fly on the windshield

名称：fly on the windshield
内容简介：
By Angela L. Fox
Art by Gary R. Phillips

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Stop.INTRO
He’s sitting on the outside of the windshield when I get into the minivan. Just another housefly. A pest.

I slam my door, a little harder than usual.

He doesn’t move.

Hmmm.

As Mom buckles herself into the driver’s seat, she lowers one eyebrow in my direction. I understand the glare. That’s the don’t-slam-the-door glare.

“Sorry,” I say. This is going to be a rough day. First, the glare. Later on, my math test.

Mom starts the engine.

The fly doesn’t move.

Mom starts driving.

The fly still doesn’t move.

Mom drives faster.

Is this fly dead? Are his nasty little feet stuck to the windshield in a death grip?

Hmmm.

Nope. I see him pull both wings closer to his body and hunker down. For being just a winged germ factory, this little guy is showing some impressive determination. Perhaps I’m judging him too harshly.

My school is far away. We’re talking miles, a few at least. Will fly-guy be able to endure?

He repositions his teeny fly feet to get a better grip on the windshield. He shuffles his wings, pulls them tightly together, and leans into the wind.

The wind blows him to the right.

Fly-guy holds on.

The wind blows him to the left.

Fly-guy doesn’t budge!

The wind flattens him against the glass. His crooked buggy legs stretch out completely straight.

He presses his little fly face against the windshield and refuses to be blown away.

Go, fly-guy, go! You can do it! I know you can! We’re almost there.

(I send him telepathic cheers of support.) Only one more block to go, and fly-guy is hanging in there.

Hey, I feel great! I can take on anything, too! If one teeny-weeny, eensy-weensy fly can ride a minivan for this long, well, I can pass my math test.

Go, fly-guy, go!

Mom stops the van in front of the school.

My hero, the fly-guy, made it! It’s like he rode a whale through the ocean in some sort of Olympic competition. Fly-guy is the gold-medal winner!

I hear the click of the switch before I see the motion of the windshield wiper.

“Nooooooo!!!”

Mom flicks fly-guy right off the windshield. Now it’s my turn to glare. Our eyes meet, and in an instant she understands what she has done.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t know,” Mom says.

I don’t know what to say. I can see she’s really sorry, but what about fly-guy?

“Look!” Mom points at the windshield.

Fly-guy is back! I know it’s him. I recognize the triumphant look on his minuscule fly face. Yay!!!

I carefully get out of the van. Putting my head back in through the open window, I look at Mom and whisper, “Let me know if he makes it all the way home.”

She nods her head once and drives slowly away.