[but]

by Kat Meads

In his either/or universe, a fellow named Harry makes a stupendous show of never appearing uncertain of:

—menu choices (“Of course I’m having the meatloaf!”)

—highway directions (“Of course we turn left!”)

—weather (“Of course it’s going to rain!”)

—toothpaste (“Of course I buy the minty brand!”)

And tons of other stuff.

More than a few in Harry’s circle have now grown weary of Harry’s so-called certainty as well as his grand theory that there are two categories of persons in the world and two only (wafflers/non-wafflers) with Harry—“of course!”— identifying as a member of category two.

(For those irritated by Harry, hang in! Rough justice is mere paragraphs away.)

As it happens, the afternoon is somewhat rainy, the bar somewhat shadowy when Harry experiences his latest brainstorm, an epiphany he immediately shares with gusto: all of humanity’s problems/stupidities/chaos and disruptions would be thoroughly and permanently solved by the annihilation of:

—maybe

—perhaps

—even so

—but.

Seemingly the bartender into whose ear Harry has been shouting for the past hour disagrees since he there and then snatches Harry’s beer, dumps it down the drain, closes out Harry’s tab and rescinds Harry’s drinking privileges in Harry’s favorite bar today, tomorrow and evermore, leaving a certain certainist unsure where next he’ll raise a glass and various nearby drinkers exceedingly slow to offer helpful leads.

(Ah, the satisfactions of fiction.)

Bio:
Kat Meads’s most recent book is These Particular Women (Sagging Meniscus Press, 2023). A North Carolina native, she lives in California. (katmeads.com)