A Matter of Character

Week Eleven: Journal One

Name: Mildred Withers
Nickname: Millie
Sex: Female
Age: 32
Looks: Long stringy brown hair, glasses, medium build, small breasts
Education: College degree
Vocation: Clerk in Library
Status/Money: Lots of money in savings account from years of saving.
relationship: single
Family/Ethnicity: Mother and Father dead, White
Places: Apartment
Recreation/Hobbies: watching documentaries, eating pints of ice cream, logic problems
Obsessions: Her cat, Blue, solitude, puzzles, magazines
Beliefs: Believes she is very unattractive.
Politics: None
Sexual history: Never had a boyfriend, virgin
Ambitions: Secretly dreams of being glamorous and popular.
Religion: None
Superstitions: thinks crossed yes are bad luck
Fears: men/people in general, heights, sardine cans,
Attitudes: Quiet, mousy, introverted
Character flaws: insecure, painfully shy
Character strengths: intelligent, caring,
Pets: Cat, Blue
Taste in books/music: Gore Vidal, John Irving, clueless to music
Journal entries: talks about her cat constantly and her boring life in the library.
Handwriting: small and tight
Astrological sign: Libra
Talents: pure, angelic voice
Friends: The head librarian where she works
Relatives: One half-brother who lives across the country
Enemies: None
As seen by others: quiet, shy, mousy, but capable and smart
Scars: One from appendectomy, cuticles badly chewed up
Tattoos, piercings: None
Salary: $30,000/yr

“Now, Blue, you get down from there,” Mildred playfully scolded the cat, picking him off the top of the refrigerator and snuggling him close to her chest. “Mommy has been looking for you.”

As she held Blue protectively in the crook of her right arm, she replaced the box of Raisin Bran that had fallen off of the refrigerator and onto the counter. She continued petting the animal gently, as she ambled from her small kitchenette to the window in the living room, which overlooked the community garden behind her building.

Mildred rarely went out. Just the thought of being around people in a social setting was enough to make her start sweating. She looked wistfully out of her window into the garden below, wishing she had the desire to go out and walk among the beautifully blooming flora. She had no foolish notion of ever blossoming in that way herself. She was just a miserable old spinster, destined to be alone for the rest of her life. At least she had Blue. He would always be here for her.

Mildred felt Blue beginning to purr in her arms and she smiled, rubbing her face against the softness of his head. She began to hum along with the cat and eventually the hum became a song. As she peered out the window, mindlessly rubbing her most beloved possession, she sang. The voice that came from this small, mousy woman was pure and crystal clear. The melodious sound of her voice traveled through her opened window down into the grounds below and more specifically through the window of a certain single gentleman who lived in the apartment directly beneath her.

Never once thinking about being overheard by anyone, Mildred continued to sing and stroke her cat simultaneously. Before long, there came a tentative knock at her door, and she instinctively jumped. Blue, startled out of his peaceful reverie, leaped out of her arms and scurried beneath the couch, nearly taking her grandmother's old antimacassar with it.

Mildred couldn't imagine who could be at her door. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her eyeglasses and tip-toed quietly to the front door. She subconsciously pulled her sweater tightly across her chest and cracked the door open.

“Yes,” she said, peering through the door, into the hallway. She found herself looking at the interestingly handsome fellow who had just moved in downstairs.

“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat and looking somewhat amused. “But I need to speak to the person who was just singing; the little angel has melted my soul.”

Mildred squeaked in surprise and closed the door quickly. What was she going to do now?