[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7

[Shelley J. Alongi]

Chapter 7 

 

I climbed down the eight foot ladder from the locomotive, glad to have a three hour break. My head pounded, my eyes ached, my nose and teeth and jaw surrounded by what felt like a thousand bolts of pain. 

 

"hey you," a cheerful voice piped up beside me. Right then I thought it was my angel from heaven. But I shied away a bit like Vincent in a sulky mood. 

 

"What's the matter?" 

 

She caught up with me, the subtle fragrance of flowers surrounding her. I headed relentlessly toward the station. Judy kept pace beside me, not saying anything. I pushed open the station door. The lights flickered. The simple murmur of human voices crashed against my throbbing head in painful waves. I found the nearest bench and dropped onto it in relief. Judy joined me. I put my hands over my eyes.

 

"Glenn," she said with concern. "You don't look very well at all." 

 

She put her hand on my shoulder. I didn't have the strength to push her away.

 

"Let's tell John your conductor you're not finishing the route," she said matter-of-factly.

 

"No." I insisted. "I have a break. I can sleep for a while. I'll feel better." 

 

"You're not finishing your route," she insisted as if I were five years old and she was my mother. My shoulders sagged, I buried my face deeper in my hands. Judy rubbed my shoulder. 

 

"What's wrong," she asked now, backing off, somehow knowing she was invading some unspoken personal space.

 

"headache," I said. 

 

"You have more than a headache. You look sick and pale and exhausted and troubled. You just look miserable. I'm driving you to the doctor. Where's your insurance card?"

 

"You have to go to work," I insisted weakly, knowing she was right about all of it.

 

"no," she said reassuringly, "Not today. I came down here for lunch and I saw your train get in so I came out to meet you. I've got time." Her explanation halted any of my other excuses. "Come on, Glenn," she said gently. "You're not fit to finish that shift. You're not concentrating. Your eyes are red. Don't endanger yourself or anyone else. Come on, Glenn," she said as if coaxing a child to do the right thing, "where's your conductor. We'll tell him you're not finishing your route." 

 

I don't know that I could have stopped Judy from driving me to the doctor in my own car, and then driving me back home and settling me on my own couch with a blanket and pillow. She was a source of comfort that day, even if I didn't want to admit it. We waited at the urgent care for a long time and then they told me I had acute sinusitis and sent me home with medication and told me to drink plenty of fluids and inhale steam and rest and call out of work. I wasn't going to be much interested in that for a while said the overly cheerful doctor as he looked at my x-rays. 

 

I remember Judy covering me and removing my shoes, caressing my head. I couldn't quite push her away though I wanted to. Closing my eyes helped the headache and the medicine was starting to put me to sleep. Judy knelt beside me for a long time as if invoking some kind of prayer. I curled up only glad not to be confirming signals with John. There hadn't really been any question about me not finishing the shift. I'm not even sure how I got through the first part of it. The headache wasn't so bad in the morning, but by the time we got to the middle of the route pain had exploded behind my right eye, making its way down through my cheek and jaw, slowly, insidiously robbing me of my strength. Now, hours later, under the first dose of medication and the first steam treatment, my discomfort was easing. I just wanted to sleep. 

I turned my head to look at Judy.

 

"Thank you," I said wearily.



"you're welcome," she said, her fingers cool on mine. "I will leave you to yourself. I'm going to walk to the bus stop," she said and go back to the station. I'll call you tomorrow," she squeezed my hand, I turned away, easing my distressed head. She rubbed my shoulder and made her way quietly out of my house. I didn't want her to come back, and at the same time I didn't want her to go away. She had probably saved my life and many others. I shuddered to think of it.  

 

 I awoke to feel something warm on my face. I was in my bed. I must have gotten up in the middle of the afternoon and gone to bed. I felt a little bit better, my head didn't hurt so much, I could breathe. I coughed a little, I could taste the post nasal drip in the back of my throat. It was better than the awful pounding fury of a headache keeping the rhythm of a freight train moving along at high speed. The thing on my face whimpered, it was warm. I reached out a hand and felt a head, a pair of ears. Vincent. Vincent my year old puppy had crawled up on my pillow. I didn't usually let him do that, but I didn't move to push the puppy away. I would just have to deal with it all later. Vincent whimpered. 

 

"Hi," I said, groggy from medicine and sleep. I rested my hand on the dog's sleek wiry smooth fur. The warm bundle breathed under my hand, his tongue flicked out and he licked me under my right eye. I laughed a little and shifted under my blanket. I still couldn't quite contemplate getting out of bed. But nature called and so I moved quietly to leave the comfort zone, surprised that my head did not protest as I stood to my six foot two inch height and stretched. Vincent jumped down on the floor and pranced about. Something about Vincent always had a way of lifting my spirits. I don't know what it was; maybe he was just always happy. I did my business and decided to explore things. The house lay sleeping, the curtains slightly open to a quiet, gentle day. I looked up at a train clock on the wall between my living room and dining room. The time flashed 3:30 pm. I looked out the window, to the small expanse of yard I hardly had time to cultivate. Working fifty-plus hours didn't leave much time for gardening. In my little town in Oregon I had at least had a garden of some sort but here there was hardly time for that. I coughed and remembered why I wasn't at work today. Thank God I could draw sick pay. I sat back in my chair, watching the ceiling fan blades whir, the air cooling my face. My bare feet felt the cool tile, I stretched. The dull pain that had wakened me in the morning warned me of the impending headache and I sighed. I found the medicine on the dining table. I swallowed it with some water and sat back, waiting for relief. The refrigerator motor whirred into life, the clock ticked on the mantle, Vincent's paws pattered gently as he came in the kitchen to find me. I leaned my head on my hands, rubbing at my eyes, not really willing to get up and go to bed, comfortable here, existing in a fog. If I sat still my head wouldn't protest so much so I let the silence surround me and my mind drift. It drifted as it was accustomed to doing lately to the woman who was slowly turning my life upside down. The amazing thing I thought as the fog deepened and my head eased, was that I was letting her in one slow step at a time. Take this morning for instance. It seemed that Judy always showed up at the right time, or at least out of nowhere. This morning I remember her saying that she had come down to the station for lunch. Something in the back of a foggy head wondered if sometimes she just came down to see me. That conversation seemed to have taken place so long ago. It was funny how sometimes she just appeared out of nowhere. She appeared one day, said hello, then we were having coffee, she was comforting me when my train hit a pedestrian, then she was inviting me to her new Year's party. Here she was again today appearing it seemed out of the blue, like an angel at the right time. 

 

After I took her to dinner and paid that time, I didn't see Judy till her New Year's party. At the Thai restaurant after the meal I gave her my card. 

 

"Here's my phone number," I said. "Call me and leave the details about your New Year's day party. You can tell me before that, but just call me and leave them. I'll write them down on my calendar."

 

Judy had smiled at me. 

 

"Goody," she had said almost like a child. "I'll do that. Bring a dish with you if you like, or just show up. 

 

Being in Judy's house had been like being in a whirlwind of activity. There was food and drink and Judy flitting around introducing everyone to everyone else. I sat in awe of her sparkle. I held my own court eventually, when people found out what I did for a living they had all kinds of questions and I had all kinds of answers. I could tell them stories of being in far off places across country, people I had met, train stories, near misses, but mostly of looking out the windows and seeing endless beautiful scenery, especially the mountains. There was something comforting about mountains. Despite myself, I found that I enjoyed the evening very much. 

 

The whirlwind ended around 10:00 pm everyone had to go to work the next day, Everyone but me. I had taken an extra vacation day. I lingered on her porch. She had a swing on her porch, a shelf with some nice green plants. She pointed to the swing and we sat down on it. 

 

"You must be exhausted," I said, looking at her face for signs of weariness. I was awake, I knew I didn't have to get up early tomorrow so I could just relax. 

 

"A little bit," she said. "But I'm fine. I always enjoy these parties."

 

"Yes, you look like you do," I said, just relishing the quiet. "You don't mind if I sit here for a few minutes do you?"

 

"Not at all," she said. "I am not going to be sleepy for a while anyway. I'm off work till Monday I took a few extra vacation days." 

 

"I'm off till Monday," I said. "Looking forward to the weekend." 

 

"What are you going to do during the weekend?"

 

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I'm not all that exciting. I might clean up after Vincent and Magnet. I'm going to go and get some supplies to build an enclosure in the back yard." Just little things." 

 

Silence passed between us for a few moments. I looked up at stars shining like little colorful dots in the sky. 

 

"Hey," she said suddenly remembering something, "did I see you go into the kitchen and do some dishes?"

 

"I just put some things away," I said, "and loaded your dish washer."

 

"Wow," she enthused, "You're something! You do trains and dishes. I'm impressed."

 

"I do other things besides trains," I said. "I like to cook. I didn't see any of the rice left I brought."

 

"Good," she said. "And the spaghetti with Italian sausage? Does it pass muster?"

 

I thought about it for a minute. Everything had been stunningly delicious. I nodded.

 

"You see," she gushed, her voice inflected with happiness, "I told you you'd like it. I'm glad you came, Glenn." 

 

Judy's hand lay on her knee. I very tentatively reached over and put my fingers on it. She took my hand, holding it gently. I looked at her. She was a serene harbor in what for me had been a very hectic world. I sat there just enjoying it for a moment. She turned my hand in her's, inspecting my fingers, her gaze lingering on my class ring. 

 

"You graduated from my high school," she said suddenly. 

 

"I graduated from high school in Oregon," I said. "You went to high school in Oregon?" 

 

"Yeah," she said. "I did. I spent some time there. My parents were military, I went there for a year. I was a freshman the year you graduated." She looked at my class ring again, her hand warm on my skin. My heart began to lurch with a familiar dread and anticipation. I could feel another layer of defense crumbling. I sat still for a moment letting the wave of distress come over me, and then relaxed as it subsided. I grasped her hand a little bit tighter. 

 

"What's wrong, Glenn," she said seeing the storminess in my eyes. "You look a little upset." 

 

"I'm not upset," I said quietly. But I couldn't tell her about Elizabeth and my little girl. Not today. I just wanted to enjoy the moment. It was so calm. Judy looked troubled.

 

""Please," I said. "Just let me sit here for a minute. It's so peaceful here. I need to be here."

Judy sat on the swing with me for a few more minutes. The swing rocked gently back and forth, calming my reluctance. Eventually Judy was going to ask me what was wrong and I was going to have to tell her. But I would try to hold off as long as I could. It was silly really, but I wasn't ready to tell her about Allison May. 

"Why don't you come to my place on Sunday," I ventured, "we could watch a movie and you could meet Magnet and Vincent. Eventually we'll have a third dog to put in the mix. I don't want any more than three. That's enough with my hours and trying to keep peace in the family." I laughed a little, it really was a family. "I'll make dinner." 

 

Judy sat back, her face quiet. She had decided not to push whatever was troubling me to the surface. 

 

"Glenn," she said. "I would love that. I just want you to know," she said, holding both my hands now, "I know that something is up you keep pulling away from me. But I'm not going to force you to tell me anything. I'm just going to be your friend and enjoy your company. You're very calming to me. I have a very hectic life. Even if I don't see you that much when I do it's peaceful."

 

"Okay," I said, squeezing her hands, feeling bad about not being able to tell her anything, but happy she was willing to let things lie for the moment. "What time do you want to come over on Sunday?" 

 

She thought about it. Then she got up and I followed her. She walked me to the front porch and her wooden gate. 

 

"Three o'clock," she said firmly. "I have church in the morning then I'll go over in the afternoon. Send me directions to your house. I don't' even know where it is." 

 

The phone rang, interrupting my memories. The sound of the electronic tone stirred up my headache. I groaned. I would have to answer the phone to stop it from making me feel so ill.  

 

"Glenn?" a woman's voice questioned. "Glenn you're at home." A note of surprise filled her voice with the question. I sat there for a moment, searching my memory through the haze of medicated relief, trying to identify the caller. I turned my hand to see the digital readout on my phone.

 

"Debbie," I said. "I didn't recognize you."

 

"I would hardly recognize you, sweetheart, not with the way you're sounding right now. What's wrong? You are home today? You have the day off?"

 

Debbie was my friend, the lady who had sold me Magnet six months earlier. Magnet and Vincent were getting along nicely, we were going to throw another puppy in the mix. 

 

"I called to let you know that I was in the area today if you wanted me to bring angel buy late evening. I can put her in the car with me when I come out to your neck of the woods. I have to drop off some proofs."

 

I sat back in my chair and sighed. I really didn't want company but if she was going to be in the area. My eyes started to feel as if there was a great pressure building behind them. I didn't know if I could make it that late. 

 

"Not today," I suddenly said. "I'm home, sick. I have a very bad sinus infection," I explained, "I'm just on my way back to bed." 

 

"Oh," she cooed, "poor baby!" 

 

Debby was a ball of energy on most days, today was no exception. I sat silently, not encouraging her responses. 

 

"Glenn, I'm glad to see someone made you stay home, I'm sure it wasn't you." 

 

I laughed despite myself. I didn't have the energy to tell her about this morning's adventure with Judy. I hadn't told Debby about Judy, I wasn't going to do it now. 

 

"Tomorrow you think?" she continued without asking any more questions. 

 

"Probably. I hope so. Call me in the afternoon. I'm ready for her," I explained patiently. "Just not today. Give her hugs and kisses."

 

"I will," she said. "DO you need anything tomorrow?"

 

I thought of Judy asking me the same question. I was lucky to have such people asking after me, but right now all I wanted was to go to sleep and escape my mounting discomfort. I refused politely and ended the conversation. I retreated to my room and curled up, hiding not only from my illness, but my changing feelings. Part of me was worried about having to tell the truth to Judy eventually, and yet part of me wanted to do that. It would be a secret relief. 


Shelley J. Alongi 
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updated September 13, 2009