If Only I Had Stopped and Thought Things Through, Dear Roxanne
written by: William Weeks
It’s been lonely here working on my book while my wife has been away caring for her sister in Japan.
My neighbor, who knows the code to get in, had noticed that a large flock of flies had found their way in while I was away at the Santa Barbara Writing Conference.
He called when he couldn’t find the fly swatter. I explained it was on a knob of a drawer in the kitchen, or possibly on a chair in the dining room… well, maybe the living room… but definitely somewhere upstairs.
He did his best with a towel. I dispatched the rest of the horde when I briefly returned to San Pedro during the festival to get ready for an Airbnb guest arriving in a couple of days.
Later that evening, I noticed a fly sitting on the glass of my shower door. It didn’t flinch when I came close. It just sat there. “I’m a fly, this is what I do,” I projected.
I turned off the light and went to bed.
The next day, when I arose and tended to morning ablutions, I noticed the six-legged being still in the exact spot where I had seen it the night before. “Not going anywhere, man,” I conjectured him/her thinking.
Interesting — I had never observed such obstinacy in a dipteran before. I left for the kitchen to secure the elusive fly swatter, but naturally got absorbed in writing a new detail for my book. From there, I left for the gym, shopping, and other life distractions that had me forget all about the grim mission I’d assigned myself earlier.
That evening, I found the fly sitting in the same position. “We can’t go on meeting like this,” I said, to disturbingly little acknowledgement. “At least, while not properly introduced. I’m William, but my friends call me Bill. You?”
“Roxanne,” came a tiny voice. Well, maybe not, but old age, loneliness, and budding dementia can sometimes produce creative answers from insects.
I considered shaking her leg, but felt it may have been hard on her taste buds. Instead, I turned off the light and went to bed. I could not imagine a fly remaining in the same place for so long. Don’t they have to go and liquefy food with enzymes so they can suck it up with their proboscises? Or is it proboscisi?
The next day, I got a LINE call from my wife, Yumiko. It was 3:00 PM in California, 7:00 AM tomorrow in Gotemba, Japan.
“Moshi, moshi,” I answered.
“Konnichiwa, my lovely husband. How is the book coming?”
“Basically done, handsome wife,” I said. “I’m having an audio booth built to do the audiobook recording.” I had been writing about my friend, Miguel Garcia, who was one of the most effective of the early Chicano Civil Rights lawyers. Miguel had passed a few months back.
“Good,” she said. “With a carpenter there, you won’t be so lonely.”
“Oh, I’m not lonely,” I replied. “Roxanne is here.”
There was a long silence.
“Who?”
“Roxanne. She’s been hanging out in the bathroom.”
“How long have you known this Roxanne?”
“We go way back.”
“How far?”
“Since Wednesday.”
“That’s far back?”
“For her it is. She’ll only live 15 to 30 days more, max. I’ve been concerned she hasn’t been flying lately.”
“Did you stop your meds?”
I realized then I probably should have described Roxanne’s beingness more clearly, and that marital infidelity was probably not a major concern for Yumiko at this juncture. I explained the relationship.
“You do know where the fly swatter is?”
After hanging up, I got to thinking. Remaining in the same place for days is unnatural. Maybe Roxanne had been dead all this time. The morbid thought weighed heavily on me.
I got up and warily made my way to the lethal bathroom. Sure enough, Roxanne was still there. She hadn’t batted a compound eye. “Is something wrong? You… don’t look so good.” Well, actually, she looked the same.
I found a piece of tissue and slowly moved it towards her. I intended to gently remove her and give her a proper farewell and burial (or flush her down the toilet). But when only inches away, lo and behold — she took off! It was a miracle. She was alive! Roxanne lived!!
I hurriedly ran to the balcony doors and threw them open so she could escape. That was a mistake. Almost immediately, three brazen flies entered and began buzzing around Yumiko’s house. If only I had stopped and thought things through.
Now I had no choice but to arm myself with the flyswatter.
But wait! What if I got Roxanne?!
I knew I had to get at least one fly out without dispatching it — with the hope it would be her. I shooed, pleaded, cajoled, and bullied. Finally, one flew out the open door and headed off for the wild blue yonder.
“Goodbye,” I yelled, noticing the new Airbnb guest approaching out of the corner of my eye. “I hope you find loads of shit.”
The Airbnb guest stopped, then turned around. “Wait.”
That is a nice wish for a fly. I hope everyone finds…what they need.
- If Only I Had Stopped and Thought Things Through - September 6, 2026
- Damien - June 25, 2026
