About the work

He named the rabbit Rusty, not because of its color, but because of a tiny fleck of rust-colored dirt on its nose when he found it by the side of the road. It was small enough to fit in the suit jacket pocket, but he’d decided against it, worried about the static electricity or the crushing folds of the fabric. The suit was for his older brother's wedding, an event he’d been dreading for months, certain he’d spill something on himself or say the wrong thing to an aunt. Carrying Rusty felt like a small rebellion, a secret act of comfort in a world of expectations, but he hadn't yet figured out how to explain the rabbit to his mother once he got home.