[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 14

[Shelley J. Alongi]

Ok here's more. I think you're going to like these next three chapters. 



Flirting with Monday

Chapter 14 


The young girl who cared for the stables looked at my tee shirt with a steam locomotive on it, it said Union pacific.  She probably thought I was an aimlessly wandering transient. It was clear she had not seen me here before, I was definitely a new face in a sea of suntanned faces with glasses, people carrying grooming brushes, short ones, tall ones, it didn't matter, I was a new face. She didn't know that I had been here twenty years ago and had held her same job, grooming, cleaning, and caring for horses. It had been my job for two summers before I met Elizabeth. She had the same look of the caretakers starting out, young and energetic, a little different than the younger crowd I saw carrying laptops and hiding themselves in corners on the train to get lost in lines on the video screen. 

 

"Could I help you?" asked the young girl, looking at my tee shirt again.

 

"Hi, my name is Glen," I tried to make her comfortable, "I'm looking for Sandy." 

 

"Sandy?" she said, looking a little hesitant. "The only Sandy here is the manager. Is something wrong?"

 

"Sandy Marsh," I affirmed. "No nothing's wrong." 

 

The girl looked at me again, my conductor's cap, I could never quite leave that at home, my dusty riding boots, she was trying to place me.

 

"I don't live here anymore," I told her, "I work for the railroads I was back in town on family business. Sandy would remember me," I explained. 

 

The girl flicked a fly from her hand. It disappeared on the dirt pathway not to be seen again in its short lifetime. She looked at me again, the clearness of my blue eyes told her I wasn't drunk, the neat grooming of my moustache and beard told her I probably wasn't on the street at least, my clean shirt and my Levis probably told her I had clean clothes and I didn't skip doing the laundry. I stood patiently under her gaze, things were different up here, people had more time to make decisions about other people, especially ones they didn't know. 

 

"I'll go get her," she finally said, deciding I was harmless. 

 

I waited under the eaves of the stables to get out of the sun, it was unseasonably warm for April. A sudden gust of wind blew dust across the entrance, swirled it and settled down again, I coughed to clear my lungs, hoped the girl would return soon. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and a short, wide woman appeared with the girl, who seemed properly chastised and more than willing to let me in to the small, cramped office. She disappeared discretely, and I sat back, just looking around quietly. 

 

Sandy, I'm sure she had changed but it didn't seem so, came up to me, hugging me, the old smell of hey and horses clinging to her clothes transported me back to that fateful day when I had met Elizabeth and it was a moment before I could even think of saying anything. It didn't matter, Sandy had enough energy for both of us. She danced around clearing off a chair, for a moment she reminded me of Judy in a hurry, or excited about something. That memory counteracted the stab of pain that had gone through my heart, and helped to settle me. It had been a trial to get here, I knew I wanted to come back to the stable, but I didn't know how I would react. Since the relaxing train journey when I slept and tried to organize my thoughts, caught up on some industry news, and took a trip during a lay over to go see who my engineer was, meting our conductor along the way, someone I had worked with a while back. I had been offered a spot in the cab, they'd be happy to call in and ask for authorization, but, no, I said, I wanted to be a passenger this time, I wanted to see the scenery from this side of the tracks and experience the long delays for freights as a passenger and not an engineer talking to dispatch and waiting. I thought I needed a new perspective, that I could wait as a passenger this time and not know anything except what the conductor told me. I could pretty much figure it out, but I still wanted to remember what it was like from this side. After arriving three hours late into Eugene I piled into a bus with other passengers headed for Astoria and settled in for the ride. It was early afternoon and I would hail a cab once I got to the stop and go directly to the house I had known as a child. 

 

The last time I had been through this station I was guiding the train and met a new crew, giving me some much needed relief. I had gone straight to the motel right here a block from the station and lain in my bed, suddenly wide awake. A movie from yesteryear chosen at random on the hotel's basic cable station helped me fall asleep. Lying in the comfort of sheets and thin but comfortable blankets, the soft voices and older music caressed my exhausted body into a sense of peace. After catching some sleep and checking out of the hotel I had dropped by to see my parents for a couple of days, and was then back on the train. 

 

Now the cab let me off in front of that same house, the one with the gravel driveway, a driveway which had been replaced long ago by a concrete one. As I got out of the cab and paid the driver, I could see the familiar landmarks, the wooden fence in the front yard, it had stood there at least twenty-six years I had helped my father build that fence when I was seventeen years old. Watching the cab move away down the quiet street, I walked toward the fence and stood there looking after it. The fence's faded paint and rough edges seemed even more dingy in the light of early afternoon. I put my hand on the fence, somewhere on these old, wooden slats there were letters where my brothers and sisters and I had carved our initials or the initials of some lost love. Suddenly standing here I was overwhelmed with memories and it was a moment before I could move away from that fence. My eyes sought a familiar landmark, a tree on the city side of the lawn, a house across the street, its beige paint cracked and peeling like many things in this old, established neighborhood. I remembered my father and I building this fence, measuring the slats, cutting the holes in the ground, placing them, putting them together with rivets. During a break standing over by a tree that still occupied its corner, I had told my father I wanted to work for the railroads. I told him when I was eighteen I was applying to the freight companies for work because I eventually wanted to be an engineer. Standing in the shade of that tree, pulling on his gray beard for a moment, he looked at me and said nothing. I really don't' know what he thought I should be when I grew up, we had never had that discussion. In the balmy warmth of that day twenty-six years from this night, he looked at me for a moment and only said "And you'll make a good one, Glen. A very good one." That's all he said. My father didn't say much. He was a quiet man. If he didn't say much he taught many things. Now here I was, a train engineer, standing at the fence we had built when I was a teenager. Me, his youngest child. I stood there for a moment, the cool, dry air caressing my face, blowing gently through the branches of the evergreen across the sidewalk. I leaned against the fence suddenly very tired. Moving slowly, I made my way across the short, neat grass the lawn, across the small sidewalk that separated the yard from the porch, and walked up the three, steep steps to the front of the house. I rang the doorbell, I didn't have a key anymore, and didn't have to wait long. The neatly dressed woman who answered the door looked at me in surprise and reached for me. We  hugged, her body trembled, I mixed a few of my own tears with her's, and then we separated and entered the warm kitchen. I could smell freshly brewed coffee, and the lingering smells of something that had been cooked earlier.  

 

"sorry I'm late, mom," I apologized for what became a usual litany of reasons for a passenger train running late. 

 

"You're not late, Glen," she said. "You're just on time. Everything's quiet, now. He's sleeping. There's still time." 

 

My mother was weary, it was obvious, from her red eyes and the lines in her face, but she held herself erect, she was neatly groomed and presentable even on a train's late schedule. 

 

"Your trip was good?" she asked, sitting me down in the kitchen. "You must be hungry."

 

"The trip was fine," I said. I realized that indeed I was hungry, it had been a long time since the dining car attendant had called my number and I showed up to sit with some young college students and had breakfast. I nodded and it seemed only moments later that my mother had placed home cooked stew and cornbread in front of me, watching me with delight. She looked me over as if examining some prized purchase and smiled. 

"You look good, Glen. It's nice to see you again. You're so busy and happy it seems. I'm glad." 

She got up after a few moments and went to a pot of freshly brewed coffee, pored some into a mug and set it in front of me.

"You still drink it black don't you? Just like you used to?"

"Yes," I said, "some things never change." 

She smiled.  

"You're looking good, mom. How is he doing?"

"Holding his own," she said wearily. 

"Does this get you through your work day glen?" she wanted to know.

I smiled a little.

"Sometimes. I try not to rely on it. Operating a train takes more concentration than coffee gives me. Sleep is the best thing." 

"You're getting enough of that?"

"Most of the time," I said, struck by the fact that she was concerned about me more than the pressing concern of her husband. She would miss him but she didn't have to worry about not being taken care of; we would all see to it that she was comfortable. 

 

Over the next two weeks, the reunion with brothers and sisters, starting to sit down and go through paperwork and finally the selling of the house made easier by the fact that my parents were going to sell the house to Sarah and her growing family, all took my time. In the back of my mind had been the thought that I wanted to get back to the stable to see the place and to just gather all my thoughts. I hadn't been here since the day the wedding between me and Elizabeth Handling was to occur, I had come here after we had waited two hours for the bride who never appeared. I wanted to ride one of Sandy's young horses. Seeing my devastated face she said nothing, instead letting me go out into the woods, gently coaxing her young horse. When I brought the horse into the stable, rubbed her down and fed her I collapsed in Sandy's office and just sat there for a few moments saying nothing, not moving.

 

"Well," I finally said that day twenty years ago. "I don't know what to do. She wasn't there. She's not here. She's gone, I suppose."

I was calm, my eyes dry, my head stunned. I was supposed to be married today, I thought it was most of the time that grooms left their brides at the altar. Not this time. This time it was me being left. 

 

"What are you thinking Mr. Glen Streicher," Sandy's words brought me back from my memories. "You'll have to forgive Laura she's new. Sorry for leaving you out in the wind like that. My Lord, we haven't seen you around here for years. Railroading agrees with you; You look good. Older than the last time I saw you; you don't exactly drop by and see us anymore," she winked mischievously, it made me laugh. "Your mom keeps in touch, you know. She lets me know what you're up to. Been everywhere it seems."

I had to smile; Sandy's simplicity was one of her assets. And she did like my family. "Sorry to hear about John. He is a good man. I'll have to stop by and see him."

"You should do that," I said quietly. "He would like that."

 

"what brings you here today?" she asked, taking out some coffee and poring it into a cone-shaped filter. "I hope you have time to stay around a while."

 

"I have time," I said, feeling time on my hands weighing heavily. "I could leave anytime but I don't' have to be back at work for another week so I'll stay around a few more days. Now that mom is settled we're just moving things from the house to her place. I'd like to have a look around the stables." 

 

She sat back and looked at me. Even twenty years ago she had a way of looking at me that said she knew there was more going on than met her eyes. 

"glen, I'm happy to show you around. We do have some changes; new stables, but it's pretty much the same as you left it. 

Her comments or maybe the way she said them told me she didn't think I had just come here to look around. the smell of the freshly brewing coffee comforted me. It was a sign of familiarity in a room I hadn't seen in twenty years, and a stabilizing factor that reminded me of tranquility. Sandy was right; I hadn't come here just to look around though certainly I did want to see what was new. 

"How is John?" she asked more quietly now. She took the pot and pored a strong black brew into a paper cup and gave it to me. I reached out for it, held the warm cup in my hand, clutching at stability like an animal looking for something familiar in a brand new world.

"quiet," I started to tell her. "He's on a morphine drip now." I swallowed a sip of the strong brew, Sandy's coffee was always good; much better than the stuff that passed for coffee at the train station.

"You don't' have to tell me anymore," she said, seeing my struggle. "I know you've been here two weeks. Your mom tells me just about everything."

 

"Did she tell you about Judy?"

 

"Judy?" her eyes sparkled. "Finally you're emerging from your cocoon."

 

"Maybe." 

 

"Glen," Sandy said, "in case you want to know about Elizabeth." 

She stopped her conversation to give me time to react. I sat stone still. it wasn't really Elizabeth I was interested in, it was Allison.

"I'm in love," I said. "I can't seem to get passed this fear of her leaving me." 

I couldn't believe I was telling Sandy something I wouldn't tell Judy; and I was about to make another stunning admission.

"I've never told Judy about Alison." 

"Why not?"

"If she changes her mind I'll go crazy."

"What is she going to change her mind about?"

"me."

"If she does that then she's not worth it."

leave it to Sandy who had never met Judy to sum up the truth and hand it to me straight and simple, no sugar coating, no nice words.

"Sandy," I sighed, "I had to take a two day train trip and see my father who is dying in order to get the truth about all this from a horse woman."

"Because you can't face the truth yourself," she said. "Sometimes it just takes someone else to point it out to you." 

We were silent for a moment. A timid knock came at the door, Sandy told Laura to come in. Laura saw me and smiled. I smiled back. 

"Miss Handling is here," she said. "She's ready for the colt. 

I sat back, startled beyond belief. On the exact day that I came here to talk to Sandy, someone with Elizabeth's last name showed up. There was a flurry of activity, I sat there deliberately keeping myself out of the fray, trying to calm my hammering heart. I curled up within myself that being approached by a freight train feeling standing off in the distance threatening to overwhelm me. In a few moments Sandy came back to the office, it was a small room, really, decorated with some western saddles, a few proud breeds holding their heads up in pictures on the wall. She sat down, out of breath. 

"Oh that woman," she said, "she's training our new colts, taming them. She is a shrew, sometimes." She looked at me, saw my discomfiture and stopped. "Don't' worry," she said, "it's not Elizabeth. haven't seen her since that day twenty years ago." I blinked back tears and then they were gone and I was calm as a glassy sea on a windless day. Suddenly I looked up. "No, Glen, I know you had to know, somehow. We haven't seen her around here. There was talk that she was put away into a psychological ward, personality changes and things like that."

 

"My daughter," I choked. "The letter to mom." 

 

"Mary said that was the last time she heard from Elizabeth, the day she got the letter telling her you had a daughter. Cruel," she said gently seeing my crinkling face, my clenched hands. "Oh, Glen, it's bothered you all this time." 

 

I nodded. Sandy let a few moments pass. My hands lay across my knees, clasping each other, my eyes sought something comforting, rested on a picture of a black stallion grazing on some long grass.

 

"Allison," she said, seeing calm returning to me, my easing as I sat back in my chair, craving its support. "I don't know anything about her. She might have ended up in the foster system, somewhere."

 

"I could have, have."

 

"You went to work right after that, the next day or the day after. Your left to be a brakeman. What choice did you have?"

 

"I could have stayed and raised her; I would have taken her. But she never contacted me. Mom always knew how to contact me. I left instructions for mom to contact me if she heard anything or heard from Elizabeth."

 

"She was true to her word, glen. she would have and we never heard anything after the letter. I'm sorry," she said, watching me clench my cup in both my hands. "She might be in the next town, she might be far away." 

Sandy reached for my paper cup, letting her hand trail across my rigid fingers, slowly coaxing it out of my hands. She refilled it and handed it to me. I took it gratefully.

"You look like you might need something stronger," she offered, seeing my pale face. "You look tired. This trip hasn't been easy and now I'm digging around opening old wounds."

 

"No, I'm okay, really." 

"there's a lot going on," she affirmed. "So tell me about Judy."

I told her the story from the beginning, the day we met, her comforting me when the train hit the pedestrian, dinner, new year's day, my house, her helping me out during my illness, the easy way she accepted me, the differences between her and Elizabeth.

"So what's the hold up?" Sandy wanted to know in her straightforward way.

 

"me," I said. "I'm scared as hell." 

 

"After twenty years?"

 

"It's crazy," I admitted. "I just don't want to think that she could leave me. She could wake up tomorrow and it could all be over." 

 

"She sounds so much different," Sandy had to point out to me.

 

"I guess when you've been working on the railroads all these years, running from one place to the other, waking up in different cities, and then doing it all again, getting home late, too tired to think straight and happy at the same time I didn't have time to really think of it."

 

"Because you didn't want to," she said.

 

"No. I didn't. You know the divorce rate is very high among railroad workers," I said like some academic expert. "I know a bunch of engineers who are divorced. Conductors, too. The one I work with now is."  

"That isn't a good excuse, Glen," she told me, "You are afraid. Does Judy know you're afraid?" 

"She knows there's something. "She said she was going to stay; to wait for me. She said if I ever wanted to tell her I could. She's very patient."

"Do you want to tell her?"

"Yes I do want to tell her. I want to tell her about Allison. It's silly, really. But I don't want to be afraid she'll leave me. That's the big problem. That's what is holding me back." 

"Do you think you should see a psychologist?"

I sat there looking out of the window. Two women wearing riding clothes came up to the stable holding a pair of four year-olds. One gave the reins to Laura and the other gave her reins to another young caretaker who led the horse away from the gate and back into the stalls. 

"maybe. I don't know." 

So many times in the past this conflict had produced tears. Today it left me calm. I was simply too tired for all this. I needed to go for a ride, to tie up lose ends, get on the train and go. My plan was to arrive back home two days before I had to be at work so I could get things in order and see Judy. My heart skipped a beat when I thought of calling her to meet me at Union Station. I told her I would call her when I got near there and we would decide whether or not she would meet me. I was hoping she would, but, of course, it was up to her. We were due to get into Union Station at 10:00 that Friday night. But till then I was here sitting in an office with a woman who was making me face things, just like Judy.  

"Don't' let her get away. That's a woman worth keeping. She's waiting for you, Glen. Don't make her wait too long."

I finished my coffee. Sandy took the cup to refill it but I said no thank you, I had enough. I wanted to ride out into the woods, to clear my head, to decide what to do next. 

"I hope you decide to face all of this Glen," she said, getting up, dismissing the conversation having made her final pronouncement. She looked at me, my quiet face, she knew I was thinking of everything even if I didn't respond. "quiet glen," she said. "Few words but always thinking. Come on, I have just the horse for you. Her name is Nell." 

 

`                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Nell was a beauty; sleek, black, well muscled, her head high, gentle, she took to my weight easily, it was almost as if we had been made for each other. I gently directed her with the reins, we started out of the stables at a slow, steady gait. It had been a while since I had been riding, I would probably regret it in the morning, but it was a nice day and I needed the time to think. It seemed I was always thinking these days. My father lay dying, his pain eased by morphine and nurses, my mother caring for him, each of us taking turns. My sisters would take the burden, I felt the most disconnected being out of state. 

 

As we entered a clearing and went up a gently sloping incline, I managed to take my share of the responsibility. I would send my mother money after returning to my job. Laura and Sarah were closer now that Sarah would move into the house and mom was settled in a spacious apartment in a quiet section of town. If my mother missed the house she could go back to it and they had avoided the hassle of finding a buyer and dealing with a lender. they would come and help her run errands or provide company, though I could imagine my spry, outgoing mother would not sit around for long. She might mourn my father's passing but she had friends and social connections, the quilting club, church. 

 

More than my mother's resettling, it was the whole relationship thing that bothered me. It was easy sitting in the car after dropping Judy at her class to say that I wanted to have fun, that I was going to try and be more responsive, but all that required an emotional investment that slowly I was wanting to make. However, here was the old insecurity raising its ugly head again and maybe Sandy was right. I just didn't' want to face it. 

 

Shelley J. Alongi 
Home Office: (714)869-3207
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NFBWD "Slate and Style" editor 
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"What sparked your interest in trains?"
"The face of an engineer who knew he was going to get killed by a freight train."
---SJA for anyone who wants to know
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 24, 2009