The Fruit Fly's Answer

Can nature inspire us? Of course, though it’s not all about postcard-pretty landscapes.
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This is a deeply personal story I’ve decided to share about an unusual natural encounter – and it also happens to be the Preface for my newly released novella, “I” For Immortality.

I began “I” For Immortality in late 2019.
 
The idea was a hesitant, secretive creature. I would pick it up for a short stint then had to put it down again for several months, not knowing what, if anything, might come of it. I hoped it might turn out to be a short story in two parts, but while I turned my head away, it delved its roots into new places, too deep for me to follow at first.
 
At its inception, I was going through a kind of stress that threatened to swallow me whole. What happened to me then probably influenced the direction of this story, although of course, it is always difficult to pin down these unconscious workings, since ideas, like cats, are not to be commanded.
 
We had just been given notice on our home of nearly twenty years. Our landlady had let us stay in her flat at a lower-than-market rent all that time, because she was enormously kind and realised we could pay no more. With my husband out of work with a long-term illness, we had got by on my wage alone – but we were now facing a situation where we could barely afford to live.
 
I was in the office, trying to keep it together, and that’s really how it was: holding the edges of myself rigid against the chaos inside. It’s weird how emotions can seem to reach beyond the confines of the body. Fear spreads like an ink blot, so it’s no longer clear where your being ends and the rest of the world begins.
 
Not knowing what to do with myself, I hid in the toilets.
 
I sat down on the seat lid and stared at the back of the door.
 
A tiny fruit fly landed on my finger. I was glad of the company, but I had to ask.
 
“Why?” I whispered. “Why?”
 
Like my despair, the question spread so much further than Why is this happening to me? Why does any creature on this Earth keep going, keep striving, when there is never any real security? There is always some need to fulfil; necessities to chase after, difficulties to avoid. Why does it just go on and on? Why do we even try, when we know awful things will happen?
 
The fly said nothing. At least, I thought, I am not hallucinating. Yet. But the fly didn’t move either, so we sat together for a while.
 
Between us hung the air and dust particles; desperation (mine) and incomprehension (from both sides).
 
After a few minutes – which, considering its short life cycle, I couldn’t help but feel was extremely generous – the fly left my finger.
 
Well, if an insect could move on, then I figured I could, too.
 
​Not quite ready to face my desk, I meandered into the shared kitchen. There was no-one else there, so I decided to go through the motions of making a cup of tea that I didn’t really want.
 
A colleague walked in and said, “Hi”. I asked her how she was.
 
I really wanted to know. I wanted to know something, anything, that wasn’t about me or my life. Perhaps she sensed my interest, because she gave me a bit more than the usual Fine, thanks.
 
She began to tell me how she’d been taking care of house plants, as a distraction from mounting stress. She found it soothing to fulfil this simple, nurturing task: to have something to look after besides herself, but nothing too complicated. A pet, she explained, or even a friend who might have their own problems to share, might be too much for her right now. In order to shield herself from situations or people that might be demanding, she had withdrawn a little, but rather than shut herself off completely, she had devoted her spare moments to nursing these simple beings that responded by simply being.
 
There were other things she seemed to be on the cusp of describing. The truth rang between her words as she smiled, sighed and gestured, trying to pick those words like invisible fruit from the air. Clearly, it more than calmed her, to dwell in this sense of gentle stillness that only plants have. It uplifted her, and confirmed she was a part of a massive life force that spread oh so much further than her little human life, which was just a speck in comparison – yet, a welcome speck. A speck that nourished, and was nourished in return by this vast, unnameable energy.
 
And all I could think was: if a fly could answer my question, “Why?”, this would be it.

​If it is true that our minds are connected on some level (I believe it is); if it is true that we are part of nature and nature is part of us (this is scientific fact), then it only takes a few quick-steps of the imagination to suggest that the fly’s mind answered my question through my colleague, and I am only slightly bonkers for saying it.
 
The fly (please, just go with it – I am a storyteller) reminded me that living is the first art. There is more, but often you don’t have to go far to reach it.
 
Life itself is a striving force, but at its core it is simple. It’s beautiful. It persists. It is.
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I lived. I persisted. And by some crazy miracle I bought our flat a few months later. I still carry my gratefulness around with me, with a sort of blurry-edged bafflement.
 
“I” For Immortality is built on strange connections, and not just those of an unusual Exquisite Corpse result.

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“I” For Immortality is out now, available from all good booksellers.
Amazon link here