[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7
Barbara Hammel
poetlori8 at msn.com
Thu Sep 24 01:23:54 UTC 2009
Oh, let me tell you! That headache started at around ten in the morning and
by one I was on the floor fighting not to vomit. I couldn't stand up
without feeling immensely ill. I had a friend pick me up from work because
I couldn't ride the bus. Another friend volunteered to get me a ride to the
doctor and I don't know how I managed to call for an appointment. Maybe I
didn't, I can't remember. That was the most miserable week I had in my
life--I think--next to the aftermath of baby dying in utero. The latter was
heart pain, though. But that headache! It was a stellar one!
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: Wednesday, September 23, 2009 1:05 AM
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7
> 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
>>> _______________________________________________
>>> Writers Division web site:
>>> http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
>>> <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>>>
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>>>
>>
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>
>
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