[stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character

Mon Sep 7 20:30:39 UTC 2009

Personally, I got turned off by the cold, clammy hands.
He seems like a tormented man.  He strikes me as the type who is willing to 
face unpleasantness because he's willing to divulge a secret from his past. 
Not all people would do that.
He's a physical man, he likes to touch.  But why did she put him off just as 
he was about to tell her what he wanted to say?
Now I want to know what mystery his past holds.
Barbara

If wisdom's ways you wisely seek, five things observe with care:  of whom 
you speak, to whom you speak, and how and when and where.

--------------------------------------------------
From: "Shelley J. Alongi" <qobells at roadrunner.com>
Sent: Thursday, September 03, 2009 11:46 PM
To: "NFBnet Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: [stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character

> 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
> **
> NFBWD "Slate and Style" editor
> http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
>
> **
> 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
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