How it Happened

Four

Four

103 days until the wedding

     "So, Jenny, are you saying yes to this dress?"

     "I'm saying yes to the dress!"

     "No!" I shout as my arm automatically flings into the air in frustration before dropping back down to the couch. "I liked the other one. It held up her boobs more." My comments go unheard not only by the people on the screen, but also by the walls seeing as I'm in the house by myself.

     Since I didn't have work today I finally slept in, and when I eventually dragged myself out of bed I vaguely remember my mom kissing me goodbye and my dad saying he was going outside to find his golf clubs. Now that I think about it, though, that was over an hour ago and I should probably go check the shed to make sure he didn't get eaten by a raccoon, or even the lawn mower.

     After hearing the sound of a doorbell I hit mute on the remote control as commercials cover the television screen, but I soon find myself slowly sitting up when I hear it again. I sit for a few more seconds unsure if I'm really hearing right, but when incessant pounding then ensues on the front door, I finally stand up. It must be a miracle. Dad not only found his golf clubs, but he also fixed the doorbell.

     "Coming!" I yell, so he stops knocking, but when I finally begin to scamper my way over to the door my pinky toe ends up connecting with the corner of the coffee table that my mom finally put back in its rightful place in the center of the room.

     A strangled sound escapes me as I try to prevent a string of curse words from falling from my lips and I end up just picking up my left foot and hoping the rest of the way to the door.

     "Sorry, da—" My mouth immediately closes as my foot falls back down to the floor. I lean my head back now very confused and very frightened seeing as there's a guy in a jumpsuit standing there, holding a live chicken in a cage up to my face. "Uh... Can I help you?"

     "Chicken." He shoves the fidgeting animal closer to my head, and I jump back when it abruptly clucks in my face.

     "We didn't order a chicken," I say barely keeping the stammer from my voice as he tries to shove the cage through the door frame.

     "Chicken." He repeats and I finally try to close the door.

     "We didn't buy—"

     "Sí, Sí, un pollo."

     "Just because you say it in a different language doesn't mean-" The shout dies on my lips when the cage ends up shoved in my hands and this seemingly insane guy runs back to his van that I now see reads Cluck-My-Buck.

     I find myself glancing left and right hoping to find a hidden camera, or even a witness to this madness, but instead I'm left alone and completely dumbfounded. 

     Seeing as I don't have much of an option, I slowly shut the door and search my brain for a place to put this-this thing.  I settle on placing it on the coffee table, and I sit down on the couch across from it. My gaze doesn't stray from the chicken as my mind still processes the fact that it's sitting in the middle of my living room. It continues to fidget and soon meets my gaze. It tilts its head to one side, and I find myself following the movement wondering what actually occurs inside a chicken brain. The chicken then slowly moves its head to the other side, and as I mirror his actions I wonder if it really is a him, or a her, or who knows? In this day in age, it could be a them for all I know. Then, suddenly, the chicken lets out a loud cluck, and that officially pulls me out of my trance and my butt up off the couch. As I make my way to the opposite side of the room I can't help, but wonder if I'm still sleeping and this is all just a dream.