The Northville Review
an online literary journal
She Told Me I Needed to Circulate

D. J. Morris

She told me I needed to circulate. I told her to piss off. Well, no, I didn’t tell her that. I wanted to tell her that. I strenuously thought it. I sent it out into the greater realm of intention and possibilities. But what I said was “Okay.”

She’s my boss. I need the job. And I was raised to not be impolite, regardless of any rudeness imposed upon me. Otherwise, in my dreams I will see my mother’s consternation and hear my father’s lecturing disapproval.

That, and a self-inflicted need to say a thousand Hail Marys. And then an additional thousand Hail Marys for resenting the first thousand. And then, of course, I will remember in the middle of the night that I don’t go to church anymore and that no number of Hail Marys is going to save me. So I’ll have to get up, have a drink – alcohol or warm milk, and watch sitcoms from two decades ago.

So I kept my words polite and my thoughts to myself. Why did I perceive such an affront? I think it was the presumption that I wouldn’t circulate without being told. Do I appear shy? Timorous? Unsure of myself? Reluctant with others? Or, do I appear to need to be put in my place?

Plus, she’s younger than me. The bitch.

About the author

D.J. Morris has played many roles in life, often simultaneously – rugby player, late night file clerk at the Patent and Trademark Office, typesetter of Chinese menus, hiker, lover of Ethiopian restaurants and honey wine, stalker of foreign trinket shops, government attorney, Caribbean snorkler, special education teacher, microloan provider through Kiva, college instructor, nouveau geo cacher, spouse, and parent - but has been playing the role of writer since second grade. D.J. has been or will be published in Shoots and Vines, Calliope Nerve, joyful!, BURST, and The Houston Literary Review.