Conditional
2 Minutes Read Time
Associate Editor Kate Jayroe: Dorf’s patient scrutiny surrounding cause and effect commingles so wonderfully with the iterative formal moves of this flash fiction. Dynamic and profound, “Conditional” cultivates a deep and singular feeling of care.
Conditional
If after
a bad night I need someone to blame, there are so many candidates. Streetlights. My left knee. The mystery set in twentieth-century rural England, which I mistakenly thought would be relaxing. The mistakes I made ten or was it twenty years ago with a student who was certainly difficult for me. My difficulty believing that the votes for our dictator were a mistake and did not originate in hatred. Then there is the train whistle from a mile away, punctuating the sirens, which probably sound from the freeway.
Or if after
a bad night I am reluctant to stay in bed a moment longer, who would blame me. If after a bad night I fall back asleep and can’t get started in the morning, would I blame myself? On those mornings, which could start at three a.m., I remind myself puzzles are on the list, the news has been crossed off.
If after
a bad night I see how innocent we all look while sleeping, even the soldier who, hours before, kidnapped a child, am I complicit?
If after
a bad night I remember I never did sleep-train my child. I couldn’t board that train with all the crying required. And the vomiting. The cost of compliance. If after a bad night when a child found their way into my bed, could I turn toward them and doze off again, stars standing guard overhead, the house as warm as breath.
If after
a bad night of streetlights, after a bad night of regrets, after a bad night of national shame, after all the noise of the freeway, then would we be too full of sorrow to step out of the house and start walking through the half-light of early morning.
