Fever Dream

by Samanta Schweblin

I call it the “rescue distance”: that’s what I’ve named the variable distance separating me from my daughter, and I spend half the day calculating it, though I always risk more than I should.

I’m just tired, that’s what I tell myself, and sometimes I’m afraid when I think that everyday problems might be a little more terrible for me than for other people.

She’s sleeping in the house, soundly. But I can’t sleep, not the first night. Before all else, I have to know what is around the house. Whether there are dogs, and if they’re friendly, whether there are ditches, and how deep they are. Whether there are poisonous insects, snakes. I need to get out in front of anything that could happen, but everything is very dark and my eyes never get used to the darkness. I think I once had a very different idea of the night.

The important thing already happened. What follows are only consequences. Why does the story keep going, then? Because you still haven’t realized. You still need to understand.