The Seduction of the Chicken Lady ...

In my continuing attempt to break free into more of a creative environment, it was suggested that I sway from my normal routine and simply observe. So, instead of reading a book on the bus, I sat back in my seat and watched the people around me.

It was standing room only for a while and, when the bus pulled up to a stop, I watched an old black woman get step on and then quickly disappear into the crowd.

About 15 minutes later, the bus pulled up to a stop where several riders emptied out to board a connecting train, so I was able to take a seat near the rear. A few rows infront of me, in one of the benches which faced the center of the bus (unlike most which face forward) I spotted the old black lady again and I immediately became fixated on the show being performed before my eyes.

For you to better get an idea of what I was watching, I must first try my best in describing what this woman looked like, because her dress was just as enterataining as her actions. First, her hair. I counted at least three separate hairstyles combined to make one complete mess. If you were to draw a line across the top of her head, from ear to ear, dividing the front and back halves equally, you'd discover two complete styles. The front was straight and stiff, cut in a perfect line from her left ear, across her forehead, to her right ear, creating a razor sharp bang about a quarter of an inch above her painted eyebrows (a-la Moe Howard). The back half was a series of tightly wound braids that actually looked to be growing out of the base of her head and spiraling to the top where they disappeared beneith her third style: a large bun that could best be described as a pile of precariously stacked black jellybeans.

She must've been somewhere in her early 70's, but her mocha colored skin was fairly wrinkle free. Her high cheekbones were splashed with red; blush applied with the same results of tearing through a bag of pistachios. The arms of her gold frame glasses were studded with sparkling chips of cut glass and silver to form a rosebud, added strength to support the thick lenses that could burn paper on the sidewalk if caught in the sun's rays at just the right angle.

She wore a bright gold floral print blouse that seemed to reflect several design styles. Studying it more closely, I can pick out a touch of a Hawiian motif, a bit of African heritage and a splash of sparkle reminiscent of the glory days of the old Beadazzler. A black, ankle-length skirt and hand crocheted shawl resting on her lap completed the look.

As I stared, I watched the woman raise a bony hand to her mouth. Her other hand remained in her lap, clutching a clear plastic cup with ice water (or, from the way she began to slouch over time, it may have actually been vodka). The hand near her mouth held a small chicken leg, or rather the bone with a few strands of meat remaining. She proceeded to pull the remaining meat from the bone and then slowly, through pursed lips, slide the entire bone into her mouth. Staring straight ahead, both hands now wrapped delicately around the plastic cup in her lap, she moved the chicken bone around in her mouth from side to side, sucking every bit of meat free. I became fascinated at the way she drifted into a fog, ignoring all around her, as the bone would press against the inside of her cheek and move across the inside of her bottom lip and over to the other side. Every couple of seconds, it would pierce through her clenched lips and I would notice that the meat was all gone and she was now just sucking as much juice and her own saliva from the poor bird. She did this slowly and deliberately, relishing every bit of flavor remaining, as if it would be the last piece of chicken she would ever have. At one point, she removed the bone, examined it, took a swig from her cup and replace the bone in her mouth to continue sucking.

And, as if the visual wasn't enough, my senses picked up something else which made the image even more entertaining. From behind me, another passenger was listening to music through their headphones. It was some unidentifiable hip-hop tune. I couldn't hear the words of the tune, but what drifted up to my ears was the faint metallic beat setting the rhythm of the song. Maybe it was just in my mind but what I suddenly found myself living through was watching this woman making oral love to this chicken bone with some cheesey 70's porn music playing the soundtrack.

I felt a smile spread across my face as I closed my eyes, knowing full well that the Chicken Lady would have to make it onto my blog. I only wish I had broken down last year and had gotten that picture phone the sales rep tried upselling me.