The Stenographer - Chapter 3, Chocolate

"Are you alright there, sweet pea?" asked Roy? "Oh, god, I'm so embarrassed, sorry about that," Sunny blushed and looked down at her toes, then back up at Roy. "I'm Roy Thaxton; you probably know that already." "Uh, yes, I know you work with Wayne. I've seen you; I'm Sunny. And you probably know that." Sunny's heart pounded as they shook hands, but Roy, so ultra smooth in manner, conveyed a sense of self-assuredness that washed over her sensibilities and put her at ease. She could not deny that she enjoyed the warm feel of his palm pressed into her own. Roy pulled out a bag of Raisinets and offered to Sunny. She suppressed a laugh She thought it odd that he carried candy around with him; it just didn't seem to match with his cool guy persona, but Sunny was a freak for any type of chocolate so she accepted. Roy shook the bag, spilling the candies into her cupped hand and kept at it until Sunny said, "Whoa, no more!" Roy took the bag and funneled the rest of the chocolate covered raisins into his mouth.

The Stenographer - Chapter 2

Sunny Parker took a job for which she was well suited. She aced all of her shorthand and business classes in high school. She was offered the job on the same day she interviewed at the FBI before the end of her senior year, her skills were that much in demand. Sunny was pleased with herself, garnering a salary much higher than any of her friends'. Sunny had an "off and on" boyfriend, Jay Noble, but like Sunny, he was shy and considered a geek, so suffice to say that Sunny was still a virgin, which for the times and given that she was raised Catholic, was not so strange. In 1969, granny dresses had been the rage, but the styles soon went shorter, and by the end of that year, Sunny owned a couple of short wool skirts that showed off her great legs - not "great" as in large, but "great" as in alluring. At work, she was most often assigned to take dictation from the Vice and Gambling squads, and the agents noticed her because 1)her work was without flaw, 2)she laughed at their jokes, and 3)she was considered "real cute." She liked Special Agent (SA) Wayne Floyd the best. Wayne was from the South, and Sunny thought his accent adorable, but SA Floyd was 25 years old, and to Sunny, he might as well have been 40 - or 50, because she was barely 18. She created his reports special just for him, with centered headings and fancy fonts when she could manage it, and he ate it up. He made a point of telling her steno pool friends (in his sultry southern drawl,) "Why, look at how pretty Sunny made this." But Wayne was a gentlman. It was his street partner, Roy Thaxton, an agent she had yet to work with, who seemed to observe her with a nonchalant curiosity. He bumped into her one morning in the break room, which made her feel nervous, yet intrigued. Her intuition told her that "the bump" had been on purpose. Roy rode the same train to New Jersey as Sunny. One evening, they were standing in the doorway of the crowded speedline car across from each other. The train jerked hard, and to save herself, Sunny instictively extended her hand, which awkwardly landed on Roy's chest. Roy smiled and officially introduced himself.

The Stenographer - Barely Legal

Inspired by a piece of fiction written and read by one of my MFA faculty, I felt obligated to create a separate body of work "on the side" so to speak. So with no further introduction . . . I shall begin. The Stenographer Lunchtime in the city. Most of the girls who work on the fifth floor of the Widener Building, home to the Philadelphia office of the FBI, are out browsing shoes at Wanamaker's department store on Chestnut Street, or stuffing down lunch at McGillin's Pub while blathering on about their boyfriends. But not Sunny Parker. She is dining at the counter of Chock-Full-o'-Nuts luncheonette alone. She orders a cheeseburger, no fries, and a cup of coffee with extra cream. Shy by nature, Sunny does not prefer to dine without a companion, but today, as has been the custom lately, she has mustered up the courage to lunch solo at the cougter. Across from her sits Roy Thaxton, Special Agent.

Someone Save Me From the Eighties

I love music, all kinds except for country. One song I heard recently sings about a woman who has a roll around her middle, and "she's not ashamed." My musical devotion led me to a conversation with a colleague - a young one, who encouraged me to purchase my first iPod. It's a cute little thing, inexoensive too It even has my name engraved on its stainless steel clip in case I lose it, which is likely - give me time. I figured out how to set up my library and get into the store, and that's where my imagination comes to a halt. I have been listening to music since the 1960's, everything from The Supremes and The Beatles to U2 and a lot of stuff in between, but the only tunes I seem to buy remind me of my personal golden years-the '80s. I just can't get enough of The Thompson Twins and Bruce Cockburn. Oh, I know Bruce is still creating, but Lovers in a Dangerous Time - he could have sat back and never written another song - it's that great. Then there's Linda Ronstadt, The Motels, John Waite, and Bryan Ferry. When I am on my exercise bike or out walking on campus and I hear Sara by Fleetwood Mac, or Luka by Suzanne Vega, a lilt comes to my step, and it is all I can do not to belt it out along with the artist. I could download Alicia Keyes or Justin Bieber, but i fear it would throw a wrench in the iTunes store assessment of my profile not to mention that it would kill me to spend $1.29 simply to claim I possess an updated and varied playlist. I'll stay stuck in the 80's and live the consequences.

Ode to a Summer Evening

I just had a little nap. Me, who claims she never takes them. And damn, it felt good - until I got up. I felt like I'd just gotten over the world's worst hangover; I felt wobbly and disoriented. It wasn't pretty. And here it is high summer, almost the Solstice. I felt ashamed nodding off on the almost longest day of the year. And it's a beautiful evening out there.

I recall a childhood when I played outside during the summer until it got dark - 9 p.m. or thereabouts. We dined on hot dogs, and afterward had vanilla popsicles that my father bought at the corner store. Then we played badminton, rode our bikes, and for the grand finale, we ran around catching lightening bugs in a jar.

The grid of streets we lived amongst was a world unto itself. Little Kirkwood town. I recently saw photos from the 1950's when my family moved there. The streets and houses seemed almost shabby. I saw a video my brother took in the 1960's. It looked like a rural version of Oliver Twist. My sister saw the same video and asked me, "Did we grow up in Appalachia and just didn't know it?" It was far from a place of wealth, it was below middle class, blue collar all the way. But I hadn't a clue because I was happy - and I knew it. I grew up with parents who loved us and loved each other and better yet, they liked each other. But our town was poor. We were poor. I have never said that out loud before (or in writing.) I believe we were poor, but it never seemed so. My mother was beautiful in her kindness and gentleness. My father worked hard, but he never seemed stressed, not for a day. I am glad that he wasn't. I never felt that I didn't have enough - of anything. I would have rather had my life, my childhood, my mother and father as they were (and are) - simple, kind, unfettered by the trappings of stuff and status. It made for simple summer evenings when I drifted off to sleep by the light of a firefly in the jar by my bed.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do - The Real Housewives

My name is Eileen and I am addicted to the Real Housewives.

While walking on campus the other day with a friend, I went to offer a metaphor to our conversation, which was connected with Real Housewives (New Jersey to be specific, but I have a thing for the New York ladies, too.) I cupped my hand to my mouth and spoke in a bare whisper as if I were sharing a top military secret. I was embarrassed to admit that I am a viewer. But when we find someone else who watches, it is as if we discover a long lost sister - welcome to the coven.

I watch because I am a voyeur, that's it, nothing more. And I have given a part of my soul to these bitches with my own blessing. As I watched the NY reunion last night I paused to reflect and examine my sins. No intervention required - I see the light. The show's trashy fun brings me down. I thought to myself, "I could be reading. Or spending time with my husband. Or gardening. Or cleaning the cat litter box."

Watching these women who call themselves friends just isn't fun any more, and I vow that I shall no longer stand witness. I refuse to condone the glaring looks, the mean-spirited jabs, the disloyalty, the constant interjecting into each others' sentences. I'm done.

I WILL miss the great clothes and awesome shots of New York City, and I'll miss those Jersey girls' lack of taste, although I sort of like Sonja on New York - she seems like a nice girl. But that's it - it's over. I'll be back tomorrow to "share" again until I no longer have the urge to flip the channel to Bravo. One day at a time.

A Little Peace

I love my solitude - there, I said it. There are those who believe it is nearly criminal to want to be alone. But I don't want to be alone all the time, just sometimes. It runs in the family. We are a placid bunch I suppose. My brother said that he could sit out back in the yard and be very content, and would not require the company of another human for oh, "about two years." I would not go that far, but he and I are more like-minded than not. That's why today, when I went for my massage and then came home to an empty house I was in bliss. My workdays are quiet in academia this time of year, thus I spoke with few people. I have the computer before me; the emails never quit, but after my massage appointment (no talk during that either, yay) and now to be at home with only the stove beeper going off to let me know my dinner is ready, I have time to think, to just be. Like Anne Morrow Lindbergh stated in Gift From The Sea, we need to spiral inward and go to the stillpoint, in order to refresh and be able to go out to the world again as giving people.