There was a man in the grocery today. His hands were shaking. He seemed confused.
Off-balance. Wobbly. Not old. Not young. His shirt was torn at the elbow. Plaid shirt. Worn. Torn at the elbow.
Staring in an aisle of cereal. Seeing nothing. The world moving around him. He was still. Except for the shaking hands.
I thought he was going to fall. Swaying like a brittle tree in a strong wind. My hands outstretched to catch. To brace the inevitable fall.
"Sir, do you need help?"
A turn of his head. Slowly. To me. Eyes focusing. Recognition coming. Re-entering the world. A rocket-ship landing. An alien recalibrating to human form.
The societal dances. The pirouettes we perform.
A glitch. A jerk of the lips. A twitch. A mouth evolving to smile. Eyes faraway and glazed to present and friendly.
"Sir?" I repeat.
So feint. A mere whisper.
"My wife always did this."
I ask, "What is it you are looking for?"
A blanket of sadness drapes, envelops him. He fades. Stares.
"I don't know." He says. "I don't know..."
And he's gone again.
