The chicken ritual

Rain pouring down on me, just as I like it, drenching my recently washed hair, curls cascading in a mess down my back, face upturned to catch the spray. Ear buds in, music blasting in my ears, looking for the world to see cool, calm, and collected. Leaning against a van, taking in the scene, eyebrows raised slightly, confidently.

Girls shrieking in mock fright, or perhaps they are really scared, it's hard to tell. Snapping pictures, wanting to remember this moment, though I see no reason to. Just a part of the rituals to me, as it is.

Standing slightly apart from everyone, waiting my turn. The smell that lingers in the air, I imagine it'll take days for it to go away. So many people collecting charity, and regretfully, I left my wallet at home. With a shrug, and an apologetic smile, I indicate that I have nothing to give.

My turn. Bird swinging on top of me, crouching so as not to get feathers in my hair. My brother's voice saying, 'c'mon chicken, poop in her hair, poop in her hair' and me mentally warning the chicken against that course of action. If you want to live... I think. But of course, it's not going to live, it'll die, on my account.

Remembering the PETA signs I saw, 'Gelt not guilt' and not really caring either way. I stop my mind from going down that road, I don't want to argue an issue that I don't care about.

I say the prayers, like I do every year, trying to put some feeling into it. Remembering just a year ago, waking up at 4 am for this, half asleep, feeling slightly drunk, and caffeine deprived. Swinging a chicken over my head, friends shrieking, picture taking, the same thing, year after year. And of course, girls will be girls.

There is an ice cream truck there this time, which I find slightly amusing. Who wants to think about food at a time like this? Supposed to be solemn, at least. And at most, there are chickens being slaughtered and blood being sprayed, a few feet away. But that didn't seem to bother people, as there were plenty of customers lined up to buy, and the guy tending the counter seemed pleased and amused to be this close to shrieking members of the opposite sex. You'd think he never heard a girl scream before.

Glad it's over with, and hoping I'll be forgiven, I trudge home, my shoes now soaked through.

Just a little rain, a few feathers, and the awful smell of chickens to welcome in a new day, the holiest day of the year, the holier of the two High Holidays.

May it be an easy fast, and may all of our sins be atoned for.