The Story of the Invisible Chicken
"Chickens in the bread pan pecking at the dough; Granny, does you dog bite...?" ----Charlie Daniels
An angry man can look like many things; however, if a guy is 5 foot nothing, got a bad case of the "Little Man Syndrome," and thoroughly pissed because his wife finished the job he started, i.e., 3 years of spousal abuse he initiated. One should attempt to maintain a dignified demeanor, don’t you think?
But, NOOOOOOOOOOOO! He wanted revenge, he wanted to tear up her house, he wanted to make a statement. In reality, he made an ass of himself. He chose to document his humiliation by snapping photos of her friends and supporters, observers if you will, there to monitor his movements and misdeeds. In a frenzy, he ran room to room, cupboard to cupboard creating glorious photos of the house he inadvertently put himself out of. Happens every time you want to make that old emergency protection order permanent. In doing that, one "can't go home again!" This was, without a doubt, a Kodak Moment!
For the second time in a month, he arrived in a rented moving van. He should have planned the moving day better. The van was far more than he actually need. What he owned didn't fill up the front porch where his loving wife carefully and consideratly placed his worldly goods. There was a small path left to access the front door, enough to get whatever was in the attic out of the house. Along with him, he dragged a small entourage of Morman bicycle boys, an ABC agent with dark mustache, a Coast Guard recruiter and God knows who those other people were! All in all, his entourage was pretty nice. However, 'He' was some kinda... pissed...
Upon his arrival the first thing he viewed was his covered belongings on the front porch. Bummmmmmmer, Dud! Damn, all his homeboys were there to witness his "drumming out" of the home, the rejection of his being and his belongings, the renewal of life and forward progression his wife was experiencing. Wow! Times are a'changing!
The house didn't look the same. It was clean and uncluttered for the first time in two years. The yard was different; the grass cut, flowerbeds manicured and the trash was where it belonged. The bedroom they'd shared, totally rearranged. New drapes hung from fancy bronze rods. Instead of his bed, there was her antique bed, her handmade quits, her furniture, her lamp, her mirror. Purely a chick thing! Nothing remained of "him." And his private lair, the second bedroom he holed up in every evening with his mistress, Ms. Computer, was now clean as a whistle. Where was the mess? There was so much empty space, he truly felt lost in that 950 square foot house. Where were the stacks of boxes, kitchen cabinets yet to be hung because he refused do it, the doors to the kitchen sink cabinet in need of a second coat of paint and stacked against the wall. Junk that should have been burned years earlier had disappeared? In place of the mess, there was order, there was cool calm, and voids not seen since the home was purchased. Where was his world? His world was outta there....like the runner at first base arriving just a second too late; he didn't score this time. She did! Home run, bases loaded, grand slam! The crowd cheers, Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh! and they do the WAVE in honor of her success! This is her space and not a molecule of the moving van driver remains.
“What to do? What to do?….This wasn’t the way it should be! It shouldn’t be happening like this…”.Over and over these thoughts rattled in his brain, bouncing off the walls of his skull like the proverbial BB in a boxcar. He was angry, just…so… damned… mad that this didn’t play out the way he had expected. Now, his opportunity to rummage at will through her possessions, to take those things that were not his, to just generally wreck havoc in the bungalow vanished in the his new reality…”you don’t live here, no more!” Furthermore, there were witnesses to his madness! He screeched orders to her observers like the “mistress of the plantation” whipping the “house niggers” into shape! The divide between the life and people he’d known for years, was now a canyon echoing his howls of frustration because he’d been bested…. AGAIN!
He was a sight, throwing his hands onto his hips, elbows akimbo, head bobbing, looking down at the floor, then looking up at ceiling, then wagging his head from side to side, and doing the circular dance of the neurotic imprisoned too long in isolation! His physical stance and movements resembled a frightened, barnyard chicken, not knowing where to run, so it runs in confusing circles, going nowhere fast.
Why was he so upset??? He knew the observers; they were more than acquaintances. What would it have hurt to be civil, show a little courtesy, show a little “upbringing?” But it wasn’t in him.
By the time the “chicken” flew the coop, the observers were glad to be shed of him. However, he wasn’t finished with that house, that place, that mean old wife. He’d show her!
So the “chicken” took to midnight and daily runs through the neighborhood to satisfy his own sick curiosity…was her car there? Whose car is that parked by the gate? What’s she doing in that house where I used reign supreme as the “cock” of the roost? He had to know, but in order to skulk around the block, he’d have to change his appearance, make himself less visible, not blow his cover…he was the master of disguise….NOT!!! Only in his own little BB mind!
His vehicle would be recognized, he was sure; so, in a brilliant flash of genius, he slapped a fancy curly-cue decal on the doors and sides of his aging vehicle. There! She’ll never know he was anywhere around with that! But the “chicken” wasn’t as invisible as he thought. The wife saw him, the wife’s friends saw him…..Damn! The disguise didn’t work! She saw him on the corner, she saw him hiding, creeping only a short distance behind her, and she laughed. She led him places she knew would perplex the “chicken.” Finally, he knew his cover was blown.
NO matter! There are a million ways to disguise oneself! So the “chicken” took a bold step. He removed the first decal and replaced it with another…that would really hide him now! The cloak of invisibility was now his! The wife would never know he was still creeping around like a pitifully sorry “commando” doing surveillance on the highest classified project the government could offer a soldier of his caliber. Black face, black stocking mask, camouflage outfit, crawling on his belly in the dirt and the wet grass, becoming supper for the mosquitoes, armed with only his trusty camera…the “chicken” thought, I won’t be seen now.
He was right…everyone had become bored waiting to see him in one of his many disguises. And as we all know, stuff like this becomes uninteresting after a time, and lives move on. However, the “chicken” took one more step in the metamorphosis. He changed the license plate! The long loved vanity plate which identified him, and only him, was now surrendered for a common, old, everyday numbered license plate. Now! No one will know when or where the “chicken” would strike! He had now become the “INVISIBLE CHICKEN,” maser of disguise!
Not!!! Cluck, cluck, cluck!! Peck! Peck!