I Confess

"I did it!" I cried hysterically as I stumbled into the Police Station. The officer at the front desk didn't look up. I stood across from him, tears running down my face, mascara everywhere but on my lashes. 
"Did you hear me?"

He looked up briefly then back down at his paperwork. 
"Can I help you ma'am?"
My heart was slamming against the wall of my chest. "I didn't want to do it, I had to. Actually, I was dared to."

This time he looked up. His eyes scanned my make-up stained blouse.
"Maybe you'd better come back and speak to one of the detectives."

He lifted the door and invited me through a hall to a wide room of cluttered desks. 

"Sit here." He pulled out a chair next to an empty desk. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?"
"A diet Pepsi would be nice."

For a fraction of a second, he looked impatient, then he cleared his throat and smiled.
"Diet Pepsi it is."
He disappeared into what looked to be a break room. I heard him insert coins and there was the sound of a can dropping from a vending machine. He came back, tapped the top of the can with his index finger before snapping it open.

"That's diet Coke."
"What's the difference? We don't have Pepsi. Sorry."
I blinked up in disbelief. "What's the difference?" I squeaked. "Can't you tell?"
"Actually, no."
"That's unfortunate." I shook my head. "It's way different." I huffed a sigh. "Would you happen to have some ice?"

He cleared his throat louder this time. "Sure."
I noticed he had a tic that caused the outer corner of his left eye to twitch rapidly. 

He turned and walked away, rubbing the back of his neck. When he returned, he had the can of Coke in one hand and a green plastic cup in the other. 

I looked at the can and then at the stained green cup. "That's okay, I'll just drink from the can."
"Detective Puglisi!" He called louder than he needed to. "Code eight!"

A large man slowly rose from his desk and lumbered over. He was wearing a rumpled grey suit that looked as if he'd slept in it. 
"Can I help you ma'am?"

I burst into tears and looked up beseechingly. "Must all of you call me ma'am? I have a name. It's Venita."
The desk officer quickly walked away.

"Ok, Venitia, what seems to be the problem?"
"It's Venita."
"Why are you here, Venetta?"
I stared at him. "Just call me ma'am." I took a sip of Coke and made a face. "I hate Coke."

He reached out to take the can. "Would you prefer water?"
I slapped his hand and then gasped. "Oh! I am so sorry!" I clutched the can in both hands. "I prefer diet Pepsi but if this is all you have, it will work."

He sat down at the desk and took out a pen and pad. "What's the reason for your visit today, V-Veh-Vin-, ma'am?"
I took another swig and made a face. I couldn't stop my knee from bouncing.
"I killed someone."

He looked up and studied my face. "You killed someone?"
"Yes, well, I mean, I didn't do it personally. He was much too strong for me."
"So you arranged to murder someone?"
"In a sense, I guess I did." I nodded in resignation. "It was necessary if I wanted to push forward. You know, progress in my craft?"

I dug through my purse looking for a tissue. He snagged a box off the nearest desk and offered me one. 
"Thanks." I wiped my face and blew my nose. "You see, I was told to kill them, kill them all."

Puglisi frowned. "Who told you to kill them?  What craft? Witchcraft? You killed more than one person?"

"No." I dismissed his questions with a wave. "Just the darlings."

Puglisi shook his head. "Let's start at the beginning."
I shifted in my chair, took another sip and made a face. "Let's"

"Who did you arrange to kill?"
"Let's just call him Ed."
"What do you mean, let's call him Ed? Is that his name or not?"

I took in a deep breath and pushed on my knee to stop it from bouncing.

"Yes, that was his name."
"What's his last name?"
I stopped fidgeting for a second and my jaw slacked when I realized.
"I didn't give him one!" I sobbed again.

Puglisi put his notebook back into his jacket pocket. "I don't think you need a detective, you need a doctor."

I tipped the Coke and gulped down the last third. My face must have looked like I had just downed a shot of rotgut. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
"I'm fine."

Puglisi's grimace of confusion was comical but then, I have a bad habit of laughing at exactly the wrong moment. I laughed. 

"How did Ed die?"
"You know, I thought about that for a long time. How would I do it? I decided to have a man commit suicide by jumping out of a 14 story window and fall on him."
"You talked someone into killing themselves?"
"Oh, no. I didn't know him at all. I just had him do it. I figured Ed would quickly end up as a bloodstain on the sidewalk when it was all over but it wasn't quite as simple as that. It had to flow." I rose up in the chair in excitement. "Should the jumper be in a vertical or supine position? I mean it wouldn't be easy to jump out of a window if you're afraid of heights so you might want to go out backwards. Right? Should it be nighttime? Would the jumper break Ed's neck while he was walking by or should it be daytime and I would have him sitting on a bench watching children play in the park across the street?"

Puglisi frowned. "What children? What park?"

"I finally decided to have the jumper dive from the window, do one and a half somersaults in pike position and meet Ed head to head."

I dented the can and tossed it into the wastebasket then burst into tears again. "I've killed before but I never felt like this. I spent so much time with Ed. He was like family. Oh! Why did I kill him?" I buried my face in my hands. 

I felt the detective pat my shoulder. He whispered, "I'm going to take you to the hospital now."
I sat up straight. Stiff as a tombstone. "No, really, I'll be alright." I pulled another tissue out of the box. "It's all Stephen King's fault."

"Stephen King? The author, Stephen King?"
I nodded. "He kills his characters all the time without a second thought. He makes you like them and then he kills them. Women. Men. Children. Dead. Dead. Dead."

I lunged forward to grab two fists full of his lapels and was lucky he didn't draw his gun. 

"Do you know how hard it was for me to kill Ed?"

He plucked my hands from his suit and pushed me back. "Characters? Was Ed a character in a story? Are you a writer?"

I blinked in disbelief. "Well, of course he was. What do you think I have been talking about all this time?"

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Well, you did come to the Police station and you did confess to a murder."

I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder. "Honestly, Detective Puglisi, do I look like a murderer to you? Really? And why doesn't the desk clerk know the difference between diet Coke and diet Pepsi?"

I headed for the front desk. "I don't know if I can trust any type of law enforcement that can't tell the difference between a murderer and a writer or more importantly, the difference between Coke and Pepsi."

The Secrets of True Genius

This morning I read an article written by Oliver Burkeman for, The Guardian. It is an overview of daily routines of history’s most creative minds. I was fascinated by some of the examples he gave, such as Benjamin Franklin spending his mornings naked (an air bath) and that  Agatha Christie didn’t own a desk. Every morning, before getting to work, Søren Kierkegaard poured black coffee over a full cup of sugar and pounded down the sludge that was the consistency of mud.

My love for research and interesting facts led me to buy the book, Daily Rituals, by Mason Currey, the book that Burkeman’s article referred to. I bought it for purely selfish reasons though because I long to know what it is that I need to change, buy, grow, rent, beg for or steal to obtain even the most infinitesimal piece of creativity that was ever so abundant in the history of certain great minds.

I found a few routines that immediately must be ruled out. I have to decline the practice of strategic alcohol abuse that seems to be such a common theme among great writers. I’ve tried but can’t be organized and often refer to my disorganization as ‘comfort clutter’. I’ll never be a morning person and would kill anyone who tried to reform me.

I sort of got hung up on the piece about Patricia Highsmith, the author of, Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley. She was never short of illumination and often boasted that she had ideas like rats had orgasms although I’m not sure she was speaking from knowledge or presumption. She needed a ‘womb of her own’, to be surrounded by cigarettes, ashtrays, matches, coffee, doughnuts and a saucer of sugar to work. Wow, what is it with the sugar? She didn’t seem to be overweight in her photos but I’m seeing some relationship between sugar and inspiration. She only ever ate bacon, eggs and cereal at odd times of the day. She was ill at ease around people. I can relate to that being the introvert that I am. What I couldn’t relate to…at all…was her intense connection with snails. She raised hundreds of snails in her Suffolk garden and once went to a cocktail party with a huge handbag that carried a head of lettuce and a hundred snails. She said they were her companions for the evening. When she moved to France, she had to smuggle her companions over the border by making several trips and hiding six to ten of them under each breast. Heh.

Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t want to have some of the routines I have read about so far but if overindulgence in something is one of the prerequisites, then I do qualify.

I drink gallons of diet Pepsi! It’s embarrassing to admit but it has been going on for quite some time now and if the chemicals they use to produce it are scientifically proven to be unhealthy then at least I’ll know what’s gonna’ take me out. Cans are lined up in the refrigerator right now like little tin soldiers ready for duty. The recycle bin is overflowing and the utility porch is well stocked. If diet Pepsi were ever to become illegal, I could see myself smuggling a can under each breast.

Know what  really scares me? Pepsi announced that they have changed the formula to remove the risk factors. Adding a warning label that the product ‘may cause cancer’, was unthinkable. They won’t be using Asparteme anymore but have assured customers that the taste will remain the same. Poppycock! I just hope this doesn’t affect my writing.