Stranger than Fiction

“I killed a guy once” she said, as I was just getting into my e-book, oblivious at the time that a twenty-something with over-sprayed helmet hair had taken the seat beside me, smacking her gum.  At the time, my mind was buried in the newest Ken Follett book.  Ordinarily, I’m the Chatty Cathy of the family but I had looked forward to the long trip to get through the two enormous books of the latest saga. 

“I’m sorry, you did what?”  I just knew I had heard her wrong.  I mean, who admits that kind of thing? 

“You heard me, I said I killed a guy once.  You’d be amazed what a good conversation starter that is.  Pulled you out of that book you’re reading, didn’t it?” Smacking voraciously, she added  “What’s your name?” 

“I’m not so sure I should tell you?  Were you just trying to get a rise out of me or did you really kill someone?” 

“I’m Scarlett, as in O’Hara.    I’m from Mississippi by way of New Jersey.  I’ve always loved the South, though.  I was dragged up up north as a teen, kicking and screaming but mom’s husband convinced her to move.  Got married to get away from him and ended up moving back back with my mother to get rid of that jerk I was married to.  Then, I got to thinking, ‘now Scarlett, you just need to go down South and find you a gentleman.’ So, I’m coming home for good.  Leaving the past behind.  You ever been married? Oh, never mind. There’s your ring right there, I didn’t see it under that book of yours.  Wha’cha reading?”

I told her a little bit about the book but then started reading again, thinking I’d give her time to start another conversation.  With someone else. 

“So, I guess you want to read that book, huh?  Sorry.  My daddy always called me a jabberwacket.  I guess he was right.  Never could shut my mouth, especially when I was nervous.” 

“Are you?…nervous, I mean? First time on a train, huh?”  Or are you wanted by the police, I thought, but I kept that to myself.  I knew I had invited a torrent of conversation but I realized I had plenty of time to read, and less time left on the battery.   
         
“It’s a long story, but then, I guess we have plenty of time.  You want a piece of gum.  I got plenty.  Here, open up your hand.”  She shook several tiny pieces of multicolored Chicklets into my palm.

I thanked her and presented my hand.  “I haven’t seen these in the stores lately.”

“These are the best, aren’t they?  My daddy sent me a care package for Thanksgiving.  He’s so sweet that way.  Gets this stuff on Amazon, you know, the old candies they don’t make anymore.  Rodney always griped at me for the dumbest things.  Once, he even slapped me in the face out of nowhere just ‘cause I was smacking my gum and he was on the phone with his boss and couldn’t hear over all the noise I was making.  What a mistake he was. But I showed him.  I know it’s a disgusting habit but when I chew gum now, I just think to myself with every smack what a relief it is not to have to worry about where that hand was going, and I don’t just mean slapping my face.”

“Was, I mean, is Rodney your ex?”

“No.  Gross. No, he’s my mother’s husband.  He’s why we had to move up north.  He was my mother’s prince charming; a looker, but what a louse.”  Tried to slip his hand up my skirt one too many times.”

“Is your mom still with him?”

“Married, yes. With him…I’m not exactly sure.  It depends…”

“Depends on what? C’mon, don’t stop now.”  What was I doing?  I have just baited the jabberwacket.  My e-book was calling, but as they say, the truth is stranger than fiction.  I decided to think of this trip as research.  Twelve hours just might give birth to a novel.  So, I baited the hook and threw it in.  Eleven hours to go and counting. 

“Well, it all started with Rodney having to work late and mom had promised she’d have a pie baked so he could impress his boss.  He was forever brown-nosing and it seemed to be working.  His boss had a mean sweet tooth.  Well, mom was running late and I was staying at her house on account of my upcoming divorce.  See, I couldn’t stay under the same roof as my husband, at least, that’s what the restraining order said.  Anyway, mom called me saying she was running late and could I start the pie.  I remembered the recipe for a peanut butter pie so that’s what I made.  I didn’t know, honestly.  I really didn’t.  But anyway, I finished the pie and put whipped cream all over the top.  I taped a note on the cellophane.  It said ‘Here’s your pie, Rodney.  Where’s my raise?”  But who’da thought the boss was, well, allergic.” 

“Uh-oh” I mumbled. I could see where this was going. 

“The next evening, I’m sitting there watching television and there’s a loud bang at the door.  I peeked through the hole.  Two cops.  I opened the door they started asking me about where Rodney was and when would he be home.  He was being questioned for the murder of his boss.  My mouth dropped.  Then he said something about a pie and a peanut allergy.  That's when I knew I was the one responsible.  I should have said something.  I know it was a mistake but I thought, maybe this is the one chance I got to get rid of Rodney.  So I played dumb.  "I'll tell him you came by, officers."  I drawled, just for effect.  They gave me a card and asked me to call when he got home.  I shut the door and before long Rodney got home.  I left with my bags and called the cops from the train station.”

“So, when did all this happen?” 

“A couple of hours ago.”

There was a commotion behind us on the train car.  I turned around to see what was going on.  A flash of blue passed through the door, a man with a gun strapped to his back like in the police shows. He was holding a photo.  “Um, Scarlett, don’t look now, but…”
                             
SWPoet
995 Wds (for
Writer’s Cramp entry only)
12-18-12
1080 words now that contest is over.
         

         
Note: after contest was over, I added 70+ words to fill in some areas I had to cut for the 1000 word limit.