"D is My Name. D. Chicken."

LadyLee walked into the skating rink, ready to get her skate on... and all too eager to deliver the package she held in her hand.

She didn't see anyone. And no one was skating.

Even though the strobe lights were flashing frantically. Even with the DJ talking up a storm... begging and pleading, and playing those awful siren sounds they play in the clubs.



"Chickens! Chickens! Calling all chickens! Make your way to the rink for the skate-off!"

No one was skating. Nothing moved. The flashing strobe light illuminated an empty rink, highlighting the fine shellack of the wooden floor.

And that was okay. The place had just opened. It was early afternoon. The skating rink didn't get crunk until late evening. And with the flashing lights, who could see anything, or even where they were going. That was the problem.

"Let's go, Chickens! The rink has been closed off today, just like it has been every Tuesday, just so you can skate! Let's get this party started!"

LadyLee looked all around, to see who he was talking to.

And there they were. A bunch of chickens. Cackling and cooing in a cage in the corner, almost out of sight. LadyLee walked over to them, peered down at them.

"Which one of ya'll is," LadyLee began. She raised the package, the envelope up to her face, and read the name. "Which one of ya'll is 'D.Chicken'?"

The chickens cackled and laughed, there laugh so similar that it all sounded like one laugh... one terribly annoying shrill.

"D isn't in here with us. She doesn't like the cage."

LadyLee peered down at the cage. It was made of light wire. With one push, they could all knock it down. That was unnecessary, as the cage door was wide open. She wanted to ask why they stayed in there, but thought better of it.

Maybe they wanted to be there. LadyLee didn't know. And she wasn't going to ask or argue about that.

"Where is D, then?" LadyLee asked instead.

"She's over there on the bench. Probably putting her skates on, getting ready to skate."

"And you're not getting ready to skate?"

The chicken rolled her eyes. "No. We are free from laying eggs for awhile. We all combed out our feathers and we're going to sit here and talk about our feathers and how beautiful they are."

"Well what about D. Chicken."

All the chickens really clucked then, their eyes all still trained on LadyLee.

"We don't like D."

"Why?"

"Because she chooses to do other things. Doesn't like to comb out her feathers and talk about them with us. And when skate day comes, she gets out there and skates."

"Nothing wrong with that, is it? I mean, it is the Tuesday skate-off."

They all clucked and yelled in glee.

"No one skates, only D. And she wins every Tuesday. Who cares. We are going to talk about our feathers."

LadyLee backed away from the cage. "I tell you what. I'm going to go find D. Give her this package."

"You do that," one of the chickens yelled. LadyLee tried to see who it was, but she couldn't tell them apart. "We're going to talk about our feathers."

"But you get to skate. Skate free. I don't see why you don't-"

"Don't you worry about it," a chicken said, cutting her off. "You go find D."

LadyLee walked off. She was not staying where she was not welcome. Obviously she interrupted something. Not sure what. They all looked alike. Couldn't be too much to talk about that would warrant not taking advantage of good music and free skating. Couldn't be much that all.

LadyLee looked around. The strobe light had stopped flashing. No need to waste a good strobe light flash when no one was skating.

And there was D. A lone chicken sitting over on a bench near the rink, bent over, fiddling around with her skates.

LadyLee walked up to her. "Excuse me, are you D.? D. Chicken?"

The chicken looked up from her skates, right at LadyLee.





LadyLee jumped back.

"Yes, yes I am. D. is my name. D. Chicken." She extended a wing for a handshake. LadyLee reluctantly grabbed it. D's feathers were soft and strong, her wingshake friendly.

LadyLee said nothing else, just continued to stare.

"What's your problem?"

"D,uh... what is up with your hair??"

"I don't have hair, LadyLee," D said. "I have feathers."

"Well what is up with your feathers?"

D fluffed her feathers with her wing. "What?"

"It's like you had a..., an a..., an accident with some Clairol, like you tried to dye your graying hair black and changed your mind, and you tried to go blonde, and-"

"These are my feathers, and I like them," D said, cutting LadyLee off. "And I don't want to hear another word about it."

"But the other chickens," Lee said, pointing over her shoulder at the caged birds. "They don't look like that."

"I'm not those chickens. I'm D."

LadyLee squinted hard. "And what's up with your beak?"

"What do you mean?" D asked in return.

"It's all fuc-, I mean, it's like it's messed up or something?"

"You trying to say my beak is fucked up?"

LadyLee held out her hands in surrender. "Why you gotta curse like that? I wasn't going to say that."

D chicken smirked, reached down to her skates and began lacing them up. Her eyes were still trained on LadyLee.

"My condition," she said. "I got a condition. It sheds."

"And your eyes," LadyLee said. "They are... they are..."

"Bloodshot red," D said, completing LadyLee's sentence. "Just my natural eye color."

LadyLee was silent. She wanted to ask what was going on, but she thought better of it.

She didn't even want to know.

"Well here's your package. You asked for this song." LadyLee held the envelope out to D.

"Yep! Read on your blog that you liked Ashford and Simpson. And I knew you would have that song.

"Wait," LadyLee said. "You read my blog?"

"Yep!"

"Chickens can't read," LadyLee said, before she even said it.

D. finished lacing up her skate. "Says who? I can read just fine. Tried to teach the other chickens but that was a no go. Unless you're talking about feather length and definition, they don't care."

D. stood from the bench and stretched her chicken legs. She tapped her feet on the ground. The black skates lit up, flashing lights and colors so brilliant that LadyLee had to jump back.

She headed for the rink, skates flashing with every step. "Do me a favor," she called over her shoulder, "Give that record to the DJ."

LadyLee did what she was told.

"What's up with that Chicken?" she asked the DJ.

"Who, D? Nothing much. She skates. Alone. While the others watch from the cage. And she wins the contests. She won those boots last month. Today's prize is a month's worth of deluxe chicken feed."

"What does the 'D' stand for her in her name?

The DJ pulled the vinyl record from the package and placed it on the turntable. "I won't tell you. I'll let you figure that out. It's very easy."

He spoke low and slow on the microphone.

"D. Chicken break it down on the rink. Show these other chickens what you're working with."

LadyLee snapped her fingers to the song as D spun at high speeds back and forth, up and down the skating rink, feathers blowing hard, a blur on her head.

"Delores. Denice. Dana. Dorothy. Donna. Either one of those DJ?"

"Noooo!" he said. He returned his attention to the microphone. "Go D! Get busy. Get stupid. Get fresh! Go D!"

D spun round and round in fabolous spins that would make Wonder Woman green with envy.

She whisked near LadyLee.

"Chicken, I know what that D stands for!"

"What's that, LadyLee?"

"Different! Different Chicken!" LadyLee yelled. "Am I right, Chicken"

D didn't answer, only held her beak in the air and spun like only she could spin.




Different.

A Differnt chicken.

One who makes her own way, who goes against the grain of life, of popular opinion.

That was a cheeky story. But there is more to it than meets the eye.

My writing prompt was that picture of D. Chicken. I think we bust out laughing when we saw it. But I am captivated by her haunting stare. Her obvious pride in herself (if I only imagined it). She doesn't look like everyone else, not even in mentality. She is... Different.

You know, I was asked by several people if I would turn my comments off if I was to do something so risky as this... this Hair Week then.

Risky. Taking a risk of upsetting the chickens in the cage. A cage made of cheap wire, one they could easily knock down. Heck, it's a cage that has the door of escape open wide.

D is not trapped. She is free. But she loves that song. It reminds her that she was once trapped by attitudes, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and anything else that once plagued her... all of which she is now loosed from.

Goes to show, many are trapped by their mentality. A mental prison is worse than a physical one, hands down.

No I won't turn off my comments. I have intelligent readers. Ones who step out of the cage. Enough said.

I may lose some friends. I don't care. I'm not a caged bird, you see.

I would hope that I would be more like D. Chicken. A different chicken. One that you can tell from the crowd. One who doesn't look down on others and their choices all because of a mere difference of feathers. For if I do that, it only siginifies that I'm avoiding dealing with what's really going on deep in my chicken heart.

Never a caged bird. A free one. Free to spin like Wonder Woman whenever the urge hits me.

I have such a cacophony of thoughts going on about feathers... Hair, really. You see, I don't have the freedom of standing in a mirror looking at a mirror and adoring my hair. Thank God I don't have the freedom to point at someone elses hair and say their's isn't good enough.

How cruel and inconsiderate is that??

Yet I see it all the time. Well not so much now, as I have removed many unnecessary "mental honeybuns" from my life. And I am better for it.

But I am coming up on 10 years of diagnosis of this chronic illness that has resulted in some hair loss... that has resulted in my hair growing at a 10% rate of anyone else's.

I keep my feeling concerning such deep within. No I don't cry over hair sprouting from my head.

With all the other things I have to deal with concerning my health and life in general, that would be I don't know...

Shallow.

And I'm far from such.

But I wanted to take a little time to examine my thoughts... on purpose. From the point of view of a woman who has an immune disease that affects her hair.

Can't twitpic that, can I?

Can't make a youtube video on that, can I?

No.

But I can talk about it on my blog. And I can be candid, writing like no one is reading. And that I will do...

Stay tuned.