[stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character

[Shelley J. Alongi]

Hi Guys, If anyone is up for it I have an exercise for you. I want to see how much of Glen's character is revealed in the first chapter to see if it lines up with who I think he is. If you're up for this, read the first chapter and tell me what you learn about Glen Streicher, physically, emotionally, or anything else you notice about him. I've been workign with him so long I'd like to see what others think.



Flirting with Monday

Book One 

Chapter 1 

I sat with Judy Flower on the planter perpendicular to the railroad tracks, they stretched out silvery in the EARLY AFTERNOON, empty, nothing in sight. Then I spied the lights of an approaching freight, it flew through the station, the sound surrounding us, the long rectangular cars sliding past, squeaking, groaning, clattering, gliding along the rails effortlessly. There was Fred, the lights winked, flirting with me. The freight clattered off into the distance and it suddenly grew quiet, I moved next to Judy. She sat silently. I reached out with both hands, grasped her slender one, held it in mine, curled her hand into my palm, lay my fingers across it. 

 

"Judy," I whispered. "Look at me."

 

There was something about a train that could melt my defenses, if only one layer at a time. I held her hand as if it might be a lifeline. 

 

"Judy," I said, her eyes fastened to mine, "I was hurt a long time ago. Twenty years ago, before I was hired to work for the railroads. A girl; we were going to get married; I showed up at the wedding, she wasn't there. The day after that I got my letter saying I was hired by the Union Pacific and I left and never saw her again. Never." 

 

I stopped. I couldn't say anymore. She laid her left hand across my cold, clammy hands and rested them on her lap. Her hand caressed a long, ragged cut along the top of my left hand. 

 

"Hush, Glen," she said patiently. "Just hush. No more."

 

"After all this time," I whispered through the starting of my tears, "after telling me I can't face this now you don't want to hear it?" 

 

 I didn't want to tell her any more of the story. The layers I had cocooned it in had been ripped away, the wounds fresh and stinging. The rest of the story was so painful, it made me sick to my stomach. Even mentioning Elizabeth caused cold sweat to pop out on my forehead.

 

"It isn't that I don't want to hear it," she explained quietly as my tears started to fall. "It's that you can't tell me the rest right now. I want you to face this I don't want to break your heart. But you have to face it, Glen. I'll help you. You know that."" 

 

She caressed my hand, she laid it on my knee, her warm fingers tracing down my wrist, outlining my nails. She twisted the simple gold class ring on my finger, the symbol of the one thing we had done together before we knew it.

 

We watched another train approach. I caught my breath in great, heaving sobs. Gently removing Judy's hands from mine, covering my face, I leaned forward, choking on painful tears, unable to stop them. They were drowned out by the engine and the noise of the cars. 

 

Judy moved close to me, leaning her head on my arm, cuddling up like a comforting presence, saying nothing. The last of the train swept by, engines behind it pushing the cars forward, and then all grew quiet. I eased my hands away from my eyes and pulled Judy close to me, holding her almost desperately, my tears dripping onto her shoulder, my head resting there. I kissed her.

 

"I'm sorry," I choked. "You are right. I have to face this. I can't lose you." I couldn't speak anymore. Moments passed.

 

"There's a green light," she told me. "I can see another train." Judy kissed my cheek, tasted my salty tears, sat their quietly.  

 

"Glen," she soothed, "Just remember I'm not going to leave you. You came back to me. You want to do this. I promise you I'm here now." She turned her head and looked into my blue, streaming eyes, wresting my attention. "Sweet Glen, after all this time, do you finally believe me?" 

 

Her face questioned me, I touched her cheek with my fingers and nodded. 

 

"You're sure?" 

 

"I'm sure," I whispered. "Finally." 

 

"glen," she said gently, "I love you. I loved you the moment I saw your face in that window, the moment you waved at us through that window, and I waved back and then I came and said hello and you smiled and said hello back. I'll take you with all your baggage. I've been around long enough to know that all of us have baggage."

 

Judy laid a cool hand across my hot cheek, gently eased the tears away. She laid her head against my neck. I was glad when the third train came through, blazing past us in a roaring spasm of sound and wind. The wind blew Judy's golden curly hair across her face. I lifted my left hand to touch it. My fingers caressed her hair, soft and staticky, the sensation sending electricity through me. Quickly, I dropped my hand. 

 

We sat quietly as the train moved away from the station. The horn at the next intersection came to us, haunting and comforting and healing and disturbing. My tears kept falling. Judy looked off into the distance. She sat back against me, her body giving me strength for my painful journey. This had been a long time coming and now she focused her full attention on me, the trains and the afternoon breeze forgotten. Moments passed and she turned, easing herself off my knees, taking my left hand, holding it quietly, rubbing my wrist. I sat there meekly, spent, knowing Judy was right. It was time. It was time to rip away the last of the defenses and get on with my life. Judy had been patiently waiting. 

 

"What was her name?" she asked quietly, reaching out to touch me, giving me permission not to answer the question. She put her head on my chest, looking up at me. Her look made me want to at least tell her part of the story.

 

"Her name was Elizabeth Handling and we were very young. I met her in Astoria where I grew up, right out of high school." 

 

Judy reached into her red shoulder bag and pulled out some tissue. She gently wiped my face, the hot skin cooling under her fingers. I slid my fingers under Judy's  cheek, turning her face so that her lively green eyes looked straight into my red, swollen ones.   

 

"I want counseling," I now said, "I'm ready. You shouldn't have to hear all of it. I think I just need to see a psychologist. We should find one so you're not burdened with all of it. I want us to start fresh."

 

"Okay," she said, still looking at me, "if that makes you comfortable. I'm your friend, Glen. I'll help you. I won't leave you. Do you understand that?" 

 

I nodded.

 

"Dr. Lee Meadows," she said, "on your early morning run. He's a psychologist. And he's a nice man, too, Glenn. Maybe he can help find someone."

 

I had to laugh and smile just a little. My Judy Flower, she knew everyone on all my trains.  

 

"I'll call him," I said, sitting back, relaxing, "I promise." 

 

We sat there for another twenty minutes. On a Sunday, train traffic was lighter. The sun peeped through the overcast sky on that Sunday, I sat there, finally easing my hand through Judy's. I felt easier, if exhausted. Even if I didn't want to tell her all the story today, I knew the hardest part had been done. The wall I had constructed around my heart had slowly over the last two years been breeched. Over the last week during our painful separation a giant section had been knocked down. I sighed, Judy leaned against me and rubbed my shoulders. 

 

 "I love you," she said. 

 

We stood up, stretching, I gathered Judy to me, holding her quietly. Her heart beat strongly against my Union Pacific shirt. I patted Judy's shoulder and stepped away from her, just looking into her calm, accepting face. 

 

"How many times have you proved it to me?" I asked. "How many times." 

 

"I'll always keep proving it to you Glen if you'll let me. We're going to be okay. Now," she rubbed my hands "shall we go home? Do you want me to drive?" 

 

I looked at my watch. How quickly the time had flown. Tomorrow we had to start another week. But it would be a much better week than the last one. 

 

"I'll drive," I said. "I'm okay. Finally I am. My train gets off to an early start in the morning." 

"Yes, I know," she held my gaze. "And I'll be on it. Right behind you."

We kissed quietly there by the railroad tracks. Judy put her hand through mine like a child and smiled. I took her other free hand and kissed it, my lips curled about her fingers.

 

"You're quite a girl," I marveled. "Quite a girl." 

Shelley J. Alongi 
Home Office: (714)869-3207
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To read essays on my journey through the Chatsworth train accident, Metrolink 111 or other interests click on http://www.storymania.com/cgibin/sm2/smshowauthorbox.cgi?page=&author=AlongiSJ&alpha=A

updated July 2, 2009