Sometimes I liked sitting next to the patio door and looking outside. I liked looking for a rabbit that bounced around in the woods just a few yards away. I never really saw it outside of a white blur every now and again, but every time the grass rustled I knew it was my rabbit, playing.
One day I thought about opening the patio door and running away into the forest with the rabbit. I reached up and grabbed the door's handle, but I just let my hand set there. I wasn't worried about where I'd go. I'd find a place to be. I was worried that the rabbit wouldn't come with me.
Mom walked by and saw me.
"What are you doing, honey?"
I shrugged, but I didn't look back. I had a feeling the rabbit was hopping by soon. But it didn't, not for the rest of the day. I didn't stop watching until it got so dark I couldn't see outside. Then I got up and went into Mom's bedroom. She was working on something. I crawled into the bed next to her.
"What are you doing, Mom?"
She shrugged and didn't look away from the papers. I thought about asking her if she wanted to run away from the nothing as badly as I did, but I got confused the more I thought about the question. Who runs away from nothing?
The next day, when I saw the rabbit hopping around, I opened the patio door and shooed him back away. I'd join him another day. I felt fine inside, for now.