Sam sammed his way through life, samming out of a loving relationship with his dad, samming his studies in school hard, his teachers urging him to sam less for the sake his education, for the sake of others’ concentration levels, but samming was all he knew, samming was the sanctuary, he inhabited his samness like it was his pelt, a layer between the world and Sam, just a sliver, but enough to remain samintact, his mother suggested he sam in his mind, it was something people did the world over, he could sam all he liked there, samming was meant for there, it was called mindsamming, but Sam said no, he was Sam, and he was going to sam like he’d been samming all this time, Sams sammed, it was in their chemical makeup, kept them ticking, his mother didn’t know because she couldn’t sam, she’d lost the ability after her second pregnancy, the moment Sam became Sam, the moment the door slammed and out came Sam, gone, at least sam a little less, she said, at least look at me, Sam, but the problem with samming is the more you sam the more you want to sam, it’s a snowball of sam, it’s a never ending torrent of sam, it’s a samgrandslam.
Jonathan Cardew’s writing appears or is forthcoming in Wigleaf, Cream City Review, Passages North, Superstition Review, JMWW, Smokelong Quarterly, People Holding, and others. He is the fiction editor for Connotation Press and contributing books reviewer for Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine. He’s been a finalist in the Best Small Fictions, the Wigleaf Top 50, the Bath Flash Fiction Award, and he won a travel toothbrush once at a boules competition in northern Brittany. Originally from the UK, he lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.