[stylist] Flirting with Monday Chapter 5

[Barbara Hammel]

I haven't read the chapter yet, but your comment at the beginning caught my 
attention.  Actually if you think a train engineer wouldn't be bothered by 
hitting someone, he's a heartless person.  Killing someone, even 
accidentally, isn't something that one should "just get over".  It may be 
different if you kill an adult but I knew of a truck driver minding his own 
business driving down the highway when a two-year-old ran into the street. 
The driver had to be taken to the hospital for shock.  If it bothered him, 
then he's a good man.  If it didn't, he'll probably end up in prison for 
doing it on purpose next time--or the time after.
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: Monday, September 21, 2009 2:21 AM
To: "NFBnet Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: [stylist] Flirting with Monday Chapter 5

> Just a note on this chapter. If you think a train engineer shouldn't be 
> bothered by hitting someone who deliberately walked out on the tracks or 
> was on the tracks in the first place then you're probably right. But this 
> is based very losely on a train engineer's reaction to such an event a 
> week before he was killed. Admirable.
>
>
>
> Flirting with Monday
>
> Chapter 5
>
>
>
> I never really thought of Judy Flower as someone I'd really want to get to 
> know any better than a commuter on my train till
>
> that day when the train hit the man who had jumped in front of it on the 
> tracks just outside the station. It was true I had talked to her enough, 
> we had coffee in the café with
>
> others and she'd somehow insert herself into my area but it was fine I 
> didn't mind that at all. She was a nice enough girl. But the day we hit 
> the pedestrian
>
> everyone scattered, leaving me alone on the planter, which was what I 
> wanted as I explained earlier. Judy as she showed me so many times later, 
> wouldn't quite go away. When
>
> she asked if she could hug me I realized I trusted her without knowing it; 
> the quiet way she had gained that trust was mysterious, she hadn't pried 
> her way in to my life, she hadn't tried to chase me down, she had only 
> just been a simple acquaintance, a familiar face, but someone I realized I 
> would let enter my personal space, if only one small carefully constructed 
> defense at a time. Judy had the patience to walk through the field of land 
> mines I had constructed around my heart. Somehow for now I was willing to 
> let her past the first layer.
>
>
>
> On that day, after I offered her a ride to work and had asked her to go 
> eat, we sat at a Chinese restaurant near her office and looked at each 
> other.
>
>
>
> "It's kind of strange sitting here," she said, expressing our awkwardness. 
> "Usually we're at the railroad café and there are a few people trying to 
> get their morning fix." Her face lighted up. "Usually I'm one of them. You 
> always look like you've already gotten it together."
>
> "Not always," I admitted. "Morning comes early for a train engineer you 
> know. I need my fix, too."
>
>
>
> "Morning came too early today," she said. I nodded. "Just relax. It's 
> Wednesday and now you've got time to distress."
>
> "I'm off till Monday now," I said. "Personal time. To get over what 
> happened today."
>
> Why were we talking about this? I concentrated on the menu in order to 
> keep from thinking of that deadly impact and the chaos afterward. The 
> reason I had asked her to go eat was so I could get away from those 
> scenes. Judy rested her quiet gaze on me for a moment.
>
>
>
> "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked as I lifted my eyes from 
> a picture of some beef dish with fresh cut vegetables on top.
>
>
>
> "No," I admitted.
>
>
>
> I put the menu down and grimaced. Suddenly my face collapsed like a child 
> about to cry.
>
>
>
> "Glen," she tried to ease my discomfort, "just relax."
>
>
>
> I sat back, sick, thinking of the man's body under the wheels. I breathed 
> in deeply, till the image and the tears passed. She reached forward and 
> put a napkin into my hand.
>
>
>
> "Shall we go?"
>
>
>
> I shook my head no.
>
>
>
> "I'm hungry," I said, once again gaining my composure. "Forgive me."
>
>
>
> "It's okay, Glen." She looked at me sympathetically. "I understand. We'll 
> just relax and take our time and enjoy dinner. I don't have to be over 
> there for a while anyway. I've got time. Just take yours."
>
>
>
> Silence passed between us, the waiter took our orders and then we sat 
> back, easier, quiet, drinking ice tea.
>
>
>
> "Tell me something about you," I said, wanting to get my mind for a moment 
> off the fatality.
>
>
>
> "Something about me?" she said quietly. "Well, I work at that big office 
> building down there." She pointed out the window. I followed her pointing 
> hand with my gaze.
>
>
>
> Suddenly I laughed and smiled. It felt good to smile.
>
>
>
> "I know that. Tell me something else."
>
>
>
> "What do you want to know" she asked, maybe a little bit confused by my 
> question.
>
>
>
> "Anything," I encouraged. "Anything at all."
>
>
>
> "Well," she twisted a napkin in her hands, her mouth grew thoughtful, I 
> like spaghetti with Italian hot sausage."
>
>
>
> "Okay, that's a good one. Me, too. We should have gone for spaghetti."
>
>
>
> "Come to my house some time," she invited, "I'll make some." She saw my 
> face and said. "I have parties on new years Day and I'll invite you to my 
> next one."
>
>
>
> The meal passed in silence. Somehow for now I was comfortable sitting with 
> her just enjoying sweet and Sauer sauce, spicy mustard, the crunch of egg 
> rolls. I don't' know if it was the food or Judy who was more comforting. 
> Even the beef with the vegetables on top was good.
>
>
>
> Judy sat back in her chair, her green eyes taking in all the surroundings. 
> I sat back, trying to relax.
>
>
>
> "thanks for the ride, today." Judy pushed her plate back. "All your 
> passengers need rides to work today."
>
>
>
> "I saw some of them heading for the parking lot," I said. "Some were car 
> pooling."
>
>
>
> "And me?"
>
>
>
> "You were just there," I said, now getting more awkward. "You're getting 
> to be one of my friends."
>
>
>
> She looked at me and smiled into my eyes. "And you're a nice guy. I'm very 
> grateful. It's a good thing I came early. I came there for lunch. I was 
> all caught up at home and the cats threw me out."
>
>
>
> "You have cats?"
>
>
>
> "Two girl cats, Sandy and sparkles."
>
>
>
> "Animals get like that. They can be possessive."
>
>
>
> "You have animals?"
>
>
>
> "yes. Vincent and Magnet. Funny names, but perfect for them.  They're 
> collies."
>
>
>
> "then you know what it's like to be thrown out of the house," she said. 
> "You know."
>
>
>
> "I do know." I curled up within myself and then said what I was thinking. 
> "Judy, I'm glad your cats threw you out of the house."
>
>
>
> "Okay," she said. She reached forward and put her hand lightly on my 
> fingers. I didn't move my hand. She looked at her smart, gold watch. Then 
> she looked
>
> down at her plate.
>
>
>
> "Well," she said. "I've got time to finish this chicken. We should go in 
> about twenty minutes."
>
>
>
> I signaled the waiter for the check. This might have been our first 
> argument. The waiter, a short, stocky man with the white shirt of his 
> starched uniform tucked neatly in and his apron spotlessly clean brought 
> the check on a silver tray. We both reached for it at the same time, our 
> hands both meeting on the tray, neither of us willing to let go.
>
>
>
> "I've got it," she said, her voice carrying a hint of something I 
> remembered from childhood, my mother's authority, stating she had the last 
> word. "It's the least I can do and well," she smiled, and I conceded, put 
> in my place, "you've had a bad enough day already." She saw a tear in my 
> eye. "I'm sorry I didn't' mean it like that, just let me do it, Glen. I 
> promise," she smiled at me, I felt something in my heart melting, if only 
> just a little, "you can pay next time." She knew and I suppose so did I 
> that there would be a next time.
>
> 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 September 13, 2009
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