Two Flash Fictions, by Carol Dorf

And Giraffes, Oh My

Most years we would drive down for the day to walk the Atlantic City boardwalk. My father marched along, while my mother and the three of us girls straggled behind. She because of “lady shoes,” and possibly because of wanting space, while we checked out the windows. My favorite was a store that sold life-sized stuffed animals. Lions and tigers and bears and yes, giraffes, with their slender legs and magnificent height. I truly needed one of them. Much more than I wanted one of the “Cathys” with their creepy plastic faces and rough blond hair.

Eventually we would head down to the beach which was covered in poky shells and patches of cigarette butts. My mother had stopped smoking by then, but she said even a butt on the ground reminded her of temptation. The water didn’t scare me, though I was warned about rip tides each time I submerged. Body surfing we called it, rolling over and then under the waves, warm Atlantic water not so much of a shock as a reminder that salt was one of the first gifts. The drive home was an itchy mess, but I never remembered that while I lay on the sand, exposed to the distinction between breeze and heat.

The summer I worked at Irene’s on the Boardwalk, the animal store was still there, waiting for me, even though by then I was aware of the threadbare neck on the giraffe where lucky children had snuck in to touch it.

Losing My Guru

Stay with the garden I’ve been told, though recently I’ve noticed my mind wandering—good thing I don’t have too many opinions about Monkey Mind—so I’ve abandoned the idea of a useful guru. In high school, I put cut flowers in a vase at the TM house after they taught me my secret mantra, which turned out to be the same as my friend’s who was also sixteen, though we didn’t confirm this for a couple of years.

Do you feel better knowing this secret? I wasn’t that surprised. Yesterday, I moved the couch and the cat seems confused. Is this a metaphor? There was no life aside from the cut flowers in the TM house. I suspect a cat would have created too much chaos, its desire to be petted interrupting the serious work of meditation; the way the TM cousins were sent out to play when the students arrived as though only adults could learn to fly, though of course this narrator suspects that the emperor has no nature of children was more to the point. Adults bouncing on their butts on a room of cushions was hilarious to the cousins. 

By the way, if I were to stick with the garden, I would tell you about the way persimmon leaves shadow a window holding back morning sun, as though to protect almost anyone from summer heat and the unremarkable light. Is this the moment?

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Carol Dorf’s writing has been published in three chapbooks, and in journals that include Great Weather for Media, Mom Egg Review, Abyss and Apex, Unlikely Stories, About Place, Slipstream, Scientific American, and MAINTENANT: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art. She is a Zoeglossia fellow as well as the founding poetry editor of Talking Writing.