BRIEF ENCOUNTER WITH A LUNATIC
IN A BOOKSTORE
Cynthia Ruth Lewis
The way things had been going lately,
the last thing I wanted to do was run
errands, but I had a mile-long list I’d
been avoiding; thought I might catch up
on half of it, help distract myself from
one disaster after another
Kept fighting the urge to scream, cry or
kill someone in my frustrated, helpless
mood, the battle clenching my hands tight
around the steering wheel as I drove, press
of bone turning my knuckles death-white as
I jackknifed into the parking lot, another
stop crossed off the list
Bookstore clerk approached me to ask if I
needed help with anything. “Up here,” I
said, pointing to my head. They started
to chuckle, but I must have had a strange
look on my face, for they smiled awkwardly
before turning to go; even the nearby
customers started to edge their way subtly
towards the door, merely highlighting the
fact that I should not even be out, but I
forced myself to do this, to busy myself
with projects to get my mind off things,
only to find myself stranded, numbly, in
the thick of it all, completely lost within
and even unsure of my actions now, trying to
swallow the fist in my throat that wouldn’t
let go, so I turned my back, grabbed a book
and rustled the pages loudly, almost tearing
them in my effort to cover the uncontrollable
sobs that were shaking my whole body, which,
from everyone’s perspective, probably looked
alot like I might have been laughing
