Transmigration

The plane landed softly, and Meng heard the flight attendant's calm voice. "Hong-Kong, have a nice day," she spoke softly. Meng slowly opened his tired eyes, and began to collect his things. In an instant it all came flooding back to him. The momentary peace he had felt while adrift in a dream world, was now gone. He remembered why he had to take the thirteen-and-a-half hour flight home. He remembered why he had brought the stubborn chicken with him; he remembered that his mother was dying. He slowly clambered off the plane, and into the terminal. He carried nothing but a backpack and the caged chicken under his arm. It was an old family custom to bring a youthful chicken to the sick, in hopes that they would recover. Meng didn't know where it came from, or understand how it would help, but if anything could save his ailing mother, he was more than willing to do it. He yawned a bit as he entered the airport. All the signs and symbols of his native language had become foreign to him, as he had spent the last nine years of his middle-aged life in New York. He was an investment banker, out to make it big, and to make his mother proud. It was all she ever wanted, for him to be successful. It saddened him to think that she may never see her boy become all she had hoped for. The chicken looked up at him awkwardly. Meng was sure it didn't want to be caged, and probably thought it was going to be eaten. The truth was, Meng didn't know what the chicken was for. He just knew to bring it to his sick mother's bedside, and supposedly good things happened. He did not know whether it would be made a meal, or a friend. Either way he felt bad for the little guy. He had, after all been removed from his own family, and dragged halfway across the world for an unknown purpose. Meng sat down on a nearby bench. He set the cage down next to him, and examined the chicken. He wondered, as it looked at him with its black, beady eyes, if he had picked a good one. Maybe there was some quality about the chicken he was supposed look for, a special one. Of that, he was not sure. He wanted to help the poor chicken, and his guilt grew as he thought of all the possible things that might happen to it when he brought it to his mother's home. Meng gathered it up in its cage and walked into the nearest bathroom. There, he set the cage on the floor in the corner away from the prying eyes of the man too busy twisting his moustache to wash his filthy hands. Meng opened the cage door slowly and the chicken crawled out. First, poking its head out, it seemed timid. In an instant, realizing its freedom was imminent, it pecked Meng on the nose and hopped away, flapping its useless wings as it went. It screeched loudly, and bolted out of the bathroom. Meng quickly tended to his bloody nose, and ran out the door after it. He looked around, and nothing was different. No one was alarmed. No one indicated which way it had gone; everyone was very nonchalant and concerned with their own busy lives. Meng had to find the chicken. He knew that it could somehow save his mother. He wanted to help her more than anything, so he set out to find his damn chicken. He looked high and he looked low, first checking the food establishments. The thing hadn't eaten since he bought it, and it had to be hungry. The chicken was nowhere to be found. He asked around, in clunky Chinese, where the animal had gone. People gave him funny looks, because by the look of him, he should have been fluent. It had been too long. He raced around the airport, desperate to find the chicken, desperate to save his mother. He finally collapsed, out of breath, by a book vendor. He slumped down the wall and began to weep. No one paid him any mind, they were all too wrapped up in their own business. He wasn't sure how much time his mother had. He had to hurry. What if he got there, and found she was not with them any longer? He would blame it all on himself, for he would arrive at her deathbed, empty-handed. He would have no chicken, no elixir. He slowly pulled his head from his hands, and between all the people passing by, he was sure he saw it. He jumped up and ran as fast as he could. Dodging between people here and there, he made his way across to the seating area of Gate 4B. There, cowering in the corner was the chicken. It was done running. It had tired itself out, and appeared to have hurt one of its legs. It quivered in the corner, clutching something in its beak. Meng could not believe his eyes. There, dangling from the beak of the chicken was his mother’s necklace. It was hers, he was sure of it. She had worn it for years, and had been in the family forever. The long gold chain shone bright in the light, and the birthstones of his mother, and her mother before her, and all the generations back, gleamed. The chicken looked up at him, with those beautiful blue eyes he had always known and always loved. He began to cry, and as he did so he smiled. Meng finally understood. He whispered his love to the creature, and held out his palm. It dropped the necklace into it, and he slowly put it around its neck as it bowed its head, calmly. He scooped up the creature, and went to collect his things.