[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7
Shelley J. Alongi
qobells at roadrunner.com
Thu Sep 24 13:12:52 UTC 2009
not fun at all
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
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updated September 13, 2009
----- Original Message -----
From: "Barbara Hammel" <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Wednesday, September 23, 2009 6:23 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 7
> 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/>
>>>>
>>>> stylist mailing list
>>>> stylist at nfbnet.org
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>>>> stylist:
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>>>>
>>>
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>>
>>
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>
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