“Okay, we are rolling.” I squinted to my right as her crew member and his clipboard backed into the shadows. Greg, I want to say? The halo of bright lights were intense, but I could just make out the camera lenses.
The woman sitting across from me shuffled through the index cards in her hands and sat upright with a smile. She said, “Just look at me and relax. Are you ready?”
“I think so.” I tried a slight smile. After all these years, no one enjoyed my sincere grins anymore. It was time to talk about that. The council would likely never understand, and I expected censure for it, but my conversations with the first human liaison months ago made it abundantly clear this level of sharing was necessary. My love for books and organized spaces, especially in the last few years, clearly had distracted me from my primary duties. I was certainly nervous, too, at this moment. I ran a hand across the hair on my arm. It felt supercharged with static electricity. Still, I found myself relaxing, as directed. This woman had the look of someone who would get it. All of it. “Yes.”
She composed herself again and turned to her left slightly. “This is Cecily Sybil Sessions, and I am here with a world exclusive interview for Action News 273. Listen again, after this broadcast, on our streaming archive.” I must have fidgeted in some involuntary way. Cecily refocused on me with another calming smile. She was good. “Our guest tonight, for many of us, will need no introduction. For our other listeners and viewers who might remain skeptical, let’s start with who you think of as yourself.”
“Well, I have a job with the, um, others. It suits me. Most of us have a very short window of official duties, you see. Because of my focus the rest of the year, I have become the Librarian.”
Cecily smiled again and looked down at her first card. “Yes, but that name is new to everyone here, right? Most of my viewers have tried to read the full story in that so-called official report, but the government is not responding to our requests.”
“Oh, I agree completely that it is time to step from the shadows.” I turned to the cameras again, trying to maintain a pleasant expression, for this admission often led to awkward conversation, and I had more important things to discuss. “Hello, I am the Easter Bunny.”
Cecily paused. “And, tell us what that means.”
I pulled my left ear down reflexively. “Well, I ask you and your viewers, who do you see sitting in this chair? Am I a white rabbit, in a blue checkered vest?”
“Of course.” Cecily turned a card. “Is that bag where you keep your eggs, too? In many ways, you are exactly as I pictured as a small girl. Why is that? When you first contacted me, you said that there was a larger context to everything that has come forward since the Commission released their report. What have they been hiding?”
“There is a word in your English dictionaries that comes close. Believe me, I have looked. Personification. It doesn’t quite fit. After all, I am six feet tall and have these whiskers and so forth. What I mean is that I am forever a product of my time. I have taken many forms over the years, and others have tried to give me different names.”
Cecily rifled through her cards silently. “Honestly? Go on, please.”
I sighed and looked at my human-like hands. “We style ourselves the Council of Holidays, but that name is my fault, too. I was bored, you see.” I looked deeply into her eyes. “You were bored.”
The sparkle in Cecily’s eyes lessened just enough for a glimmer of recognition to have passed. This dangerous approach I was taking might actually work. She said, “You are not part of a Council? The President certainly said as much regarding you and the others in his address last –”
“No, that much is true. It became important to coordinate amongst ourselves as your population grew. We honor your traditions, always, but that extends beyond a single day of remembrance or celebration. Many of my brothers and sisters have simply forgotten after all these years where we came from originally. It was time to bring myself forward again, so that maybe all could remember. Even you.”
“Please, help us understand. Who – what are you, really?” Cecily was gripping her cards tightly.
“Here, this might ease your mind, Ms. Sessions.” I reached into my satchel and retrieved a yellow plastic egg. I opened it by pulling the two halves apart. A rainbow issued forth from the right side, arcing up and landing a few feet in front of me. Three red butterflies fluttered from the left half of the egg. “I have been around since your first cave painting, but the name I was given in the 16th century still fits best, I think. My real, chosen, name. Whimsy.”
Cecily sat in silence for a few moments. “You – you have been a bit absent lately.”
“I know, believe me, I am sorry.” I closed the egg and handed it to her. Whispering arose from behind the cameras. I said, “I and my siblings are not here by happenstance, nor are we the architects of this story. You are a remarkable species with many gifts of your own you barely understand. Consider me just one of many aspects of your collective imagination.”
Cecily turned the egg in her hand before placing it in an inside pocket in her blazer. “That must make you very powerful, just the same, Mr. Bunny. Why have you hidden yourselves for so long? And, why were you so frightened to come forward like this? Is that from your rabbit side?”
“Yes and no.” There was that electric buzzing feeling again. “Something is wrong. You all witnessed it start months ago. Even Father Time seems confused lately, unsure of what year it is.”
Cecily laughed. “Me and those three over there have been cooped up in here for a while together, sure, that is true. Perhaps we could use some absurdist fun again. What do you know of the ponies, really?”
My ears swiveled together. “They’ve found me.” An altercation broke out on the other side of the small studio’s door. Gunshots rang out. Cecily yelled “Keep filming!” as she jumped behind her chair. The very young man, the one who had introduced himself as Greg when I arrived on set, grabbed one of the cameras off its tripod and joined us on the platform of our small stage.
Greg looked at Cecily and pointed to the back, as something began pounding on the door. A voice growled. “Rabbit! 2022 would like to speak with you!”
I stood up, motioning to whoever else was in the room to join us. I said, as loud as possible, “That monster is not 22, and you know it!” I reached into my satchel again.
The red egg didn’t need to be opened, but I had to twist the two halves to activate it. Black eyes and a mouth appeared on one end. “Yee! Yee! Yee!” the egg called with insistent, blanket happiness as I threw it at the studio door. My film crew ran for the back exit and I quickly followed. The resulting explosion blew glass, concrete, and twisted metal everywhere behind us.
We emerged into the employee parking garage. “Well.” I looked at my current audience of four, and their shiny, reflective connection to thousands, perhaps millions, through the device on Greg’s shoulder. He shrugged and raised the keys to one of the vans with a mobile telecommunications tower built into it. My nose twitched. “Come with me if you want to live?”
Something for April holidays, though also a debut of what seems to be turning into The Holiday Wars, or at least squabbling between primordial forces. Oh, look! Fables is public domain now!