I’d noticed the fly buzzing around as we sat in the living room, my wife and I, watching some show on Netflix that I thought was stupid and boring at first, but is actually starting to grow on me. I had just finished eating the fettuccine alfredo pasta with grilled chicken that my wife had cooked, and didn’t much feel like chasing down a fly, or doing much of anything else for that matter. An hour or so went by and I had forgotten about the minuscule nuisance that was living rent free in my apartment, but as I walked down the hall to the restroom, I saw the little black dot on the wall out of the corner of my eye, and knew this was my chance to end the madness. I looked around me, shifting my eyes rather than my head, not wanting to risk scaring the fly away from its perch, looking for something, anything I might use to end the life of this creature. The closest object I could see was the latest issue of Sports Illustrated lying on our dining room table about ten steps away.
I crept back down the hallway, my movements as slow and precise as possible, making as little noise as I could not to scare the fly. I reached the table and picked up the magazine, and quietly walked back, stopping just to the right of my target. I considered rolling up the magazine, to use it as a bat, but thought that if I left it flat I would have a better chance of making contact with the elusive insect, plus it would make me immensely happy to have a dead fly splattered across Kevin Durant’s face. I raised my arm slowly, then when I felt the moment was right, I hit the wall with such force that it caused my dogs to commence one of their barking fits. I somehow missed the fly, but the vibrations of my hit against the wall caused it to fall, hitting me on the nose before flying away unharmed.
My wife called out from the living room that it had flown into the kitchen, so I stealthily stepped onto the linoleum floor and scanned the area, looking for it. I was never really good at those I Spy or Where’s Waldo books as a child, finding it difficult and frustrating searching for a single object among many others, so in my cluttered kitchen, I didn’t have any luck spotting the fly. I stood still for a few minutes, waiting for the insect to make its whereabouts known, but it did not, so finally I gave up, concluding that I would eventually see it again and get my revenge. The night passed without another trace of finding it, and this morning before work there was still no sign of the fly. I’d hoped maybe it had flown out the door at some point, maybe when the dogs went out to use the bathroom, or when me or my wife left for work, but when I returned home just a few minutes ago, there it was waiting for me at the door, like a housewife from the old television shows, ready to greet me after a long day. I went for the magazine but when I turned around it was gone again. Maybe tonight will be the night that this insect’s life comes to an end, but in all honesty, I’m not too confident in my ability to make that happen.