What follows is one of my entries into the Poem or a Page contest. It's the first page only. Please feel free to send a link to anyone you want to have read it, but please don't take the words from me -- they're all I have *melodramatic sigh* : )
Don’t misunderstand, it’s not like I enjoyed having this happen to me. I guess it’s just some kind of bizarre twist of fate, or maybe a sixth sense that only kicks in when murder is afoot. It’s not like I wanted to find the high school swim coach floating face down in the deep end, any more than I wanted to find the assistant librarian hanging from the rafters in the library attic with a stack of true crime books kicked over beneath her.
It’s just that whenever bodies started floating, swinging or, in this case, dropping, I happened to be there. Bad luck, maybe. But still, worse luck for them than for me. And this time, it was some very poor fortune for Doc Hallacy, the pharmacist.
Doc’s shop, a squat, brick building with a striking orange and blue RX sign above the front door, sat on the corner of Main and First. On a Friday morning, at five minutes to eight, the main thoroughfare of Morrisville was deserted. Most of the stores didn’t open until nine. So unless you needed Doc Hallacy, who opened promptly at eight as he had for more than 40 years, you had no business on Main at that time of day.
I parked my silver Lexus in one of the diagonal spots in front of the pharmacy. The Lexus was one of the toys my ex-husband had purchased before deciding he was too young to settle down, four years into our marriage. But I’d fought for and won the car in my settlement, and I took great pride in abusing it in his stead.
As I climbed out and slammed the door shut, Starbucks Morning Blend slopped over the edge of my travel mug and splattered on the side window, burning my fingers in the process. But the pain was worth it. I grinned, imagining Jeff’s expression of horror, as I watched the coffee trickle down the car door, creating clean streaks. I hadn’t washed the car in more than a year, not since I’d moved home to Morrisville from Chicago.
With a deep sigh of satisfaction, I stepped over the curb and headed to Doc Hallacy’s.
Copyright 2004 Stacey Klemstein
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