Glass Panes

an excerpt

The fly droning on and on against the opposite window begins to thwap itself into the clear pane. It sees where it needs to be on the other side of the glass, but is trapped with its own unrelenting thoughts here, in the living room, with me.

Where the empathy for buzzing flies has come from, I don't know, but lately I open doors for them like a butler and release them back into nature like a wildlife rehabilitator.

I flap my arms around this one, and open the back door at an opportune moment. Within seconds, a black shape darts outside and glides off into the fading day like the ending of an old Western movie my grandfather would watch. It gnaws at me that this fly understands where it belongs now that it knows where it doesn't.

I close the door gently, leaning against the wall to peer out at the dusk gathering around the house. Soft rosy colours have started to powder the sky, and liquid gold is lining some of the clouds. I exhale the air held in my belly, and wish that I hadn't agreed to a several-weeks-long stay here in my hometown.

I go to grab a light jacket, but the weather has been so hot and humid lately, I end up leaving it where it hangs.

"Hey, Ma!" I call down the hall. "Heading out for a walk!"

"It's getting late, Nat!" Mom shouts back. "You shouldn't be out in the dark on your own."