Jillian Chantal

This week’s word prompt for the Tuesday Tales authors is prompt.  How fun is that?  I am still working on my train story.

Check out the other tales here.

“All right. I need to see those IDs as I’m not getting into any car without being sure you’re who you say you are.” I was pretty sure he knew I’d have no choice unless I wanted to wait for the next train that would actually stop at my station. The express sailed right by where I get off and the locals don’t run as often as the faster ones. I could still bluff as if I had other options.

He pulled a black folder from his pocket and passed it to me.

When I opened it, I couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped.

That was as prompt as I expected,” he said.

“Is that really your name?”

“Yes. Please don’t say it out loud. Those guys know me as Al. I don’t want them to know. You can’t even imagine the tagging I get.”

“What would possess your mother to name you that?”

He shrugged. “Family name. What can I say?”

“I bet you were teased relentlessly as a kid.”

“For sure.  It made me who I am today. When you have to defend yourself on the playground every day, you learn to take care of yourself. When I got a bit older, when I got my schedule, I’d go to the school and ask my teachers to call me Al from the first day. I was able to keep it under wraps for a long time that way. People thought it was short for Allen or Albert.”

“What happened after that? How’d your colleagues know?”

“A sadist sergeant at the academy started and ended every sentence he spoke to me with my first name. Soon, everyone was doing it.”

He looked so sad, my heart hurt for him. I caught myself almost reaching a hand out to him, but stopped in time as it would be wildly inappropriate. “How long did it last? Did it stop when you graduated?”

“It went on for a bit. Pretty much the whole time I was a rookie and in uniform. Once I got the gold shield, it stopped. Except for once in a while when I run into some of the old guys. Luckily, there aren’t many occasions to see them. My precinct is out of the way of main headquarters.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

I’m back with Tuesday Tales. Life and work have been crazy so I haven’t been able to dedicate the time I like to my writing. But I’m back this week. I hope it lasts. 🙂

This week’s word is fussy. I am still working on my train story.

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

We walked—well, I staggered—through the glass door and back to our regular car.

Anita didn’t let go of me and led me toward her normal seat, pulling me down beside her as she sat.

She furrowed her brows. “What were you doing with that unsavory looking character? What’s happened to you? You used to sit quietly and were sweet to everyone without going off with strangers or inviting them to sit with you. You’ve gone rogue all of a sudden. Are there problems at home?”

Good grief, would she ever stop with the questions long enough for me to respond? I tuned her out while she nattered on. Until she elbowed me. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to say anything? I asked you a question.”

“I think you asked me about a dozen without taking a breath. Which one do you want me to answer?”

Anita recoiled and her eyes widened. “See? This is what I mean. You’ve changed. You’d have never called anyone out like that two weeks ago.” She patted the hand I had clenched in a fist around the strap of my messenger bag.

The look on her face was almost comical. A mixture of concern and aghast. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She was acting as if I’d suddenly become a serial killer.

I noticed the others looking at me in the same way. Had I really been such a doormat that when I chose to take a small stand and question why she was interrogating me it was a big deal? She was as fussy as the old homeless woman I’d come across once downtown who was trying to arrange her worldly goods in her shopping cart with the wind blowing some of her belongings around. Anita could’ve been her daughter—minus the homelessness and shopping cart—of course.

“There’s nothing wrong at home. Nothing wrong at work. Nothing wrong with my brain. You think you know me, but you don’t really. We see each other five days a week, two times a day. That means you don’t know how I am other than on this train.”

“Jane, that’s not fair. Anita’s just trying to help,” Jonathan said. “We may not hang out in our time off, but we’ve all been riding this train together for years. I thought we considered ourselves friends.”

He was right. I probably wasn’t being fair, but darn it, I’m a grown woman and I can talk to whoever I want. Who were they to stop me?