CHAPTER TWELVE

A few days after arriving she managed to get in contact with one of her cousins. His antlers, unlike Poppy's, were long and gnarled. He hadn't been taking care of himself much.

"I'm growing them out for winter, in case I have to fight for food. I like to keep myself in fighting condition, going to the gym and things like that."

For a jackalope the man was totally built for strength, not agility. Poppy used to work out when she fenced, and it may just be the nature of her sport but being light on your feet was half the battle. She tries to continue the conversation while picking at a salad.

"Have you talked to Andrew or Micah lately? I haven't seen them in, gosh, 8 years! I hope they're alright."

"Haven't talked to them since high school, They probably don't even live up here anymore. What's up with you being a girl? Couldn't grow your antlers big enough?"

"My antler size has nothing to do with it, in fact I know plenty of girls with 10-point antlers."

"Yeah, yea, but what's up with it?"

"I'm a girl now because I wanna be, you really mean to tell me you haven't kept in touch with anyone from school? They were your best friends!"

"No, they were your best friends, Paula. They never liked me going to the gym, so I left them behind. Swole is the goal ya know?"

"Is that healthy? Leaving people behind because they get in the way of the thing you think you truly want?"

"I think so, sure. YOLO, make it count."

Poppy didn't ask to go lower than she was when she ran away. she didn't think it possible. But here she was. Days passed where all Poppy did was sit around the apartment. She was under the assumption that the north would be good for her, the clean air and her childhood friends. But it's all seemingly gone now. Not even Kaye's bagels taste the same. She did try reaching out to them through social media, saying she was in the area. None of them responded, except for one who thought she was a bot. One day Tracy comes home from work in a huff.

"Customers were shitty today, you wanna go smoke?"



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Tracy hands Poppy the blunt, the heat on her lips hurts. She worries about the flame scorching her whiskers, she'd seen it happen to someone in high school. She hands it back to the deer, and catches herself again staring at her antlers. They're long, healthy.

"I thought you hated your antlers, why are you letting them grow out? Work?'

The deer takes another draw, her tolerance far higher than the jackalope. She rummages through the girls bag, pulling out a voice recorder and a notebook but not opening it. "I work at a queer owned music shop and cafe, it's not work. I liked the individuality of it, you know? I liked people seeing me and my tits and my antlers and not being sure what to make of me. I'm just Tracy, and I define what that is."

Poppy leans back on the hill, looking out at the tops of trees. Little birds flutter between them, unlucky leftovers of a time long past. They don't worry about fame, but they do worry about where they live. Probably far more than anyone else in her life. Their houses, their whole worlds get destroyed by storms and wind. Why does she want that to happen to her? The chance to start fresh and leave everyone behind? She thinks again of running through the corridor of stained glass, the end never getting closer. She sits up and looks at Tracy, who was still fiddling with the controls on the recorder.

"This is all shit, you know that? I didn't ask to be famous, or have a fan club, or anything like that. I wanted a way to express myself and make money for it and now I have. But by doing that, now I'm one of the most famous animals in the country! That's all I am, an animal, scared and worn out from change. You know, all this time I thought the choice I was making was between the worlds of night and day, familiar and unfamiliar. But that's not it, I'm choosing between being known by everyone, or dying remembered by no-one. That's my choice, those are my options. I mean, It hasn't been that long since I played with them for weeks on end and my cousins friends don't remember me at all. Not a thing, no other jackalope in their lives to speak of.

"Well you know what, I'm tired of sacrificing myself, my very being, just to make a living doing the things I love. I wanna make a radio show, a song, a movie, that nobody listens to. Maybe it gets buried in the ground and people 100 years from now appreciate it, but I don't want a fan club. I wanna do a job I like AND create art, separately. I don't wanna work in a factory and I don't wanna be a radio star." She stands now, knees bent to try and keep balance on the slope. She screams into the trees, being heard over the cars passing behind her. "I WANNA BY MYSELF, FOR MYSELF, AND THAT'S OK!!!" She looks back at Tracy, who's still clutching the recorder. "I wanna do something for me and not be put on a pedestal. I like radio, let me go back to the shitbox station with Kelpy and the punk guy and, hell, why not Amora, and let me just speak out to nobody. And another thing!-" She loses her balance and stumbles down the hill. She rolls for about 20 feet, landing face up in a muddy puddle. It's cold, the steel gray clouds above are beautiful. She hears tracy running down to her, and the words "I recorded all of that, that was fucking beautiful man!" Before she passes out.



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