[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7

[Shelley J. Alongi]

Thanks Barbara I try to write as much description into anythign I write as I 
can and so describing the lights and the pain and the way he sits on the 
bench or anything else takes a lot of my time. I want people to feel what my 
character is working with or experiencing. I'm glad I succeeded, but sorry 
you could relate. I had to do a lot of research on sinus headaches for that 
chapter and I may have over emphasized or dramatized but I don't think so. 
Thanks for hanging in there. Enjoy the reading.
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
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Barbara Hammel" <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Tuesday, September 22, 2009 11:57 AM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7


> Oh my goodness, I remember being that sick about twelve years ago!  It 
> seems just like yesterday when I think of how quick that headache came on 
> and how sick I was.
> 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: Tuesday, September 22, 2009 1:15 AM
> To: "NFBnet Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7
>
>> 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
>> 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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>
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