You know the old saying, “If you blink you might miss it?” Well that’s just how he was growing up. He was the tall, boney kid that sat in the back of the classroom, never saying anything. You used to just disregard he was there, not even thinking about it. We all thought that it was how he was going to be for the rest of his existence. We had the notion that he would live a secluded life, but in the middle of high-school our idea changed. His name was Vincent. The title fit him like an old worn glove. There wasn’t much to him until our senior year. Our graduating class or anyone really, wasn’t quite sure what happened to him. Maybe something inside him just snapped. Maybe he couldn’t take being unnoticed anymore, but whatever his reasoning was we sure did notice him after that.
It started with the rabbits. We had known he was afraid of rabbits since the first day of second grade when the class pet was a bunny. He had an anxiety attack and the teacher had to move the rabbit to a different classroom. We had completely forgotten about it, until our final year of high school. At the time the teacher just said it was a childish phase that would pass, but as we found out in our senior year, it hadn’t. We were dissecting rabbit fetuses to see how the organs worked. Everything was fine until she brought out the fetuses. The shape of rabbit was barely recognizable, but Vincent freaked. He ran, screaming, up and down the halls of Bentley High. Ms. Thimner, our biology teacher, calmed him down, and called his parents. He was picked up from the school. The next day we tried to be cool about it, telling him that everyone has their days, but it’s hard to forget certain things. After a while though things toned down and Vincent became the same kid he had always been. The scene was no longer prominent in our minds. The memory just sat, like Vincent, in the back being quiet. That is, until the top hats.
Bentley High never had a very strict dress code, so people expressed themselves through clothing. Of course, we never expected Vincent to use fashion as an outlet for his feelings, so when he first wore one of the large, leaf patterned, and green top-hats we thought it was for warmth. This was utterly untrue. As February turned to March and March turned to spring he continued wearing this bold headgear. Naturally, kids started teasing him about it, and trying to steal his leafy hat. Every time anyone managed to pull it off his head, Vincent would let out a blood-curdling scream, and say that he was going to stop growing all because of us. This was unforgettable. None of us knew what was happening to him. We tried to convince him that he needed to see the counselor. He tuned us out, and when graduation came he accepted his diploma in an extremely large green hat.
None of our graduating class saw him again for a while, and until 6 months ago that’s how it stayed. I wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for the outlandish headwear bobbing up and down on his head. As I got closer to him I saw that it looked like he had used way too much self –tanner to where his skin now had an orangey tint. I was curious, but I didn’t want to pry, so I didn’t ask. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I had no idea that he even lived in Bentley anymore, so I decided to find out where he lived. I arrived on an empty lot after following his car for a while, and I saw that he was getting out. I crept around his car to see if there was anything I was missing, and sure enough I stumbled upon a hole in the ground. He descended down a staircase to a small opening enclosed by a door. As he was turning the handle to walk in I yelled, “Hey Vincent.” He turned his head nervously looked at me. The nervous look on his face disappeared as he invited me in.
I agreed to come in, and he welcomed me into his great room. It was like a regular house built underground. Before I could stop it, my mouth opened and asked all the questions bottled up inside me. Vincent just listened, and then poured all his thoughts and feelings out to me, “Oh Melody, I am a carrot. I thought everyone knew that. I am so scared now though. Prior to this year I was free to go out in public as a carrot, but Easter is coming faster than ever, and that means that rabbits will rise in popularity. Now I am afraid to go out in the community for fear of being eaten.” As he finished he slumped down onto an armchair.
I was taken aback, shocked by his statement. The words echoed in my head, “I am a carrot.” Unsure, I told Vincent that he was welcome to join me at my house and that we could talk to pet owners about leashes or find him a safe solution. He was overjoyed, and accompanied me into my car. I led him astray though. I took him to a psychiatrist instead. He stayed in the room with the doctor a long time before coming out and announcing to me, “As I confirmed it I am a carrot.” The therapist who worked alongside the doctor pulled me away and explained that, “there was no convincing him he was a human, and that if we don’t find a way to convince him that the rabbits won’t eat him he will go into depressive shock. This means he will have to be put in an asylum.” The doctors tried all kinds of calming drugs to get the notion of being eaten out of his mind. The recollection of a happy Vincent would soon be only a memory if we didn’t do something about it.
I racked my brain for solutions. I tried to put myself in a mind-frame of a carrot. It didn’t work. I thought of all the qualities that you recognize a carrot by, and then it hit me. I called the doctor, and proposed my solution. He thought it was brilliant. There was only one thing left to do, the ultimate test. We had to run the idea by Vincent. The plan came in the form of clothing. It was a gray body suit that, we told Vincent, was doused in aftershave so that rabbits wouldn’t recognize his scent. We proceeded to notify him that we could get a seamstress to make a bunny-proof suit that was all gray, to blend in with his surroundings, and disguised the orange tint to his skin. I let out a sigh of relief when he said that it was a brilliant idea. The suit was designed and made especially for Vincent. He now owns different colors also, but never orange.
When I visited him a few weeks ago he seemed to be able to live a somewhat normal existence. There was a woman with him last time I visited. She was wearing a bunny-proof suit as well, and the parts of her skin not covered by the flamboyant pink suit were a sickly green color. I was curious and I asked him about her. He introduced her as his fiancée Celeste. He explained that they were destined to be together because they met in the same fridge door. “A beautiful piece of celery,” he explained, “was exactly what I had dreamed as the perfect girlfriend my whole life.” I was excited that he got his happily ever after. As for me, I have a wonderful husband that doesn’t question when I refuse to eat carrots, or say a prayer before I eat celery. I almost missed Vincent, but I stopped to admire the roses of life and he happened to be sitting there in the dirt. I am joyous that I discovered him there waiting to be noticed.
