[stylist] Flirting with Monday Chapter 10

Thu Sep 24 05:55:35 UTC 2009

HI Guys, I'm off to Chatsworth tomorrow to talk to a railfan. Then I'm back to Fullerton and maybe might meet another engineer. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, enjoy. 
Flirting with Monday

Chapter 10 

I was in bed when Judy called. I almost felt the same as I had on Thursday, that raging headache and weakness, eased by medicine, but today, headachy, drippy, miserable. It was Saturday afternoon. When Judy had left on Friday I had put out the lights, petted the kids and climbed gratefully into bed. Curled up I slept peacefully through the night and woke to Vincent's gentle licking. A quiet whimpering eased its way into my world, and I wondered if it was Angel, scared and wanting to explore her new home. Carefully I got up and looked at the clear glass face of the train clock, the ticking gentle and peaceful in the quiet, cool early morning. I sniffled and sneezed, my head responding to the pressure making me cry out in distress. The stab of pain was brief, the pressure was more annoying than painful. 

Putting my feet into my oversized house slippers I padded out to the garage and found Angel crying in her basket. Sinking to my knees I snuggled her small, warm body in my arms, feeling her welcoming, web nose on my neck, responding to the warmth of her body and feeling the gentle pressure of Magnet and Vincent huddling up beside me for the time we had with our new addition. Getting to my feet I sidled across the carpet and sank gratefully into an old ratty recliner I planned on fixing, cuddling Angel on my chest, while Magnet and Vincent crawled onto my lap. The garage was warm, and soon we all fell asleep. I don't' know how long we slept there but I awoke slowly, sniffling, feeling something on my face. Vincent and Magnet curled on my lap, Angel slept on my chest, the warmth on my face was my nose running. I sneezed again, my head pounded, I sniffled and knew I'd have to get up. I quietly dislodged everyone from our family bed and went into the house, the dogs following, Angel sniffing at everything. Padding softly through the tile hallway, entering the bathroom and turning on a light, the soft feel of a long-haired rug and soft color palates comforted my eyes. I took care of business, quickly fed the household residents, waiting for them to finish. After putting away their dishes and the food I returned to bed. 

In the early afternoon when Judy called, she woke me. She had a way of doing that. It took me a moment to realize the phone was ringing and another one to know that  the tight headache was making its way back. I was reluctant to pick up the phone. My heart eased a bit  when I saw it was Judy and I suddenly decided I was too ill to worry about any of my own reluctance to know her. She was a welcome addition to my existence today. Vincent curled up beside me, Magnet sat watch, Angel was outside.

"Good afternoon," said my angel.

"Hi," I moaned.

"You're asleep?"

"I'm in bed. Sinuses are draining and hurting."

"Oh," Judy said gently. "My poor friend. We're at the train station."

"Train station?" I croaked, turning to ease my congestion gently into some tissue. Somehow this small action helped me feel just a bit more human.

"Sorry," I explained when Judy inquired, "my nose is running. I'm a mess today. You said you're at the train station?"

"We've seen some freights today."

"On a Saturday?"

"More passengers than freights. Sure you don't want to come?"

"My head hurts," I moaned, "I'm in bed with a sinus infection and two dogs. I love trains," I assured, "But I'm sick, remember?"

"Yes, Mr. Train Engineer," Judy laughed at my valiant effort to be humorous. "I promised I'd call you."

"I'm glad you called," I admitted sheepishly.

"I bet you're not up for company." 

"No. But you can come anyway. It would be nice to see you." 

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," she said, "with dinner, something easy on both of us." 

I saw Judy coming up the walk, carrying two bags. I didn't notice if she carried her red one. I sat sideways on the couch, my throbbing, heavy head resting against the cool, frosty window. It was clearly cold outside, slivers of weak afternoon light tried relentlessly to shine through the trees in front of the house. I looked out of her window like one of her cats. She did a thumbs-up sign to my face. I smiled. I opened the door, she brushed in, took my hand, and put some items down on a table. Holding my hand she shut the door behind her and then turned to me. I held my arms out, she hugged me, rubbing my back, her body cool and warm, smelling of flowers, kindness, and just plain Judy. 

She reached up and put her hand on my aching forehead, gently rubbing it.

"You look like you did on Thursday when I met you off the train. Go take your medicine. I have to see the new baby. How is the new baby?"

Judy's solicitude touched me; her excitement over Angel brought a tear to my eye or was it just that my eyes watered.

"Angel's fine. I'll take you out to see her." 

Judy ran her hand over my forehead, down around my cheek. Her hand was warm and gentle and soothing. 

"I can go see the baby. You look like you'd rather just go to bed."

"I'm not going to be much company," I said, my voice filled with congestion and my eyes a little teary. 

"I know," she said walking me into my room. She stepped over a pile of magazines on the floor. 

"The medicine," I said, my attitude much different from two days ago. Today I wanted to be babied. 

"I didn't' come so that you could entertain me," she said gently as she handed me a glass and my blue pills. I swallowed them gratefully and leaned back against my pillows. If I closed my eyes I wouldn't talk to Judy anymore so I opened them and caught her gaze. 

"Why did you come?"

She held my hand, she came up next to me and touched my cheek, felt the starting of a day's growth of beard. 

"I came because I love you, Glenn Streicher and I want to help." 

Judy loved me. Her love rapped around me like the quilt my mother had made for me. 

"I love you enough," she said, "to just take you as you are and be your friend. I love you enough to hold you when you cry and leave you when you don't want me to be around. I love you enough to give you space. Right now you need me to go away so you can sleep."

"Judy," I said a little amazed. I could feel fear gripping me, but Judy's hands tucking in the covers soothed the fear. 

"I love you," she said, caressing my hair "enough to just let you be. And I saw your house yesterday and I knew you weren't' feeling up to par so I thought if it was okay I could come over and take care of your house for you. Your house takes care of you, Glenn. It eases you even if you don't know it." 

I felt warm. I felt loved. I was scared. My head hurt but it was better. I relaxed under her hands, my headache eased, and I slept. I slept and remembered that Judy loved me. That memory would stay with me through the next year as I struggled with my own fear and she made me face them. Strangely enough, in a world of pain and discomfort, when this should have been the last thing on my mind, like a warm water bath flowing over my bruised heart, the thought occurred to me that I had found what I looked for; I found relief. I found love. Love was Judy Flower. Love had come to me on a commuter train. 

I got out of bed several hours later, I didn't know what time it was. Now I felt a little better. The sinus infection was like that. It eased up and then it struck like a raging fury seeking vengeance. It swept me into a lethargy that threatened to undo my control, and then it left me weak as a kitten in my kitchen looking into the eyes of an absolutely amazing girl. I would almost say that I loved Judy Flower, but that day, a year before I cried like a baby on the planter by the railroad tracks and begged for counseling I was afraid. Judy's love was warm like an inviting fire. I put my hands out to it. Judy didn't touch me now. She stood at my stove heating chicken soup and brewing a cup of tea. She looked at me over her shoulder.

"I went to see Angel and she's gorgeous. She's got the sweetest temperament. She likes it here. She knows there's love here." 

"yes," I said quietly. "Yes, there is." 

Judy came to me and set a steaming hot cup on the table. I breathed in its fragrance, its warmth invited me to taste it.

"Licorice tea," she said. "It's good for a congested head. You look a little better. Sleep and that medicine helps," she said all knowing. "Take it more often, Glenn. We miss you on the train. We want you back."

"I have to stay awake sometime," I said, only protesting a little.

"Not if you're sick you don't. Don't make yourself miserable, honey." 

"Did anyone call?" I asked, not really interested in the answer.

"No." 

"No mail?" 

"No." 

"Did you really go to the train station today?" I asked, trying to be more conversational.

"yes. I came directly here from there. The regulars were there."

"The talker," I said, "The quiet guy who knows everyone. They're always there."

Judy came to the table and sat down across from me, a cup of chicken soup in front of her."

"I put your laundry in the washer," she said, "I'll wait till it dries and then put it away. Your place is in order now all you have to do is relax. You won't be back Monday," she said with assurance. "You won't be back for a week." 

"You're probably right," I said. "Thanks for everything, Judy," I said, sipping the tea. "Even if I am not always very grateful."

"It's fine, Glenn. There's something that keeps you coming back to me. I am just here. It is enough."

"Judy," I said, a little hesitantly. "I heard all that love stuff. I'm not ready. I can't say the same things."

"You don't have to," she said. "You just have to be your friendly cheerful self."

"I'm not always so cheerful."

"I know," she said. "Sometimes you're afraid. And sometimes you're out there involved with everyone, helping out, being involved with everyone and just being yourself. Someday you'll tell me what's going on."

I sat quietly, not wanting to touch that barrier. I was too sick and too tired to argue with her or protest, and it wouldn't matter. Judy was infinitely patient.

"Judy, are you always perfect?"

"No. I'm sometimes very impatient. Ask people at work. They'll tell you I am not always patient."

"I don't feel like asking you tonight why you're so patient with me. I'm sorry."

Judy smiled and reached for my hands. I let her take them. I was the one who had wanted her yesterday. I was the one who had come to her and hugged her, desired her, and faltered.

"Soon," she said. "Not now. I brought something to read. I brought a book on trains. I figured it would keep me occupied while you were sleeping. I have to learn about switches."

"Switches?" I said a little confused, then it occurred to me that she was talking about trains and I nodded. "You will. I'll explain them to you, but not now." 

I got up. It was time to go and lie down, but now I would be awake, my head easier even if I was weary. I could concentrate on watching something and I would just relax and not worry about any of it. I went into my living room and lay on the couch, turning on the TV. I closed my eyes and soon, listening to the quiet music of the film, hearing the muffled voices and seeing flashes of action and settings change as they played out their scenes, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, Judy was sitting up across from me. It took me a minute to realize that she was pulling on her shoes and seemed a little unsettled. I looked at the clock. It was 5:00 in the morning.

"Did you fall asleep on the couch?" I asked her, clearing my throat.

"Yes. I did," she admitted. Her faced flamed.

"Don't worry," I said. "I won't tell your mother."

She laughed then, and her face took on that happy look that made me love Judy even before I was willing to admit it. Judy got up and came to me, her expression remorseful.

"I know this is your house and you like your space. I don't want to intrude or make you think I'm trying to get you to do anything."

"Keep you?" I said, hoarsely. Right then as I looked at her face, suddenly the idea didn't seem like such a bad one. There was something warm about waking up and seeing Judy with straggling golden hair and a blush that made her seem like an adolescent caught in the wrong place after curfew. I sat up, then, too, feeling the pressure in my head subside. I was happy to just be sitting here. I sat back, stretched my legs out before me, looked up at her, and suddenly felt calm, quiet, and less weary. Had Judy really said she loved me? I didn't want to run all the possibilities around in my head today. Not after being relieved of a nagging, relentless headache. I just wanted to sit there and just feel better. 

"You look like you're feeling better," she said now observing my unkempt hair, my red eyes, the wrinkles in my shirt. 

I nodded. 

"I'll enjoy it while I can," I said. "We'll see how long it lasts." 

She got off the couch and disappeared into the laundry room. I came in behind her. 

"Well, since you're here I could make breakfast," I offered.

"At 5:00 in the morning?"

"Yes. I'm usually up I'm at work by then you know that." 

Judy straightened up, holding some white t-shirts and a pair of white boxer shorts in her hand. Somehow Judy standing there holding my laundry didn't seem so uncomfortable. Maybe later it would, but right now it was fine.

"Okay," she said. "I'll take you up on that offer. And then promise me you'll get some sleep. We sure miss you. I don't know if I can handle another week of your replacement engineer." 

___
Shelley J. Alongi 
Home Office: (714)869-3207
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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