Did I Hear That Right?

By Kait Carson

I have a mug that reads, “Careful or you’ll end up in my novel”. I have another that reads “Writer’s Block when your imaginary friends won’t talk to you”, but that’s another blog.

Writers don’t have to look far for inspiration. It’s all around us. All we have to do is listen. Case in point. I was in the waiting room of a doctor’s office when the receptionist asked the man at the counter if the doctor could discuss his medical issues with his wife. He agreed. The receptionist spun her computer screen to face him and asked him to confirm the phone number. His response: “Oh, my God, no. That’s her private family only line at the FBI. She’s an undercover agent.” He scribbled something on a sticky note, presumably the correct phone number, while my mind churned with

possibilities. Family only line. Is there such a thing? Is someone tasked with answering it twenty-four seven? What happens if no one answers? What happens if someone uses the number to draw the agent out? And most important, is her extended warranty still in effect? Okay, maybe not that one. This little snippet of chat appeals to my off-kilter sense of humor and will probably show up in a noir short story.

Then there was the Chinese Restaurant story. I live near a small university town. My husband and I were out to lunch one day at the local Chinese Restaurant. The group at the table next to us were wrapping up their meal when the server brought the bill and fortune cookies. The woman broke open her cookie, read her fortune, and slammed her hand on the cookie halves, crushing them to bits. “That’s it. I’ve had it. I have a Ph.D. and I speak three languages. Why is it that every time I get a fortune in this restaurant, they want me to learn Chinese.” She pushed herself away from the table hard enough to topple the chair. Her companion grabbed the paper, turned it over, and showed her the fortune on the reverse side. The woman blushed while the server righted her chair. I can’t imagine what triggered her extreme reaction. I haven’t used this incident yet, but I will. It’s too good to ignore.

I’ve long wanted to try my hand at a psychological thriller. If you are a subscriber to my newsletter, this story will be familiar to you. A few years ago, I found a letter in my mailbox. No sender name, but both the return address and the postmark were a small town in Oregon. Had it been an email, I would have deleted it unread. But this was a letter. Handwritten, not typed.

Covid was just ramping up. We knew so little about how it spread, but physical contact was high on the list. I considered sending the letter through the microwave, but memories of post 9/11 anthrax mail sprang to mind. Some things vaporize when heated. That may seem paranoid., but I had a long career as an estates and trusts litigation paralegal. Nothing says I hate you like a disinherited beneficiary and we’d recently won a case against a west coast based plaintiff. I put the letter aside, but curiosity won. I opened it.

Turned out the letter was from a boy I’d dated once in 1968. He was in the army and stationed state-side. I was in high school. The day after our date, flowers began arriving. One dozen long-stemmed roses. Every day. For two weeks. To this day, the scent of Joy perfume turns my stomach. Then the marriage proposals began. Every day. Hallmark cards professing undying love. Then silence. Until 2020.

The letter reiterated his undying love. He said he found me through Facebook, but my Facebook presence is as Kait Carson. That’s a pen name. If you look hard enough, I suppose you can find my married name—but not my maiden name, the name he knew me by. Then there was the address – I’ve moved quite a lot since 1968. The only avenue I could think of where all the information was available was through one of those paid background checks. I don’t know what would possess a rational person to spend time and money tracking someone they met once—over fifty years before. Rational. That’s the keyword. But then, had his past actions been rational? I think not. I’m filling a notebook with scenes while I wait for the other shoe to drop. When life hands you inspiration, it’s downright rude to ignore it.