Disgust

Disgust

As I sat on an uptown six train and watched a young man eat his
chicken, I felt repelled and disgusted. Eventually I was filled with
disgust, but at first I was only repelled. The child went on eating the
chicken, talking to the girl next to him, and then throwing the
wing-skeletons on the floor. This disgusted me. In fact, I felt so
repulsed I couldn't watch him and several times resolved to go and talk
to him. The six train was crowded, however. Making such a move would
have been even more disgusting, particularly for me, but also for the
other passengers who would have been ridiculously inconvenienced for
the sake of propriety, my sense of propriety. But this effort, this
direct approach, had I done it, would surely have exorcised the demon
that was growing inside me, surely it would have made sane the
otherwise insane reaction I was having. And yet I did not do it. In
fact, I must admit, I could not take my eyes off the spectacle. I could
not do it. And yet I made no effort to talk to the young man and did
not show him, as they say, the error of his ways. Instead I made do. It
must be said, I thought to myself as I sat on the six train, that I am
afraid of the young man. That is why I don't approach him. I am utterly
afraid of him. And this is perhaps equally disgusting on my part,
equally weak willed, equally sentimental and even pleasure-seeking, on
my part. I sat on the six train and watched his teeth pull a bit of
cartilage until it snapped up against his lip. I watched the chewy skin
shrink away from his grip. I listened in horror as the pieces slapped
to the floor. Flapping and slapping to the floor, one after another as
if they still held life. Wing after wing after wing. Meat and bone and
fat and saliva. And I watched him. And the only thing that saved me,
the only thing that salvaged me from complete distraction and sickness,
the only thing that kept me from a thorough saturation of disgust, was
the reminder that he was a child, he was a young man, and he was lost
to himself in a world defined by the limits of fried chicken, just as
my own myopia kept me in a state of fear. Ludicrous, I thought to
myself. I then left the six train and vomited into a nearby garbage
can.