Flapping My Left Wing by Hannah Fortune

“What shall we do first?”, squawked Chick, so excited she could barely contain herself.

“Look, sweetie! The first thing we do is get out of these wet clothes”, answered Pearl.  “We’ll head over to the condo, freshen up, then hit the streets.

And just when our dear Chick thought things couldn’t get any better, they did.

“Like it?”, smiled Pearl, as she opened the door and Chick’s beak dropped open in awe. The condo was beyond gorgeous, right on the water, brand new, and designer decorated. They each had their own bedroom with a balcony overlooking the beach.

“Could I just live here forever, Pearl?”, sighed Chick as she flopped down on the bed. “It’s beautiful!”

“You can visit whenever you like, girlfriend!”, laughed Pearl as she poured them both a glass of red wine. In another hour, the two were strolling Duval Street with throngs of other tourists. And throngs of other chickens. For once, Chick wasn’t the only chicken on the street, though she was the only one sporting a turquoise backpack and wearing a flowered sundress.

Yes, there were 2000 wild gypsy chickens strutting their stuff in Key West. It was wonderful! Chick was in heaven! She felt happy and safe. Gone was that uneasy nagging worry that kept her glancing over her shoulder, even in Melrose. Here, as a chicken, she was revered and protected. All around her, in the streets, the parks, the old cemetery were chickens! That they weren’t dressed like her and didn’t speak, at least in English, Chick barely noticed. They were her fellow beings, wild and free! How strange and amazing life could be!

Giddy with happiness, Chick proudly marched beside Pearl as they headed for the sunset. The friends had stuffed themselves at The Place, a great vegetarian cafe tucked on a sidestreet. Now, they clapped with everyone else as the sun dipped below the water in a blaze of radiant orange. The only bummer, in Chick’s opinion, was the man who coerced housecats to jump through hoops of fire and perform other humiliating tricks. Chick had turned this jerk in to the Humane Society in Atlanta a dozen years ago, and now here he was again, still plying his cruel trade. I’ll have to deal with it when I go home, thought Chick. Pearl seemed to think the show was cute.

So off they went to watch the turtle races at Harry’s where they had one too many cocktails, then hailed a taxi back to the condo, where they quickly donned their jammies, neglected to brush their teeth, and fell exhausted into a deep and peaceful sleep lulled by gentle waves breaking on clean white sand, yet sprang out of bed by 8AM, eager for the day ahead which they crammed with as much Key West flavor as they could. A glass bottom boat ride,  Nancy’s  Secret Garden, drinks at Hemingway’s, shopping, a visit to The Chicken Store, of course, coconut cake in Bahama Village, and a swim in the condo pool. By evening they were decked out in their best finery and headed for dinner at The Blue Heaven.

Sadly, this is the point where our story takes a 90-degree turn, where the idyllic  little pastel colored bubble Chick had been floating in, bursts, where illusions are cruelly shattered, and the grimy, seedy reality of life once again triumphs over a lovely dream.

Blue Heaven! This charming eatery came highly recommended and was jammed with tourists and locals alike. Pearl ran into two old friends, Charlene and Sunny, and the four sat together chatting and downing Bloody Mary’s for a good hour before being shown to a table. Chick was famished and ready for a great meal.

“Yum! Let’s see….what looks delicious?”, said Chick, opening her menu, and smacking her lips in anticipation. Her eyes froze! There, right in the middle of the menu was……..Chicken!……..Jamaican Jerk Chicken!

“Oh!”, gasped Chick. “Oh!……Oh, no!……I thought……I thought.”

“What is it, Chick?”, asked Pearl. Her companions  looked at her with concern.

Chick wasn’t born yesterday, as we’ve mentioned before. She was no spring chicken. She knew that 96% of people in the U.S. ate meat. If she wanted to fit into society (and she did) and go out dining, she had to go with the flow. She wasn’t about to put a damper on this little party. Inwardly devastated, but relying on her innate social graces, she put on a happy face, swallowed her sorrow, and ordered the tofu. She prayed that no one at the table would order the chicken entree, and thankfully, no one did.

After dinner the foursome hit nearly every bar on Duval Street. Chick danced long into the night. It wasn’t until the long drive home that she even allowed herself to think. She tried to curl up and sleep, but she could not get that nightmarish menu out of her mind. People ate chickens in Key West, just not the Key West chickens. Chick had tried all her life to educate folks, by example, by giving speeches, by supporting PETA, seemingly to no avail. People would not eat their pet dog, but they would eat a chicken, a far more intelligent species.  Chick knew full well that billions of these innocent beings were raised and slaughtered under horrific conditions yearly in her country alone.

But Chick, in her naivety, had briefly believed that in the tiny paradise at the edge of her world, Key West,  the chicken  had found a true sanctuary.

We all have our cross to bear. I should have known better when I saw that giant yellow M, thought Chick bitterly as she fell into a fitful sleep.

Next: The Search For Inner Peace