"Scream Therapy"
by Michael Dell

"I just want something normal," declared Kate, setting a miniature looking can of soda back in its rightful slot of the display cooler.

"There's some ginger ale," pointed David. "It's tough to get more normal than ginger ale."

"Yeah, but even the label is all fancy. It's not like normal ginger ale."

"Can I help someone?" offered a young woman behind the counter.

David noticed a man standing to his right and motioned for him to go ahead. "She's still trying to decide." The man stepped forward and ordered some sort of overpriced coffee. Kate was still deliberating. She lifted a small plastic bottle for inspection.

"Lemonade."

"Always a solid choice," confirmed David, reaching for his wallet. "My treat."

"No, you got the movie tickets," protested Kate. "The least I can do is buy my own lemonade. Are you sure you don't want anything? Some bottled water?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Even the lemonade was overpriced. Kate got her change and they made their way to the front of the Starbucks in search of a table.

"Wouldn't it be funny if we weren't who we thought we were?" laughed Kate.

"Like if I were an elderly Asian man?"

"No, like if we weren't who we thought we were. Like if there were others waiting to meet people at the theater and we met the wrong person. Where do you want to sit?"

David took off his coat and draped it over a nearby chair. "Here?"

Kate nodded approval and they settled at a table in the middle of the coffee house. It was a Sunday afternoon. The place wasn't very crowded. Three men were sitting in the front left corner near the window, there was one man lounging in a plush chair along the right wall, a mother and daughter were catching up on girl talk, and a blonde woman was reading a newspaper. None of them were close enough to draw David or Kate's attention.

"So am I everything you thought I'd be?" ventured Kate, a devilish grin upon her lips.

"More," smiled David. "I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was when I saw you come around the corner of the lobby."

"Relieved?"

"While I was waiting for you..."

"Sorry again for being late."

"You were fine. Don't worry. Anyway, while I was waiting I was standing by the window trying to see if I could spot anyone that matched your general description."

"Did you?"

"Kind of. Keep in mind, I didn't have all that much to go on."

" So did you see anyone that fit my profile?"

"There was one woman walking near the theater, she was about your height, same hair color... but she kind of looked like a heroin addict."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so I was hoping it wasn't you. Yet at the same time I was trying to think of ways to compliment her on her black sweatpants and flannel shirt. It wasn't easy."

"Then it's a good thing I changed." Kate sipped her lemonade. "So you're not disappointed?"

"Not in the least," smiled David. He could still picture Kate hurrying into the theater, a blue scarf trailing behind her as she fixed her wind-blown hair. Having seen his picture, she spotted him immediately. She smiled and waved. He didn't react at first. He couldn't react. Kate must have thought him quite the fool but she kept smiling. David had been smiling ever since.

Suddenly, a scream filled the air. David looked around for the source of the shriek.

"What was that?"

"I have no idea," said Kate. "Do they torture people at Starbucks now?"

"Either that or the guy's coffee was really, really hot." David sat back in his chair. "Where were we?"

"I think you were telling me how glad you were I wasn't a heroin addict."

"Ah, yes, that's right. Because I gotta tell ya, I don't even own any bleach."

David's eyes drifted from Kate's and followed a peculiar young man in an orange coat walking past the window. David wasn't sure what made him notice the man, whether it was the stranger's determined gait, his stern facial expression, or maybe it was just the bright orange coat, but whatever the reason it was enough for prolonged scrutiny. David was still watching when the man stopped in front of the window, remaining in profile, and unleashed an intense scream.

David directed Kate. "It seems as though we've found our screamer."

Kate turned in her chair to see for herself. "Oh my."

The man in the orange coat was rooted in place, forcing a harsh cry into the crisp November air. His being outside muffled the sound, but it was still strong enough to permeate the walls of the great cathedral of commercialism, creating quite the buzz amongst customers and employees alike. Whispers and assorted rumblings began to be heard.

"What do you suppose is wrong with him?" asked Kate.

David was busy trying to assess the threat level of the screaming man. The only powerful thing about the gentleman in question seemed to be his vocal chords. Aside from his unusual form of expression, he was the very definition of ordinary. He didn't appear to be the stereotypical crazy homeless man. In fact, it's customary seeing men of his ilk roaming college campuses all across North America. He had short black hair, unfortunate sideburns, Buddy Holly's glasses, and fleshy cheeks that revealed the physical condition of someone who not only ate regular meals, but of one whose meals often consisted of pizza, fast food, and the frequent Ho Ho. His clothes, including the orange coat, seemed as though they were recently taken from an Old Navy ad. David watched intently as the man gathered his breath before letting out another colossal caterwaul. Convinced of no imminent danger, David answered Kate's question.

"Maybe his shoes are too tight?"

"It certainly is bizarre." Kate turned back to David. "Do you think we should do anything?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know? Call someone?"

The others in the cafe were also wondering aloud. David made sure to keep a careful eye on the screaming man's hands. They were empty at his sides. His only movement was a straining neck and heaving chest. No one else had passed on the sidewalk since the display began, but cars drove by as normal and David could also see construction workers across the street lending a deaf ear.

"I think it's okay." David had already devised a plan. At the first sign of trouble, say a hand suddenly thrust into a coat pocket, he would calmly get Kate to her feet and guide her to the rear of the Starbucks. If the man were to shoot through the glass or attempt to enter the premises, David was confident he could do what was necessary. The man hardly appeared athletic, or even coordinated. Marksmanship would surely rest beyond his grasp. There were plenty of tables and chairs for cover. Bullets travel in straight lines. He was certain he could settle the day with a right cross. "But there is a back way out of here, right?" joked David.

After about the third scream, everyone else in the cafe became very bored with the spectacle and went about their business. It was as though they had often seen men lose their minds in public.

"Such is life in the big city," offered Kate, returning to her lemonade. "Isn't it funny how no one even seems to care?"

"It is odd," began David. "I mean, in my hometown that guy could run for mayor."

"Do you think it's some sort of performance art?"

"Could be. But what do you think he's trying to say?"

"He could be making a statement about man's isolation in the modern world and how he must scream to be heard." Kate flashed a smile. "Or maybe he's really David Hartley and I met the wrong man at the movie theater?"

David smiled. "Yeah, we worked this all out ahead of time. I was just supposed to check you out and make sure everything was cool, then the real David was going to walk by, scream like a banshee, and win your heart."

"How devious," squinted Kate.

"All is fair..."

"Do you think he's just insane?"

"I would say that's a distinct possibility."

"But why does screaming on a street corner automatically make one insane?"

"Why do feathers, webbed-feet, and a bill automatically make one a duck?"

"But shouldn't man have the right to scream? It's very primal."

"So's insanity."

"Haven't you ever wanted to just scream?"

"Only when I see my bank statement."

"Perhaps it's his equivalent of whistling in a graveyard? His existence has become so tenuous that he needs to scream in order to validate his being alive."

"Or, as I said before, maybe his shoes are too tight."

"It has to be something significant and profound to drive a man to such extremes."

"Have you ever worn really tight shoes?" asked David. "It's not pleasant."

"So you have no sympathy for this poor soul?"

"Should I?"

"He could very well be symbolic of every man's plight, the embodiment of human existence, the vocalization of mankind's sorrow."

"Ask not for whom the nut screams, he screams for thee?"

"Exactly!"

"Somehow I think you may be reaching a little."

Kate leaned forward with excitement. "What if he's calling out to a lost love? That would be romantic."

"Or disturbing."

"You don't find compassion in the torment of a broken heart?"

"Sure. But if I screamed maniacally every time my heart was broken I'd have lost my voice years ago."

"Suffered a lot, have we?" smiled Kate.

"My share. And I really don't think screaming impresses the ladies."

"I think that would all depend on where and under what circumstances the screaming was done. It could be seen as the highest of compliments."

"Very true."

"So you were never able to scream your way back into the hearts of any lost loves?"

"Love isn't like that. It's not a wallet or set of car keys. Once lost it stays lost. It's never the same again. No trail of bread crumbs will ever lead it back."

"How Brothers Grimm of you." ,P> "Yeah, I always loved their cough drops. Hey..." David nodded over Kate's shoulder. "And down goes Frazier."

Kate turned to see the screaming man lying flat on his back in the middle of the sidewalk. He was perfectly still, with his legs straight and his arms pressed to his sides. No longer screaming, he was merely staring into the sky.

"Who's Frazier?" asked Kate.

"I'm sorry, it was a boxing reference. You don't like boxing?"

"No."

"What do you like?"

Kate thought for a moment. "French Impressionists."

"Okay, well, then down goes Monet, but check it out..." David pointed to the window.

Another man had infiltrated the scene. He was a large gentleman of considerable girth dressed in varying shades of gray. He came to a halt beside the now prostrate screamer and looked down upon him with interest.

"God bless the good Samaritan," mocked David. He internally questioned the wisdom of the man for approaching the screamer without the slightest hint of caution. He should have at least been frisked.

"What do you think they're saying?" asked Kate. The screamer was, indeed, holding a rather friendly discussion with the other man. "Can you read lips?"

"I can barely read books."

The sidewalk conversation continued. At one point the screaming man even raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

"I want to know what they're saying!" pleaded Kate.

"Hold up, I think they're about done."

Sure enough, the screaming man rose to his feet, addressed a parting comment to his new fat friend, and began strolling down the street.

"Aw, it's over," groaned Kate. She started to get up. "I have to find out what he said."

"Wait, I think the guy's coming in."

The large man in gray, the holder of the screamer's secret, entered the front door. As he passed, Kate placed a hand on his arm. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please tell me what you and that man were talking about?" beseeched Kate. "Was it a lost love?"

"What?"

"Or was he making a statement about man's loss of self in today's society?"

"Oh..." caught the man. "No, it was nothing like that." He pulled some money from his pocket and began counting the sum needed for a cup of coffee.

Kate wasn't ready to give up. "Existential angst?"

"Hardly," said the man.

"Then what was it?"

With the exact amount secured, the man dropped the remaining change in his pocket and looked to Kate.

"His shoes are too tight."