The rabbits, they whispered to me. playwithus. I would reach my chubby six year old fingers out to touch their long ears, their puffs of tail, their long, soft fur – but they would always hop just out of reach, their purple irises glinting in the afternoon sun. Purple was the color of my favorite hair ribbon, the wine sparkling in my mother’s glass, and when I looked into their eyes I felt safe.

I would beg my mother to come and see them. Until they whispered again: secretsecret. Just for me. Their whispers grew louder. playwithusonlyus. I dreamed of them hopping into my bed, snuggling, nuzzling my fingers.

Their purple eyes faded to blue, then clear. The color of the vodka never in my mother’s glass for long. Their fur grew thinner, fainter, until all that was left was the whispers. neverenough.

Now the invisible man with translucent eyes and a stubble of furry whiskers sits with me on the train, holding my bag, at the table, holding my spoon, at the edge of my bed, holding my breath, whispering.