Omen
Lynn Kozlowski

In the middle of the night before the morning that one of my Polish uncles, Joe, had the stroke that fried his mind, my father thought he heard a rooster crow.
It was months later in Joe's living room when he finally mentioned this to their older brother as they both sat there visiting Joe on Sunday. The older brother said, "Jeez." He said that a rooster in the night was a sign that something bad was going to happen. He said it was a real omen. "An omen." He said that was what their parents believed back in their village in Poland.
My father was born in New Jersey, and he said, "That's hooey!"
My mother said, "I didn't hear anything."
My father said, "There aren't chickens for miles. I haven't seen a live chicken since we were kids on the farm."
His older brother said, "But you did think you heard a rooster."
My father said, "I was sleeping. It was still. I didn't hear anything else. Just what sounded like a rooster crowing. Maybe I was dreaming it."
My mother said, "I was asleep."
The oldest brother rubbed his head, pushing his hand from his forehead over to the back of his neck. Then he pointed at Joe, who was sitting, tilted, in his wheelchair and said, "But look what happened to Joe. How do you explain that!"

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