Jackie O

            Why did I decide to become a spy?

            She could have been anything she wanted to be. Anything. There were no restrictions. And yet, she decided to become a spy. At first, she had to admit, it sounded like a world of excitement. Intrigue. Danger. But then she quickly realized it wasn’t like the movies. Sure, she got to engage with some of the most powerful and famous people in the world, but most of the time it was merely fancy dinner parties, or dreadfully boring ceremonies, both occupied by phonies. Phonies like her. She learned that a typical spy’s career consisted of just one major assignment. And that was it. One and done. Some assignments took days. Others months. She had been working on her's for years. And now she had been given the order to bring it to an end. Everything she had been working for would be achieved within the next minute.

            He doesn’t have the slightest idea.

            She sits in the limousine as it takes a right on Houston, around Dealey Plaza, before swinging a left on Elm. She smiles her beautiful smile. She waves her tiny hand. She thinks about the man sitting to her right. She tries to make sense of what is about to happen. She tries to justify what she is about to do.

            He did sleep with that slut, Marilyn.

            Even if their marriage was a sham. Even if she never really loved him. She convinces herself that adultery is reason enough. Even if they did create life together. The first sound of gunfire comes from behind. Loud cracks from the book depository. Blanks. Decoys. She shoves the syringe into her husband’s gut and releases the poison. His upper body goes limp. The next sound of gunfire comes from the side. Loud cracks from the grassy knoll. More blanks. More decoys. Governor Connally hands her the pistol. She raises the barrel to her husband’s head. She raises it like she’s practiced a thousand times before. She whispers in her husband’s ear: “I’m sorry, my love.” She pulls the trigger.

            Oh my God! I did it! I assassinated the President of the United States!

            She throws the gun out of the car. She throws it into the hands of a secret service agent. Another spy. She jumps onto the trunk of the car. She grabs chunks of grey matter. Brain. She grabs shards of white bone. Skull. She makes certain that no bullet fragments are left behind as evidence. She screams: “They’ve killed my husband! They’ve killed my husband!” She cries. Hysterically. She plays it perfectly. Nobody suspects a thing.

            I should have been an actress.