[stylist] Flirting with Monday chapter 15

[Shelley J. Alongi]

More tears from Glen and a lot of smiles, too.

Flirting with Monday

Chapter 15

 

It turned out that Sandy marsh did not get to make that visit to my father after all. The day after I saw her, John Anthony Streicher took a turn for the worse and we lost him two days later. The funeral was well attended; hundreds of coworkers and colleagues, friends and family piled into the local church and said their farewells. We had filed into see him as he lay dying, taking turns to look at him, my mind and head quiet, my collapse coming later at the wooden fence we had built together. My brothers and sisters all involved in their own family affairs, it was my mother who discovered me crumpled in a heap against the fence, in tears, for more than one reason. She knew how difficult this trip was and in her own state of bereavement she sat down beside me and put my head on her breast as if I were five years old and let me cry. A few of her own tears mixed with mine. She only held me for a long time and didn't say anything. She didn't have to; she knew the heaviness of my heart, and she knew her own loss. I had tried over the years to keep in touch with her, sending her an occasional letter, sometimes writing about my own fears because she was so far away and since childhood she had been quiet, guarding the feelings of her children with uncommon secrecy. She had raised her children to respect her, but was never afraid to show them her sensitive soft side. Certainly for me she had been an unspoken ally over the last twenty years. If the truth were known she had been the one to encourage me to leave the day after the wedding fiasco to work for Union Pacific. 

 

"This is your dream," she had said on that day, "you have the letter; go. Don't wait here, Glen. Elizabeth left without a trace. We can't find her anywhere. Her brothers and sisters went looking and we checked all the places you suggested; no luck."

 

"I hope she hasn't been hurt," I had told her that day in an attempt to be generous. "She is carrying my child." 

 

"Glen," my mother told me, "if you stay here in Astoria you're going to go absolutely nuts. Go work for the railroads. Do something that makes you happy. If I hear anything I'll let you know." 

 

She sat with me for a long time not saying anything, perhaps taking comfort from just being here. I did not move. 

 

"Did dad ever tell you that it was here that I told him I wanted to work for the railroads?" I asked her in a moment of quiet. 

 

"Yes, Glen, he told me," she said quietly, "he told me you wanted to work for the railroads. He didn't say it was here by this fence that you had talked about it." 

 

She looked up at the fence for a moment, appraising its sturdiness, seeing the dingy gray of the wood, the weather beaten pockmarks and not seeing the letters we had carved on it over the years. I sat with her, looking at the fence, the tears drying in the afternoon sun starting to make its way to our side of the yard. The street was quiet, no birds sang, no sound came from the house. 

 

"That fence sure needs a paint job," she suddenly said. "Lord I've never seen it before." 

 

"I'll do that," I said suddenly taking heart, "I have a couple more days before I catch the train."

 

"Glen," she said, and interrupted herself, seeing my sparkling eyes. "You do love to work with your hands don't You. You always did. Maybe one of your brothers will help." 

 

I thought about it for a moment. Sanding the fence would probably take a day. Painting it would probably take another couple of days if I wanted to do it right.

 

My mother squeezed my hands.

 

"I've never seen your house," she told me. "You must have a lot of hand built things there."

 

"No," I admitted. "I work too many hours. This would be the first thing I've done in a while. I'll start tomorrow." 

 

My mother kissed my cheek and still held me. She caught my eyes and made me look at her. 

 

"Glen," she said. "Before we go. I know we haven't talked about this. I just want to tell you that I've been thinking about that woman in California, Judy. she said to me there on that soft April day, "and I wish you the best. Be good to her, Glen. She loves you. Do you know that? And the way you describe her in your occasional letters makes me think you love her, too. It sounds like," she told me, "she might just be what the doctor ordered." 

 

I was glad when I got on the Coast Starlight train and took the two day journey back home. I lifted my heavy suitcase into one of the racks in the car hallway, and carried what I would need for the trip in my train tote bag. I straightened my conductor's cap and found a seat by the window, settling in for the mountainous scenery between here and our next stop. 

 

Out of Klamath Falls, a tall, slim young man and his brown-haired and medium-built wife came into the car. The only spot available was across from me and I waved them over, in a cheerful mood. It felt good not to be weighed down by my troubles. I helped the woman secure her bags overhead and settled in for the next leg of our journey. 

 

"I'm Matthew Sterling," the man introduced himself to me. "This is my wife, Diana. We just got married and now we're on our honeymoon. We decided to take a train trip, we don't need a splashy resort. Do you work for Union Pacific?" 

 

On the trip home I wore my traditional travel outfit again, blue jeans and a railroading shirt. I smiled, being so used to wearing it, I had almost forgotten about the logo. It was clear that he had seen my shirt. Diana tugged at his arm, trying to quell his excitement.

 

"My husband loves trains," she said. "Sometimes he just goes crazy for them."

 

"I'm an engineer," I said. "I run passenger trains." 

 

Diana's eyes got big.

 

"It's okay," I smiled. "I don't mind. I'm used to the type. I'm that way myself, sometimes. Ask me all the questions you want," I said, seeing the man's face light up. "I don't' mind. Honestly," I said as the train pulled away from the loading platform, "I've just been on a family trip that wasn't very pleasant. Don't mind if I don't give you the details. I'd much rather talk about trains. If you want to you can ask questions all the way to your station." 

 

"We're heading south," the man said, "we're going to stay there for a while then actually get on a train to Chicago and then one to Boston. It's an extended trip."

 

"Well," I said, "You'll see plenty of freights. We can sit here and identify them; the locomotives."

 

"Pictures," matt said as we started at a better clip toward our next stop, looking at some mountains, the distant snow reflecting the gentle April sunlight. "You can get plenty here. I'm not much of a camera operator," I told him when he pulled out his small camera and directed it to me, "I know where to get good photographs though." 

We got up heading for the dome car with the windows. We took a spot and got lost in taking pictures and talking about engines. 

The mountains were therapy for me. Painting my mother's fence was therapy. I felt refreshed; rejuvenated. Sad, yes, but it was a manageable sadness. My energetic personality, my ability to get lost in the things that brought me pleasure saved my sanity more than once during my life and this trip home was significant, not because of what I learned but because of the refreshment this young couple pored into my scarred and weary heart. We played cards together and shared a meal together. By the time the trip was ended we had exchanged email addresses and he promised to send me pictures. I was looking forward to getting them. 

 

Later on that night, we walked through the upper level of two of the cars on our way to the dining car. We stepped over books, I smiled at a mother holding a sleeping baby, a child slept on a seat, a teenager played a video game on a cell phone. The train clipped along, the movement of passengers and their activities comforting me, lifting my spirits. 

 

Sitting down at tables with red checked cloths and gleaming silverware, we opened our menus and looked at the few selections. Our companion was an older gentleman wearing a polo shirt and slacks, visiting his family for the summer. We talked about politics and the weather, train delays, and scenery. He traveled because it was easier than airline flight and much more enjoyable. I operated trains? He smiled. What was my favorite route?



"Probably this one," I said. "there are mountains and deserts, fields, craggy cliffs. It takes a lot of concentration to run this route, "with the freights and the steep grades, the early morning passes through snowy mountains, sitting out of the arrival station looking for freights. There sometimes is a lot of down time sitting here on this route." 

 

As if to match my conversation exactly, our train came to a halt and the conductor told us we'd be waiting on a freight train for a while so relax, folks, he said. We'll be on our way, soon. I could hear the conductor's next lines before he spoke them. "Sorry for the delay, folks. Union pacific runs the tracks out here." 

 

I smiled a little. 

 

"I know that line," I told my dinner companion. "I'm the one that used to delay the passenger trains." 

 

***

 

The advantage to being six feet two inches tall was that when I was half asleep and half awake and the phone rang I could stay securely under the blankets and angle myself just so that I could pick up the phone without disturbing my position or the dogs lying at my feet. It was Judy as usual, a fact for which today I was grateful even if I had only been asleep for seven hours. After the train arrived three hours late to Union Station and I drove home and put everyone to bed and left all my bags in the middle of the living room floor I thought I needed fourteen hours sleep, but here it was Saturday morning and Judy was on the phone.

 

"I'm sorry, Glen," she apologized in that soft way she had when she was feeling half guilty about something, "I should have known you'd be sleeping. Your train got in late last night?"

 

"1:30," I said comfortably, basking in her call. "I got home at 2:00 this morning." 

 

"Why do I always do this to you?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. "It seems like every time I call you you're asleep." 

 

"Or sick," I said quietly. 

 

"Sick? Are you sick?"

 

Judy had misunderstood me. I smiled.

 

"No, honey. I'm fine. Sometimes when you call me I'm either sick or asleep."

 

"Oh," she laughed, my heart eased, I smiled. 

 

"You're going to throw me out of your life someday," she teased, pricking at my joy just a little. It was my biggest fear. 

 

"I won't do that, Judy Flower," I said. "I promise. I don't mind you waking me up; it is 9:00 in the morning after all." 

 

"I was just curious about your trip. But I'll let you get some rest, first. Why don't' you call me when you're up for company." 

 

"You have the day off? You're not running out rescuing some poor person in distress?" 

 

"Not today," she said. "I actually have down time. Mom is doing well I'll see her tomorrow. No girl scout activities today. Just time for myself."

 

"Maybe you'll go shopping?" I asked. "Maybe you deserve something nice for yourself."

 

"Shopping?" she said surprised. "I'm not much of a shopper, Glen. Only things that interest me."

 

"Trains?" I asked. "Go to the train station? Or go look online for train stuff?"

 

"yeah," she said easily. "That sounds like fun. But right now it's all about the coffee." 

 

"Hmm," I said, not ready for that yet. "Why don't you give me a few more hours and we'll get together. Come about 4:00? We can barbecue and watch movies. Today is catch up day I don't really want to go anywhere.

 

"No, of course you don't'," she said easily. "My sweet Glen you have a lot to tell me and you deserve some time not running around. I'm sure you've been busy."

 

"yeah." 

 

I had emailed Judy from Astoria to let her know of my father's death and told her I'd be a couple of days delayed. Hold tight, I'd be there on Friday night. 

 

I sighed into the phone thinking of the state of my refrigerator and my lethargy. If I was feeling better, it had been a long trip and I was tired. 

 

"Maybe you should go to the store," I suggested. "Buy something to barbecue. There's not much in here. I'll pay you back." 

 

"Okay," she smiled, I could tell by the pitch of her voice. "I'll see you at 4:00. Sleep tight my friend. See you this afternoon." 

 

If the truth were told and this telling is all about the truth, I was very grateful that Judy had called me. In the down time I had while the young couple on the train had gone to eat by themselves and be alone I started thinking about things Judy and I could do together. As long as we stayed away from the painful subject I could handle this and maybe eventually I would tell her what was going on inside my head. She seemed to be able to know what was going on without me telling her, but I didn't think she would be able to figure out the fact that I had a twenty year old daughter, even if I couldn't find her. I couldn't tell her I was afraid she would leave me, maybe I would tell her that someday, but Sandy was right, I didn't want to face it. What I did want to face was the fact that we should do things together that didn't involve her comforting me or rescuing me in distress. How about if we just went somewhere for fun? How about a day trip along the coast? The beach? A trip to the mountains? A local festival? The train station? We seemed to like that. I hung up the phone and relaxed against the pillows feeling warm, my eyes heavy. I pulled the blankets over me and curled onto my left side, my favorite sleeping position. A body at my feet repositioned itself knowing it was not yet time to get up. We had taken care of business earlier and they knew daddy was still not quite awake. They hadn't seen me for a while; they'd be happy to stay right here till I got up. The resolution of this question could wait till at least 4:00 pm.


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