Gunning for Bunnies

Arbo turned 14 and got his learner’s permit.
He asked me if I would teach him to drive.
His Dad was away, permanently.
I couldn’t refuse really.
My heart is made of American cheese.
I drove out to a country dirt road and put him behind the wheel.
He was doing fine most of the time.
Then he started moving in spurts.
Starting, speeding then stopping.
Dust plumes rose around us.
What are you doing? I asked.
Gunning for bunnies, he said.
This isn’t a video game, I said and took the keys back.
Later, he couldn’t hide his grin as we said ‘bye’.