Did You Declare the Corpse? by Patricia Sprinkle

the arts center you all might be interested in, and she offered to show me around. During the tour, we got to talking about what a good place the old sanctuary would be for plays, and I mentioned that I’m a writer. On a whim, I said I’d love to write a play about the history of the area. Next thing I knew, she was saying, ‘See what you can do, and send it along. If I like it, we’ll put it on.’ ”

    “And she did like it”—from experience with one writer I know, I knew Joyce could go on for ages if I didn’t cut her short—“so they’re putting it on for us.”

    She nodded, her face bright. “And if it works, they’ll perform it all summer.”

    “That’s great! I’ll let you get on with what you’re doing, then.”

    I returned to my seat and fumbled in my carry-on bag for my book, but before I got it open, shouts erupted in the back of the plane.

     
    Terrorists!

    My first thought was echoed in screams and squeals as others struggled awake.

    A bevy of flight attendants hurried toward the disturbance.

    A few men rose halfway from their seats, ready to go if needed, but hoping their day for being heroes had not yet come. I honored them for being willing.

    One of the flight attendants hurried back toward the front of the plane and a soothing voice spoke over the intercom. “There is no cause for alarm. Everything is under control. But please remain in your seats. The captain has illuminated the seat-belt sign.”

    She lied. Shouts and yells still came from the back of the plane.

    However, just then one of the voices slurred, “Y’all git away, now. This is jist ’tween her ’n’ me.” That particular terrorist spoke like a drunk South Georgian. I’m used to those, so I slid toward the aisle and craned my neck to look without making my head too much of a target.

    Kenny and Sherry stood in the aisle gripping one another by the forearms. I couldn’t tell who was shaking whom, but in the dimness I saw her hair slinging back and forth like a dark string mop.

    Two flight attendants sought to separate them, but Kenny elbowed them away. “Git y’r hands off me! We kin settle this if I kin just make her see reason.”

    “Shut up and sit down, you lush!” Sherry jerked one hand free and slapped him hard.

    “I’m not puttin’ up with any more!” His shove sent her staggering back several steps.

    She rushed him, but her attack ended in a shriek as he grabbed her hair and yanked.

    Again the flight attendants waded into the fray. Again the combatants shook them off.

    I have settled a few domestic disputes in my time, so I was fixing to head back there when I saw Joyce heading their way. “Stop!” she commanded.

    “It’s okay.” Sherry stopped fighting and stood in the aisle panting. “Kenny just got a little out of hand. He’s going to be fine, now, aren’t you?” She glared at him.

    Kenny glared back at her, breathing heavily. “I’ll be fine if you’ll agree to—”

    “Don’t you start that again,” she warned, reaching for his arm.

    He shoved her hard, and she fell across the armrest into her seat, where she swore at him as she struggled to get up.

    When he raised a fist, I ignored the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign and went for real help.

    Even first class had heard something going on back in steerage. Jim stood in the aisle peering through the curtain. “Please come,” I told him. “Kenny is drunk and creating a scene.” He shut his computer and followed me to the back.

    “Hey, Ken.” He grabbed Kenny by one shoulder. Kenny lunged like an angry bull, but Jim was bigger, and sober. He held Kenny without any trouble. “Calm down, now. Let’s sit down and talk this over.” He looked over the seats and spotted a vacant row in the middle a few rows back. He raised one eyebrow at a flight attendant. “Those seats available?”

    She nodded, obviously relieved to have somebody else take charge.

    “He doesn’t need to leave. He’s going to be fine!”