Chicken

     I’m extremely nervous about starting work tomorrow. I know it’s going to be overwhelming and exhausting but my biggest fear of course is for my feet. What if they get bad again? What if I have to take time off work right away? It’s hard living with this fear, and I spend most of the day indoors, feeling paralyzed. I do the Sunday crossword, call my stepfather for Father’s Day, prepare my lunches for the week; I’ll miss having the luxury of eating whenever I want to. As if she knows the jig is up, Olivia demands to sit on Daddy’s lap all day and meows insistently whenever I try to get up. 

 Though the junco parents seemed to have disappeared, all weekend at least one of the fledglings was still coming in and out of the nest and chirping like crazy. Until today, when it is eerily silent. 

    Eventually I decide I need to get out. All day the sun has struggled to break through the clouds, with little success. I walk to the park blocks and get some coffee at the café there. The caffeine perks me up and I do some drawing and leave a message for my actual father. The air is cool but still; no breeze rustles the elms above me. 

    A woman staggers over and asks, “Hey Sweetie, do you have a cigarette?” I say no. She smiles and reaches into a paper bag and pulls out something and hands it to me. Even up close I can’t tell what it is, but I take it from her. It’s a morsel of fried chicken. 

    “There’s more over there,” she says, pointing to a bench with a paper bag on it. I thank her and she says you’re welcome and walks away. I realize she looks like a lot like KC if she had spent a few years on the street. Same red hair, similar build. It’s only been a few days and I already miss them all so much. I hold my hand perfectly still, afraid to touch the thing but not sure where to throw it away. It feels greasy and slightly warm on my palm. I sit there for a while then pop it into my mouth. It is incredibly delicious.