Five Flash Essays
by Michael Kevin McMahon
Zoom
“In the beginning,” the Zen Master said. “Was the word.”
Beyond my screen, in the monastery, the incense and chanting were done. Now was the time for the talk.
“That’s where the trouble came in,” he said.
“Words.”
Coffee Shop
“Just a drip?” she said.
She liked pour-overs, I knew, holding the goose-necked kettle high, or else things that required tamping with authoritative bangs, or steam.
I nodded.
“Just a drip,” I said.
“Again?” she said.
Her hand hung, poised over the tablet, ready to record my change of mind.
“Think of it. Day after day,” she said, moving her hand to grip a nozzle. “Little drip.”
“Is that you?”
She jerked a lever, jetted steam.
Incarnatus Est
I was in a back pew. I had smuggled my latte in. The pastor was in his stole, in his pulpit, arms raised against the background of lilies.
Overhead, the choir struck in.
A woodwind, alone, wavering gaily, sadly…
A single voice.
“Et incarnatus est…”
Mozart’s endless, wavering, vocal line…
“Today,” the pastor said, “the word is made flesh.”
The soprano stumbled, then revived.
Self-Checkout
“This one’s good,” she said when I walked up. It was the self-checkout attendant, with a trainee.
“I’ve seen this customer scan before,” she said. “We’ll watch him.”
So I scanned and bagged, to commentary.
“Customers always have a hard time when the barcode’s on the bottom.”
Eventually, I came to the produce.
“Watch out,” she said to the trainee. “He buys fresh.”
I pulled out a bunch of carrots.
“Carrots,” she said.
The trainee peered.
“No barcode. He’s gonna have to look it up.”
I keyed it in …
“C-A-R …” she said, reading over my shoulder, to the trainee.
“Now watch, it comes up.”
The trainee edged in.
Types of carrots appeared on the screen.
“Those are organic,” she said, to the trainee, pointing at my carrots. “See how they’re kind of shriveled looking…”
She pointed. “Just like that picture.”
She hit the button for me.
Eventually, we hit a glitch.
She stuck her arm out. “Stop!” she said to me.
I did, dripping item in hand.
She turned.
“This one’s a hard one,” she said to the trainee, pointing.
“Is it endive?” she said. “Or kale?”
The trainee didn’t answer.
She turned to me. “Don’t tell him,” she said.
She turned back to the trainee.
“What do you do if you don’t know a word?”
The trainee stared.
“Speak up!”
Liquor Store
I stopped at the liquor store on my way home. At the door, the owner appeared, blocking it. He had his keys in his hands.
“Do you know what you want?” he said.
“Huh?” I said.
“We’re closing,” he said.
It was early. “What time is it?” I said.
“Early,” he said. “I know.”
He jiggled his keys, hesitating.
Finally, “Do you know what you want?”
“Wine,” I said.
“I need a name.”
The door started closing.
“Pinot?” I finally said.
“Shelves of that,” he said.
I hesitated, groping …
“Sorry,” he said.
It was twilight. Through the glass door, I watched his back recede down a long aisle, light after light switching off.
Cars whizzed by behind me. There was a night breeze.
“I want something cheap,” I told the bolted door, “And red.”
Overhead, neon flickered. The sign above me went out.”
“Little drip,” I said to myself.
Photo by Michael Burrows in Pexels
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