the only reason I could handle that. All of my friends moved to different cities that fall. My family was over an hour away. The nights alone felt haunting. I cleared out Momo’s stuff immediately. I didn’t have a boyfriend and certainly didn’t want to meet anyone new in this state. I had never felt so empty and been so physically alone.
A month went by like this. Until there was a sudden pain in my lower abdomen.
I must be getting my period. It was a few days late, but I wasn’t concerned, because I wasn’t having sex. The pain starts dull and annoying. I just made myself dinner, and my appetite vanishes as the muscles in my stomach contract. And then, all of a sudden, it’s sharp and violent like knives. I see stars and run to my living room, hurdling myself onto my couch.
I lay on my side and moan like an animal in pain. I fear the downstairs neighbors might hear me and come knocking. Expecting a spout of blood from between my thighs, I crawl on all fours to the bathroom.
I hoist myself into the tub and run the water scalding hot. I moan loud in agony. The water rising over my stomach offers no relief. I bite my hand, and I feel something stir. Violent, unbearable pain, a ripping sensation, as if I’d be torn in half.
And then it stops.
I’m afraid to look down. I feel it between my legs and jump up from the tub, crimson red water splashing everywhere.
Surfacing in the water, I see fur and a limp body. Soaked in my blood, or maybe its blood. I look down at my stained hands, covered in large clots. Shaking, I try brushing them off, before reaching down into the water.
I feel for the furry corpse, covered in that slime and blood that kept pouring down my legs. I pull it from the water.
I don’t know how I knew, but it was dead before it left my body. It might have been dead for a long time. I wrapped it in a towel and hurried across my apartment to ensure my front door was locked. Then I shut all the blinds. I brought it into my bedroom and put it down on the hardwood floor.
Breathing heavily, I slapped myself across the face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I read the titles of books on my shelf. I had been told before that you couldn’t read if you were dreaming. But the words were clear.
I look down at the mass under the towel. I take a breath before pulling back the corner. I close my eyes. The smell is rotten.
One, two, three. OPEN!
Under the towel is the limp body of a rabbit.
“Momo…?” I say it so softly that I’m not sure if the words even left my lips. It begins pouring heavy, loud rain. It rattles on the roof. The power goes out. I shriek, crawling away from the corpse in a darkness so sudden my eyes could not adjust. I feel as if all the air is sucked from the room. A violent ringing begins in my ears. This must be the moment I have imagined almost every day – the end of my life.
But then, just as everything begins to fade in the sheer terror, the lights come back on. Shivering, I am, somehow, still alive. Everything is the same as a moment before. The rain subsides.
The only difference is that the corpse on my floor has moved about five feet closer to me.
I must have been drugged. Somehow, something must have gotten into the bottle of wine I had about an hour earlier.
I close my eyes, and when I open them, the corpse is looking back at me. And almost human – it smiles.
I can’t help but scream.
From where the body is, a low “shhhhhh” is emitted. I am instantly silenced. I realize I have no control over the situation. I watch it, like an entity, more powerful than myself.
“Don’t be afraid.” It speaks without moving its mouth.
Slowly, I nod. Slowly, I am no longer afraid. Just numb. Just confused.
“H-how—” the rest of the question is impossible to form. The creature, still dead, is more alive. It does not breathe, but it smiles. Without any control over the muscles in my face, I smile back.
“Hi,” is all I can say. Somehow, I know I am with an old friend but also entirely something new. I am overwhelmed with an eerie sense of peace.
“You look so sad,” it says to me. “And on your birthday. Why are you all alone?”
Hot tears on my cheeks. I must look monstrous.
He tells me to go into the living room. He is already leading the way. I sit in horror, watching him move across the floor. Slowly, dragging his body by his front legs, his hind legs absolutely limp. His fur appears wet and matted. A wet trail follows his path.
I have no choice but to get up and follow. My body moves for me.
He tells me to sit on the couch and to take deep breaths. I close my eyes and breathe heavily, hoping that at any moment, I might wake up.
When I open my eyes, he sits beside me on the couch. I see a mug of tea on the coffee table, and the TV is on. I look over, the bunny is using the remote.
He tells me I need to relax, clicking open Netflix.
“Wha—” I try to say, but he shushes me again, clicking on New Girl.
“Season two is the best.” He clicks on the episode where Nick and Jess hook up for the first time. My favorite one.
“Drink.” He says to me, looking at the mug before me. With my eyes on him, I slowly reach forward, picking up the mug. I take a sip. Mint tea, with a squeeze of lemon, and a spoon of honey. Just warm enough but not hot. The episode begins to play.
We finish the episode in silence.
He turns off the TV, turns to me, and tells me to get my yoga mat.
Involuntarily, I rise and grab it, laying it down on the living room floor.
He follows me as I sit down, sitting directly across from me. “Follow my lead,” he says. “We’ll start in a child pose,” I lean forward, extending my arms over my head. “Send your hips back to the bottom of the mat, and through your nose, exhale.”
I follow his instructions, all tension leaving my back, all the pain from birthing, suddenly escaping my hips.
“Okay, now get the ice cream from your fridge,” he says. I don’t know how he knows I have it. I get up and go to the freezer.
When I return to the living room, he has a candle lit, and the lights dimmed. In a soft voice, he begins to sing, “Happy birthday to you…”
I am crying again by the time I blow out the candle. He claps for me with his tiny paws and says, “Happy birthday, I would never miss it.”
We spend what feels like hours together, drinking tea, doing yoga. I read my journal entries to him, and he gives me insights. Never judging. Just witnessing the pulling tides that rumbled back and forth in my chest over the past month we’ve been apart. We paint our nails, create vision boards, and make bucket lists. We listen to records and paint and take turns doing karaoke.
As the sun begins to rise I notice his demeanor change, and he sits still, just staring at me. There is a look on his face I don’t recognize. I ask him what’s wrong.
He tells me it’s time – I ask for what. He tells me to follow him into the kitchen.
I nod, and I follow.
We stand in the kitchen, and I can feel him wanting to hold back. He doesn’t look me in the eyes. He tells me I won’t be happy at first. I ask him to explain.
“We were — supposed to do this before midnight, but I couldn’t. Not on your birthday. I-I love you.” He chokes up, trying not to show it. I ask if we can just go to sleep, rest for a bit and then talk. He shakes his head. He says we have already waited too long. I ask what it is we have to do.
“You have to eat me,” he says. I begin to laugh. “You need to eat me,” he repeats, full seriousness. “I have the recipe. We will prepare it together.”
A wave of numbness runs over me. I know, he is not kidding. Suddenly, that vile anger I tried so hard to forget resurfaces. I just got my friend back. My cheeks grow hot and I feel the anger bubbling in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I should not be in the kitchen, with the rotting corpse of my rabbit on my birthday, him asking me to eat him. I should be celebrating with loved ones, with my rabbit who should be alive. I knew in a few minutes, this would be over, I would have to say goodbye all over again, and like before, be alone. I couldn’t stand the thought.
And then he tells me to preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
“No. I-I’m not going to ‘eat you.’ You are insane!” I say, shaking my head and backing away from him.
“But you will,” he says from the kitchen. He says it with such force it stops me in my tracks. I turn back to him.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it is the only choice you have. Because I don’t have much more time. And if you don’t…” he trails off. “It would be best if you did. I want you to. This is your gift.”
I shake my head; no, no, no. This is some twisted nightmare. Any moment I will wake up.
And I realize, if that’s true, I will be just as alone.
I step out of the kitchen, hyperventilating. I run to the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my cheeks. There is still blood in the bathtub.
When I go back to the kitchen, there is a baking pan and an assortment of ingredients and the oven is preheated. I squint at Momo from across the room. “STOP!!!” I shriek. “Stop it!! Turn off the oven, I won’t do it.” I think about him in the oven, and I am reminded of the jar of ashes on my windowsill. I can’t do it.
He nods. “Then, I will have to leave. And you will not remember any of this. Selfishly, I want to be with you. I want you to remember this time. When I could actually speak to you. Where I could vocalize just how much you mean. How much I truly loved you” He turns away from me now. A pit forms in my stomach.
I step into the kitchen. “I don’t want to forget,” I say.
“Then, let me tell you the recipe.”
~
I stand at the counter with all of the ingredients before me mixed into a bowl. He sits beside it.
“This meal is about losing fear. About reconnecting with softness. With pure, unconditional love. Once you have eaten it, you will always carry this inside of you. No one can take it away. When it is time, you will lay me on the pan. I will lay willingly, I will not be in pain. You will read for me the words I have chosen, which you haven’t spoken yet. You will then place me in the oven. You will set a timer for an hour and fifteen minutes. Then you will take me out, let me cool, and eat me. You won’t need much more than a bite.”
I shake my head, yes.
“Get your journal, the green one,” he asks.
I retrieve it from my room, a numbness I haven’t felt since being locked in that bathroom in Amsterdam overcomes me. He tells me to open it to the 10th page.
I do, and the spit catches in my throat, “did you read my journal?”
He says he didn’t have to.
I tell him I don’t want to read this one to him. He says I need to complete the recipe. He moves himself onto the tray. He lays down. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat and wait a moment. I look down at what I have written, and with a shaking voice, begin to speak;
“I keep thinking, I’m going to die like Momo.
I will scream, and my jaw will be left open when my heart stops.
I fear, like Momo, I will be without the one I love the most,
The only one who makes me feel safe.
I will be in an unfamiliar place, and there will be strange noises I have never heard before,
As the vision fades from my eyes,
I will feel like I was abandoned.”
I barely speak the last few words. “You never abandoned me,” he whispers.
I can hardly look at him, but when I do, I see his eyes are closed, and I know he is no longer with me in this kitchen. I close my eyes and open the oven. Hot air. I place the tray inside. I set a timer.
~
I won’t explain what happened after. All I will say, for your comfort, was that he was utterly transformed.
And so was I.
I couldn’t believe the feeling of a double beat in my chest. Wiping grease from my lip, I walk past the mirror, then stop. Staring deep into the reflection, I realize that never in my life have I so profoundly recognized myself. Reflected back to me, all of my love. Sweetness, softness, worn on my face. An overwhelming sense of forgiveness, and peace, overcoming every inch of my body. I begin to laugh uncontrollably. I see pure love in my smile. I have never been so beautiful, so lovely. For the first time in my life, I see myself through different eyes.