Why was it that flies only died on window sills that smelled of wet dust? 

I knew it was a weird thought, but that was the first thing that came to mind when I saw my ex-boyfriend. My arms were folded on the counter as I laid my head down and watched out the storefront glass at the rain streaming down the awnings. Outside I could see Jeremy was waiting for me, and it brought up the weird idea that I had never seen a dead fly. Then I corrected the thought, I had seen plenty of dead flies, but all of them, without exception, were on window sills. Sometimes they were in the tracks of sliding windows too, or caught between the glass and the screen. In the latter case I figured the answer was pretty clear, whoever the cruel master of the window was had just happened to close it without thinking. A transparent prison that the tiny bugs never had the opportunity to comprehend. I almost felt bad for them, but suppressed the sentimental me that would have thought such a thing. Why should I pity a fly? It was still weird though, that they never died over white sheets of paper or on a shelf. I lifted my head enough to peek at the shelf behind me where we kept the bottles of glue and dissolvent. No flies, but I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. 

It was already half past five and the manager was still out making his delivery. I wished he would get back already, but then again the longer he was out the more likely Jeremy would give up and leave me alone. It was annoying, breaking up with somebody. There was nothing to it though, we were simply not a good match for each other. I mean, had he ever realized the mystery of the flies? 

There was a book like that. I remembered we read it in school. I never got too far into it, but I think the bad guy was Beelzebub.  Maybe when most flies die they just end up fading away to meet with the great pig's head in the sky. Or maybe I was just being dumb again, who could tell?

I realized I hated window sills. If someone really thought about it we would just do away with the whole thing altogether. I hated cleaning them, which is when I would inevitably see the deceased flies limp in little patches. In the winter months the dust that builds up on them gets moist and then dries. Decomposed bugs fall apart in the black muck and it forms a really nasty kind of thing to have to deal with. What really gets me is the smell, that awful wet smell that should not come off of something so dry. Maybe it had to do with the corpses of insects that had built up in those paper thin sheets of dust. The store was always dusty like that. 

I rested my head back on one arm while I rubbed a finger over the counter in front of my eyes. A thick, gray, coat of fresh dust covered my finger. My forearms were sprinkled with it too, which really worked on my nerves. After all, I had just cleaned up the day before, even that morning, but still that nonsense ended up happening. No doubt some random model train a codger found in the back had caused this trouble. I got a bit angry at the imaginary old coot that I had dreamt up. Why would he bother wasting his savings on model trains? In five years his grandson was just going to bring it in to sell it for less than half what the oldie had paid. It seemed stupid that old people spent so much money on frivolous things like that, but mostly it irked me that they did it at the store I worked at. The younger kids never bought dusty old models from the fifties. They all wanted the newer stuff we kept pretty in glass cases along a wall that ran the length of the store. Most importantly, there was never any dust. 

Yet there I was, resting my head on a pile of dust that had accumulated because of someone I had never met. Even though I had never said the word before, I decided to attribute my sentiment towards this problem as; loathsome. I looked outside and still saw Jeremy across the street in the cover of the pharmacy’s awning. He was wearing that stupid denim jacket that made him look like a hipster. That, I decided, was also quite loathsome. As a matter of fact, I realized, I found flies loathsome as well. If anyone thought about it they would come to agree with me too. In one aspect flies contributed to the circle of life by eating dead animals and such. That was really it though. There were a ton of critters that eat dead flesh too and most of them had some alternative goal or effect on the environment. Flies? They are born in the morning and die on a window sill at night. Sometimes in between they eat feces or a sandwich left out in the open and end up giving some teenager lyme disease. 

Flies were loathsome creatures, but I was probably more loathsome. Cursing the innocent old and breaking some fools heart. Staring out at Jeremy I found it hard to recall the exact reason I stopped dating him. I was sure it was a good reason at the time, but I got into such awful moods that I just made rash decisions, I knew that. The most loathsome part of the whole thing was that I could actually watch myself acting that utterly ridiculous. I felt bad. Not for breaking up with Jeremy, but for making him put up with me for as long as he did. 

Now, I thought, he’s just mad for me. 

Most girls would feel grateful for that kind of attention. That sort of VIP treatment by a partner that not everyone manages to get. Sitting there though, I had no idea what happened to flies when they died. There were more flies than there were windows, so where did they go? Was this something that most people were aware of? Was I just that dumb? Did Jeremy know? I fought off the gut instinct to get up and ask him. That behavior was simply loathsome. I would just let him stand out there getting that terrible jacket soaking wet. It was pretty bad though, I mean, Jeremy was a good guy. I was lucky to get him. I just got so fed up with him that nothing could be done about it. Jeremy was always the kind of person who tried to cheer someone up if they were feeling down. So, like I said, we were always a wretched pairing. 

I was sure, at least, that I would not be able to come to real terms with our relationship until I figured out the whole thing with the flies. Before I managed to come up with an answer though, the manager's truck slid into one of the parking spots outside. The middle aged rucksack of a man hopped out and ran to the cover of our own awning. A moment later he entered half-soaked. 

“Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Nope.” I sighed, packing my phone into my backpack.

“I saw Jeremy across the street, I thought you guys broke up?”

“I saw him too.” Was all I said. 

The manager seemed pleased enough to not pry further and went back into the office. I waved around the corner to him and stepped out the front door. The rain had gotten a lot worse, and the urban stench was only made stronger by the moisture flooding into the thirsty guts of the sewer. By the time I got tired of the smell Jeremy had already made his way over to me and was standing with about a bathtub's worth of water soaked into the jacket. 

“I came by to pick you up, did you get my text?” I had, but telling him would be worthless. 

“Well, aren’t you generous.” 

“You don’t want a ride?” The poor sap looked genuinely hurt as he said it. I supposed it made sense, he had waited the better part of two hours in the rain. I could say what I wanted about him, but he was not lacking in devotion. I took a deep sigh again, quite tired of thoughts of flies, smells of rain, and motions as ingenuine as sighing. 

“I never said that, where are you parked?” 

We walked down the block mostly in silence. We followed the awnings of the shop fronts, with him walking on the outside and more than once getting drenched even further. He had driven his dads truck, much to my dismay. It was one of those old trucks that people either restore or leave to rot in a field somewhere. A Chevy…seventy…something. I cared more about trains than cars, and I hated trains. I hated his dads truck too because it had an ancient style of suspension and no padding anywhere but the seats. So every time we rode in it I would bump my arm on the ice cold metal door or bang my head on the glass. Looking at it that day I was at least grateful the hunk was water proofed. 

He opened the door for me and I slid my sorry self into the passenger seat. The same interior I was used to, the same boring gear shifter and skeletal steering wheel. When Jeremy hopped in he took his jacket off and tucked it under his seat. The engine roared to life loud enough for the people in the next county to hear and we sped off down the street and onto the highway. I lived with my mother in the next city over, and usually commuted by public transport whenever Jeremy was unable to give me a ride. This, I knew, was a very good circumstance for Jeremy to re-install himself in my life to some benevolent capacity. He may have had bad fashion, but he was a high level schemer. 

As I laughed to myself I noticed something on the floor. 

“Holy crap.” I blurted out, breaking the intolerably awkward silence that pervaded the cabin since we set off. 

“What is it?” Jeremy asked, looking over worriedly. 

I laughed and pulled a loose receipt from my pocket, slipped it up under the object, and lifted it to where both he and I could get a better look. He stared expressionless as I nearly keeled over in laughter. 

“I present Lord Beelzebub, king of the flies!” The small corpse was soaking wet and motionless. I laughed too hard and dropped it on the seat. Noticing his slight annoyance at the bug body I picked it up and chucked the package, receipt and all, out the window. 

“Is that some new joke I don’t get?” He chuckled awkwardly as he returned his attention to the road ahead of us. 

His way of not getting the hint really annoyed me, but that was just one of those things that a person puts up with. I decided, right there, that breaking up with him was too much of a pain in the neck. I hated his guts, and really thought he was too nice, too much of a goody two shoes, and just a helpful and understanding person. All of that pissed me off. I knew it made no sense, and that I was being unreasonable, but being unreasonable was one of the things that made him fall in love with me. I guess he was that kind of a pervert, or maybe just caring?           

All I really knew, sitting there in the truck with him as the rain came down and swelled everything with perspiration, was that I hated flies. They were simply loathsome things, and I hated Jeremy too, and his jacket. I also hated how discourteous I could be though, and how I always acted opposite to how I felt. Or felt opposite to how I thought, or vice versa. At the end of the day I hated myself. I hated that me who was spiteful, who tarried on thinking about flies and dust instead of confronting herself. I hated how patient Jeremy was with that awful girl, because I knew he would wait for her to finally admit the thing that annoyed her the most. Even though she had no clue where flies went when they died, or why most of them ended up on windowsills, she could not avoid the facts. That girl was in love with him.