Owen Bauer Monologue

Now thinking about the game, not Sam, Lelia thought it would be only fitting the game evolve around Owen Bauer, that new cute guy working at the First National. After all, Mr. Owen Bauer was not a local, he was a stranger in town. She giggled to herself, thinking of him being called “Mister”. When leaving the Five and Dime, stepping out on to the sidewalk, Lelia stepped right on the foot of the man she had just been giving thought to, Mr. Owen Bauer.
From across the street, sitting on the wrought-iron park bench in front of the library, Owen had been watching the Five and Dime, waiting for the eye-catching redhead to appear. He had devised a plan to accidently meet her. However, spoiling his plot, and briefly blinding him, the sunshine had
The alluring redhead chattered on rather adamantly. “I shall marry a proper man (Samuel Truman, she thought, smiling as she just about said Sam’s name aloud), who has a respectable job. He’ll work with his dad as a lawyer. She giggled again, hoping this time she hadn’t said the last part aloud. First, we’ll have a son, followed in a few years by a daughter. I can even picture our home, a darling house, up there,” she pointed to a cluster of attractive homes nestled on the hill, “overlooking the
Unfortunately, everyone in her company fell prisoner to the gloomy aura she emitted. Two weeks and four days after Sam had left for school, Lelia’s dismal mood continued as she walked through her front door. The sun felt warm on her back and she wanted to leave the front door wide open to let the westerly sunlight flood the entryway hall. She knew better however, her mother would scold her, lecturing on about letting the house flies in this time of year.
Slowly closing the door, she decided not to go into the kitchen, where her mother undoubtedly stood preparing supper. Instead, she turned toward the staircase leading to her bedroom, thinking about what she wanted to say in her next letter to Sam. Stopping abruptly on the first step, she noticed a dainty box perched on the sixth step. A card standing upright on the box had the word, “for Lelia.” in handwriting she didn’t recognize.
With the synchronicity of a well-choreographed dance, Lelia swooped her head over the banister rail, leaning toward the kitchen; the box already securely in her hands. Filled with excitement, her words sounded high-pitched, nearly demanding, “Mother, where did this come