I'M IN LOVE WITH A JACKRABBIT

So my parents rented a lakehouse in Lago Vista for a month. We also rented a golf cart to take us from the house to the pool/marina. One night, after relaxing in the thermal grotto, my sisters and I rode around on the trails and saw 3 pairs of jackrabbits on what we like to call "bunny date night." After that, we were obsessed.

We would take the golf cart out at night to rabbit hunt. Often we would catch a glimpse of a cotton ball tail scurrying off, but it was never satisfying. We wanted more bunnies. The late night searches were endless.

On the night of my 23rd birthday, on the way home from a party in a castle, my friends and I drove past a stunning jackrabbit. He sat up straight, regal, head held high with his huge ears elegantly perked, one foot bent in a casual manner. He was perched dangerously close to the edge of the road. The driver zoomed by him without touching the brakes, and the rabbit didn't even twitch.

I might've thought he was a statue, but I swear I made eye contact with him, and although his gaze was rather stoic, I detected some warmth. It was like he was mad at me for cheating on the lakehouse with some other place, or he had been waiting for me to come out on the golf cart searching for him and I never showed. The most amazing thing about him was the bone structure of his face. He had high, pronounced cheekbones and a dignified snout. He was really handsome. I went out looking, but I never saw him again. It's strange, but I fell for a jackrabbit.

APOLLO AND THE MIDNIGHT BAKERY

In Ortigia there lives a man known by his many admirers as Apollo (or, on occasion, Hercules). By day we would see him building a platform next to "lo scoglio," a huge rock where the locals go per prendere il sole. By night he lounged in bars, always positioned in a prominent spot from which he could watch and be watched.

One night, the hissable Andrea suggests we drop by Sanrocco (a bar which is straight out of Grease, only with designer bags and lavender pants instead of leather jackets and poodle skirts) to hopefully catch a glimpse of Apollo. We are about to head home when she spots his muscly shoulders over the crowd. He is dancing with some other Italian men, and when we creep by for a closer look, the men whisk Andrea into their dance circle. After a few minutes, she emerges from the crowd, panting, with a red rose hanging from her mouth.

Fast forward a few hours. It's 3:30 am. The Grease bar has closed for the night, and Apollo and his men lead us through tiny winding alleys. They've promised to take us to the famous yet elusive midnight bakery. After about 10 minutes of walking (this island is tiny), I'm convinced that our bodies are going to be used from some obscure Greco-Roman sacrifice ritual. We walk into a dark entryway and are relieved to smell things baking. There are a few men working, unloading fresh loaves of bread from the massive ovens. The owner of the bakery grabs one of the loaves and with what seems like one quick movement slices it open and slathers hot Nutella on it.

The night ended with us sitting in an alley, joking around with Apollo and his men, eating delicious giant Nutella sandwiches. After that night, we saw him very rarely, usually riding through town on his Vespa, but we will always remember that one mystical night with the legend, our night with Apollo.