Dates 2
By Tim Walters
(d_ghol@yahoo.com)

Well, here it is! The second installment of "Dates", the character exercise 
that went horribly out of control. Thanks to The J.A.M., and Kevin for 
looking it over before I wrote the last draft, and David M. Hungerford III for 
using the word "Ma'am", in his story "But I Won't do That!". Without that, 
I'd never have figured out how to spell it! Same goes to The J.A.M. for 
helping me out with Repertoire.

You folks know the drill. I don't own the rights to Tiny Toon Adventures, or 
any of the characters that appereed in the show. I do feel some propriety to 
any of Babs's siblings who I've named, and might just use them for in the 
future. I'm not making any money here… I have a day job for that kind of 
thing.

Thursday August 28, 1988

	"Oh, come on out Babs, it's not as bad as you think."
	"No, I'm not coming out ever again!"
	I sighed. This was going to be even more difficult than I had thought.  
"Honey, please come out. It's not the end of the world, trust me." 
	The last year had been, different. Babs was getting older, beginning to 
grow into a woman, much to my wonderment and dismay. This development 
had brought a number of trials, 'The Talk' being one that I had feared the 
most.  Imagine my surprise when I found out she already knew the basics.
Amazing what they teach in grade school these days.
	Despite all that, I would gladly go through every kind of adolescent 
rebellion if it would make the current situation easier to work through.  
Who'd have thought that one locked wooden door would be such a problem?  
I suppose most exacerbations are complicated when a heartbroken little 
bunny with a frighteningly large repertoire of alternant shapes and forms to 
impersonate was tossed into the equation. For all I knew, there was a four 
hundred twenty-six pound gorilla sitting up against the door.
	"Babs, I know that it seems like forever, but two years isn't that long."
	There was a moment of silence.
	"Babs?" I asked, slightly alarmed. 
	The door cracked open, just a bit.  Enough for me to see half of my 
twelve-year-old daughters' tear streaked face. She looked so sad that I forgot 
whatever it was I was going to say next.  I knelt down and opened up my 
arms. "Oh, honey I'm so sorry."
	In a flash she'd wrapped me in a tight hug.  There was no crying, but 
she just stayed like that, with her head buried in my shoulder, and my arms 
securing her.  It was all I could do.  The only way I could comfort Babs.
Really, how do you comfort someone who's just found out that her 
best friend is leaving for two years?  Despite what I had said, I knew that a 
lot could happen in that time.
	"What if he forgets about me mom?" she asked, her voice muted 
somewhat against the fabric of my blouse.
	I sighed, tried to reassure her even though I knew such things 
happened. "He won't forget about you Babsie, he's your best friend."
	She pulled away and looked me in the eyes. "Then why's he leaving!"
On one hand, it was nice to be talking to Babs again. In the hour since 
Buster had called with the 'great news', it seemed as if I'd talked to 
everyone except my daughter. 'The Great One' was a new twist. I didn't 
even know Babs watched boxing.
	On the other hand, the little bunny had a tendency to ask questions 
that I was not qualified to answer. That seemed to happen often after I 
became a parent.
	"You've got to understand Babs. Bugs is going to New York to do 
some kind of project, and Buster has to go with him. He can't just stay by 
himself." I had heard that Bugs was going to the Big Apple earlier that 
week, but two years was a whole lot longer than I'd figured he'd be gone. I 
wondered why it would take so long.
	The little bunny sniffed, "But I…" the doorbell rang, cutting her off.
	"Oh, who could that be!" I said, just a bit irritated as I headed for the 
door that led out of her room, and into the hallway. "If it's another salesman 
I'll…"
	As I opened the door, I was buried in an avalanche of multi-colored 
rabbits.  Babs's siblings had all been pressed up against the door listening.  
"I'll be covered in bunnies." I deadpanned as I looked at my children's 
innocent grins.  Babs actually giggled.
	"Alright, clear out you little eavesdroppers!" I cried, flocking my herd 
out of their sister's room. "This is NOT Hoover's house!"  The crowd, 
having made sure their sister was ok, promptly scattered to the four corners.
The bell rang again. I sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically. Why 
couldn't just one of the little rascals ever get the door without being told?
	"Hold on just a moment!" I cried irritably as I made my way to the 
door. Again, the shrill buzzing sounded throughout the burrow.
	"Yes what is it?" I asked, as I opened the door, not completely 
successful at keeping all of the menace out of my voice. I did not register 
whom I was speaking to.
	"Eh, well we ain't selling nothin', ma'am." Bugs Bunny said as he 
casually munched on a carrot.
	I don't know how long it took for me to find my eyes, and put them 
back in place. 
	"Mr. Bunny!" I said, stuttering. "I'm, I'm so sorry. I had no idea…"
Bugs held up a hand and grinned. "Don't worry about it. Sorry just to 
drop in on ya like this but apparently something importants' just come up. 
Mind if we come in?"
	It was now that I noticed that Bugs had a companion. "Oh, hello 
Buster. Yes, please come in both of you make yourselves at home. Why are 
you here? Is there a problem at the studio?" I asked while I lead the two 
rabbits back into the living room. Phil wasn't home yet. He'd been pulling 
many late nights recently, but couldn't say why. Apparently Warner Bros. 
was working on something very secret. 
	I took a seat by the couch, and Bugs chose a warn easy chair, after 
removing Molly, and Grissom out from under the cushion.  Buster remained 
standing.
	"Uh, no… nothen wrong at Warner's 'cides the usual stuff." said 
Bugs after a moment considering my questions. "At least, I don't tink so."
	Buster stepped forward, concern clearly evident on his face. "Is Babs 
ok Mrs. Bunny?"
	I blinked. Several times in fact. It was very strange because even 
though I had always known that rapid plot progression is often accomplished 
by trite dialog or over knowledgeable players I had never thought that 
whoever it was that writes the scripts for my life was so obviously talent 
starved.
	"She's in her room." I said, pointing down the hall.
	Two years before Buster probably would've scampered out of the 
living room, down the hall to make sure his friend was alright, but at his age 
he'd become more self-conscious about how he looked in front of others, 
and therefore strolled out of the room, out of the sight of Bugs and I, before 
his legs kicked into scampering mode.
	Bugs must have guessed what I was thinking, because he grinned and 
gave me a wink. "If da boy wore pants I doubt they could keep up with his 
legs."
	I returned the grin as we heard Buster politely knocking on Babs's 
door. Something else Bugs had taught him. Respect for a lady's privacy, or 
considering some of the costumes Bugs tended to favor, the privacy of a 
wacky, world famous cross dressing comedian.
	"You think he has any idea?" I asked the famous rabbit sitting in my 
living room as he kept his eyes and ears focused on the hall.
	"Not a'- -"
	:CLANG:, clanged an anvil, interrupting Bugs. He looked at the hall, 
to me, raised his eyebrows, and said. "Not a' chance."
	"You should really teach him about that kind of thing Bugs." I warned 
him as Buster, having apparently extracted himself out from under the large, 
shaped piece of iron core, again knocked on the door, if a bit more weakly 
than before.
	Bugs shrugged helplessly, his sheepish grin belying his age. "An' 
whadda I know about it?" he asked mischievously. "I been in dis woild 
more'n sixty years an' I still don't know what makes you gals tick."
	Down the hall, a door opened, then shut quietly. Everything inside of 
me said I should be there to help Babs… well, seeing as how the boy was 
libel to be in traction in the morning perhaps I should've worried more about 
Buster, but he wasn't my child.
	"I hope dey work it out alright." Bugs said. "It's hard to find good 
friends nowadays."

	"… but the best part is no one  knows da't Elma' had such a good 
time shooten' Daffey's bill all ova' th' place that the Duck put that poster 
under the rest of 'em just so's we could take some shots at him for a 
change."
	I laughed as Bugs concluded his tale of studio mayhem, wondering if 
things were so informal nowadays. Phil never told any stories to suggest as 
much, and the far away look in Bugs' eyes as he talked seemed to look to 
better times.  I felt a pang of sympathy for the rabbit.
	"Eh, what's up Doc?"
	"Excuse me?" I asked, wondering why Bugs would pull out his 
trademark catchphrase after we'd been chatting for… I realized that I'd lost 
track of time, and consulted my watch. An hour.  I blinked, had it been that 
long?
	A subdued voice came from behind me, by the hallway. "Uh, I think 
he was talking to me Mrs. Bunny." Buster said as he walked into the living 
room. Something white crinkled in his right hand, which was closed securely 
in a fist. Babs wasn't with him.
	Bugs gave the kid a look, raising his eyebrow in a questioning glance, 
which got no response. The famous rabbit looked at me, and gave a nearly 
imperceptible shrug before addressing his charge.
	"Ya ready to go kid?" he asked.
	Buster nodded once, and then turned to me with a strange, somewhat 
confused smile. "Thanks for letting us in ma'm." he said politely, before 
stepping through the door that lead to the burrows exit.
	Bugs and I watched him leave, the shared our own puzzled looks. 
	Erin, who had just turned seven, popped up out from under the couch, and 
fixed us both with a questioning face.
	"What's up with him?"
	I didn't know, and even as I said a quick goodbye to Bugs, then 
hurried to Babs's room, I wished that the hospital had issued some kind of 
manual, or hint book to parents. It was tiresome learning everything on the 
fly.

	"Come in." said Babs when I knocked on her door. Saying nothing, I 
poked my head into her room. She was sitting at the foot of her bed, staring 
at a small, ragged piece of paper that she held cupped in both hands.
	"Honey? What've you got there?"
She looked at the scrap for a moment, as if deciding if she should 
show it to me or not, before handing it over. As I took hold of the paper, I 
got the feeling that extra care should be used while handling it; and when I 
read the words scrawled out in a large, imprecise hand, I knew I was right.
The words were few, and to the point. They read, "I won't forget 
you."
________ 

To any editors, or proofreaders, my main concern here is the dialect. 
Did it seem to much? I've always had trouble writing for Bugs, because I'm 
never sure on how much of his Brooklyn accent to put in, and still keep the 
thing readable, and consistent. Plus, I tried not to make it too heavy, but as 
this was a bit more serious than the last chapter, I also didn't want to put to 
many jokes in either. Any comments, or suggestions you have before I write 
the last draft would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks so much!

Tim Walters