Spun, Helpless

by Jeff Glovsky

He’s becoming agitated.

At the coffee shop, with actors, students, dates and kids…the occasional businessman or two, some pets …

He’s becoming agitated.

I see him build over cappuccino; watch him rev up like a helicopter:  Mumble to himself, then start to rock, and roll his arms and shoulders … flap his arms and hands, slow, mumbled speech-like first, then faster … Flapping, revving.

Like a helicopter.

Now his mumbled speech grows louder.  “No, no, that’s alright, alright!”  He’s mumbling faster, louder now …

The selfish become agitated.  Halt their conversations temporarily, put their cellphones down … sly looks and nervous glances; ply each other questioningly.  Smug, good-natured sighs of being rousted from their i-dreams …

His dreams grow fevered.  Eyes wide,  “It’s alright!,” he cries.  “I don’t … you don’t … CARE about me!”

Stands up, flapping at his trousers … beating on his belt and on his fly until his pants come down … bends over, pulls them …

Peels off his shirt and stands there naked.

Now the selfish start to file out … their quiet times and coffee flavors ruined for this day.  A little “manager” appears from nowhere.  Shuffles in his skinny tie and pants to where the guy is standing — flapping, babbling nakedly and singing now, and free — and stands beside him, smirking out and staring, hovering …

Like a helicopter.

Her Joy

by Jeff Glovsky

At 4pm, muffins go on sale … Rolls and croissants, baked breakfast sweets.  The discounts wake my office up …

I reach into my pocket, dig out a dollar to pick up a chocolate croissant … and as I’m inching on line toward the “day-old” case, an Indian woman squeals loudly.

“Oh, I can’t believe!” yelps she (she elbowing into line before me) … “Never do find chocolate here!”

She’s seized the last chocolate croissant in her sights, and hastens toward it selfishly.

“It’s mine,” think I … my fear and deflation deeper than the joy she seeps.  I’m hoping she might trip and fall (or lose a sandal running) and I advance myself, eyeing the treat.  She’s cut in line before me though, and no one stands a chance …

She wins!

She snatches the last chocolate croissant, she pulls it to her, beams and dances.

“You lucked out,” I (silent sighing) tell her, plastic smile pasted.

“Yes, I did!” she’s raised her eyes to God.  She cries, “I surely did!”