Peculair Poinsettia #12

I lit my cigarette in the alley, leaning against the stucco wall of the furniture store. As a watched the moths hovered around the streetlight, I waited for my compatriots to appear. I took another draft of that wonderful cigarette, sweating, my body still fighting the effect of the August sun. They were late, and we had a schedule to keep.

It was “Operation: Save the Chickens”. We were a saltwort group of individuals, dedicated to our cause of preserving the noble chicken from the dangers of pesticides, growth hormones, and worst of all-being eaten.

Mac had done time in Juvie, where he had relinquished his violent ways and become, as they say, a Badass Buddist. Joanie-the flower child, well she wasn’t all there. Her idols were the Ecoterrorist group ELF (Earth Liberation Front). It was comical to see this long, blond haired, petite young women of 102lbs, wield a 22 shot gun. However, after I saw her use it at the range she frequented, I held in my guffaw. She’s deadly.

Joanie and Mac finally came as I finished my cigarette.
“Permission to commence, Star Leader?”
“Permission granted, Echo One-we are a go! Operation Save the Chickens had begun.

We were going to save the chickens from Farmer Bills’ supper table.
Step1: We all got into Mac’s Truck.
Step 2: We put in the theme song from Mission Impossible.
Duh, Duh, duh, dunta, Duh duh, duh dah, Duh duh, duh dah dadada…Dada…duh da!
We were pumped. Who knew that saving the planet was so SWEET!

We turned off the lights as we approached Farmer Bills property. Stealthily, we creped, night vision goggles on, trying to avoid the farm house dog we knew was there from our recon mission. Finally, we heard their terrified rustling feathers. They knew what was coming, they were begging us to save them! As we approached, we saw their cute little eyes begging for mercy from their new found saviors.

Joanie, lifted the chicken coup latch, and open the door.

They just stood there staring, just shocked at the prospect of freedom, I’m sure.

“Go, chickens, you’re free!” the Buddhist Badass Whispered.

We waited, as a few quite clucks issued from the blessed beaks

“Go, Chickens, you’re free!” the Buddist Badass Whispered a little louder this time, slightly non- pulsed at the noble birds lack of movement to escape certain death.

They shuffled a little from their stoops, looking at each other, as if to see if others were going to take their bid for freedom. None of them moved.

“GO CHICKENS, YOU’RE FREE!” the Buddist Badass did not whisper, but shouted into the night. Apparently all the training in Mac’s anger management classes had failed.

A large mass of feathers, beak, and claws flew out of the coop. Their eyes were delirious with joy as they fled to taste the wonders of the outside world. In their haste, they forgot to regulate their bowl movements, However, being covered in chicken shit was a small price to pay for freeing these creatures.

But.... we forgot about Rover.

As we ran from the munching jaws that had taken a bite out of Mac’s pants, the enormity of what we had done filled our souls. So much so, we forgot to look in front of us. And ran right into Farmer Bill’s septic pool. Now covered in crap form two different species, and losing the expensive night vision goggles, things looked slightly less rosy.

. . . . .

I had a Wendy’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich (#6) two weeks later.

And it was Delicious!

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In the women’s bathroom of the church basement, there were two large mirrors that meet each other in the far corner. When I was a child, I would stare at my reflection in them. Because the two mirrors were at a 90’ angle from each other, there were three images. One from each side, and then the third- which was a reflection, of my reflection. It would seem like the corner would be divided into four worlds, the real me, the two almost real me’s, and the reflection of the reflection-the girl who was in another world. She was limitless, unbound. To my left and my right, the girls had the same flaws that I did, but she, she was the one I wanted to be. She had confidence, she had courage, and her mistakes were never mistakes, just unintended consequences that would turn out alright in the end. I’d talk to her, and she’d respond like the me who was wonderful.

I still look in the mirror and wish I was her.

When I trashed my parents house, it was her party, it’s just the consequences were manifested here.

Like something out of Alice in Wonderland or of Narnia.

And someday maybe I’ll meet her….

“Hello, self.”