Scrawny Chicken Wreck

Scrawny Chicken Wreck

It took a while for my muddled mind to filter all the information. I guess it’s quite a handy thing you know, when everything goes into slow motion in times like these, or else you’d never know what’s happened. You’re going too fast! – This is how my subconscious mind interpreted the jumble of signals thrown at it. My eyes registered images of big rocks ahead on the old dirt road getting bigger and closer and much too quickly. Tactile signals came from the millions of nerve endings that were registering an increase in the rate of sweat evaporation causing a slight cooling sensation on my sweaty skin. My ears registered the increasing velocity of the wind whistling by. My equilibrium sent word that it was not exactly level and that the situation was getting worse. It took a while to filter the danger signals from the others being crammed up into my brain, hunger from my empty stomach, a head ache, thirst, a very dry mouth, pain from a hard bike seat, fatigue from legs that had been peddling all day, and some horrid itch under my collar, shredded from one too many washings. Despite all the signals I was oblivious to my subconscious minds dilemma, its frantic filtering of danger signals from the standard fast Sunday on a bumpy dirt road in 100° humid heat. My conscious mind was currently wondering what we would do with such a scrawny chicken...
The nepa-hut was built on stilts due to the frequent flooding of the river. In an old rattan chair under the house in the shade sat an old nearly toothless man surrounded by a few boxes, chicken cages, and odds and ends. The river was a good hundred yards away but the land was flat with little to no levies to hold in the river. The Warding meeting house was still a few miles down the road about the same distance from the river; actually the building was just an unfinished cement home, with a big name tag on it, that we were using for branch meetings. It was a good area, though far away from town, but that’s probably one of the reasons I liked it. We only made it out there once a week on Sunday’s to conduct the church services. I liked to make a whole day of it, leaving early and meeting people along the road and giving a discussion or two when we could. So that’s how we found this old man one day, hiding from the sun, eating a big bag of raw peanuts that must have been dug up earlier that morning. We sat ourselves on our haunches and began to talk to him. He offered his peanuts; and we ate and talked. We were able to teach him the first discussion and scheduled the second for the next Sunday when we’d be back. As we were about to leave he asked us to wait while he ran back behind some boxes and filled us a big bag of peanuts and wished us well. A week had gone by but you wouldn’t’ve known it, we found the man just where we’d left him eating peanuts in the shade under his nepa-hut. Again he offered some to us though I declined as it was Fast-Sunday but my companion, not wanting to offend the man, gladly accepted and began filling his chubby cheeks. We didn’t get to the second discussion but instead read some sections from the Book of Mormon, asking him to pray about it and said we’d talk with him again the following Sunday. As we were about to leave he asked us once again to wait as he ran behind the house. I remember thinking he was making quite a ruckus for bagging peanuts, there was the sound of clutter being dropped to the ground as he rummaged through a box or two. When he came back around the corner he didn’t have a bag of peanuts at all but a scrawny chicken dangling upside-down, its legs tied together with some plastic twine. As scrawny as the chicken was I’d known it was his very best one. We told him it wasn’t necessary, we taught discussions for free, he insisted, we accepted, and I, being the better bike rider, found myself bumping down the rocky dirt trail with one hand on my handlebars and the other dangling the chicken by its feet. There wasn’t much meat on the bird and I was thinking that maybe we could fatten it up a little before we ate it. My companion was thinking that if we got home a little before nine that evening he could have a little ihaw-ihaw (barbeque) chicken before bed. First a bag of peanuts now a chicken, I wonder what the old man had hidden it the boxes for the next discussion. My companion was drooling over thoughts of marinade, the skinny little chicken becoming a splendid feast to his imagination. We left Warding early as the chicken make it hard to tract. The dirt road intercepted a paved highway in a few miles, which would make the ride a little easier. But first we had to peddle through a shallow stream that leads to the river. I was coasting down the hill toward the water, when the you’re going to fast! warning intruded into my conscious mind. I dint pay much attention, I had a chicken to worry about.
Do Something! – This is what my subconscious concluded was necessary and since I was busy with chicken thoughts it had to act on its own. My hands instinctively tightened the right hand on the brake lever, the left angering the chicken that began flapping its wings wildly. Good! It’s working, you’re slowing down. – My subconscious was happy with it’s self for the split second it took for the front tire to lock against one of those big rocks and the rear tire to lift up into the air. This is when things began to slow down; I used this time to wonder what we’d do with the chicken. My equilibrium was sending all kinds of signals that were interpreted as Wow, this is odd and Up is the other way BuckO, as I slid off the seat and straddled the cross bar with a thud on my way to the ground. Wow, you really do see stars, and then everything went black…
We had one baptism in the area while I was there, which was fun. There was no font so the baptisms were done in the river. Well, the river decided to flood on the day of the baptism so we waded toward the river until we were waist deep in water. We made a small clearing in the rice field and conducted the baptism, by the next week it was dry ground again.
…and then things still black I began to hear distant splashing of water and desperate shouts… my mouth was full of dirt and I could taste blood… my ears were ringing… it started to get brighter and something began to come into focus…it was my bike tire, still spinning... I was on my stomach my back arched and tangled in the bike…there was my shoe over in the reeds by the stream…the distant splashing grew louder and I saw my companion dart past me in a panic thinking his dinner was going to get away…he was wet and muddy from head to toe…I was quite comfortable and didn’t try to move until the pain started to kick in. By the time I untangled myself and was lying on my back collecting strength to stand up, my companion had caught the chicken and was coming back toward me with a relieved grin on his face. He waited for me to get up put on my shoe and brush my self off before he handed back the chicken. We made it to the highway and the ride was smoother though the black pavement reflected a lot more heat than the dirt road. The paved road also added the necessity to weave in and out of patches of rice being dried here and there. I rode most of the way back with no hands, the one being used to hold the chicken the other to wipe the sweat off my brow. We tied the chicken to a tree in our yard, took some quick showers, and went back out to work. When we finally got home for the evening we went out to get our chicken but to our dismay it was gone. I was quiet sure that it pecked through the plastic twine we used to tie it up but my companion was convinced that one of our neighbors stole it and was eating it at that very moment. We opened a can of sardines and ate it over cold rice for dinner.
The next week we found the old man eating peanuts under his house sheltered from the rain. He asked how we liked the chicken and we both looked at each other smiled and said it was masarap talaga! (really delicious).  And I'm sure it was for whoever or whatever ate it.

~Aaron 2004