| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove Epilogue Finale |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 05:09:51 09/24/01 Mon
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 05:02:32 09/24/01 Mon
Epilogue Finale
There are times when you ask yourself if you’ve made the right decisions. Times riddled with challenge and conflict. I’ve never found ease in such times of uncertainty, when life seems out of my control. Instead I try to grapple with it, try to rid myself of my helplessness. When it was just me, it somehow seemed easier to chase the doubts away—to cut them off. When it was just me, there was not so much at stake.
Looking through the French doors, the world outside seems peaceful. Tranquil. A dusting of snow delicately covers the trees and the ground. Its whiteness blankets the barren land that in a few weeks will begin to show signs of life again. But just turning the television on throws reality back in my face. Powerful images of destruction and loss. A reality I have no power to change.
I cordon off the flow of my thoughts, placing an air of confidence on my face before looking down at the pair of arms reaching around my knees. The sweet cherub’s voice plucks at my heartstrings as her tiny lips form the word, “Papa.”
“Can I…can I have a piece of birthday cake?”
I cannot stop the paternal smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth as I see my daughter picking up her mother’s nervous habit. A gleeful smile replaces the biting of her lip as I lift her into my arms. Her soft chestnut curls tickle my skin as she buries a tiny kiss at the crease of my neck before hugging her arms around me.
“I forget, how old are you now?” I give a gentle squeeze along with my teasing question.
“I’m three!” Angelique cheers as she begins to hold out two fingers then finally raising a third.
I knew quite well that it had been three years ago yesterday that this sweet child entered the world. Three years since the midwife handed me my tiny infant daughter, with a hint of reddish brown hair and deep blue eyes. Her eyes would later change to a shade of green not unlike my own.
In my mind, I had envisioned that she would look just like Nikita, as Adam had Elena’s looks. Ever since I had learned our child would be a girl, I had convinced myself to expect a miniature Nikita, blonde and blue-eyed with a streak of defiance. But as I saw myself in this little person with ten perfect fingers and toes, a rush of feelings pushed the air from my lungs. Gasping for even a small breath, the tears spilled from my eyes as it sunk in that I was holding my little girl. A child born from love. Our child.
“My, such a big girl. I guess it’s early enough that a small piece of cake won’t spoil your dinner. Mommy shouldn’t mind.”
“No, Mommy said…Mommy said to ask you. She has a headache again,” she animates, placing her small hands on each side of her head making a frown. “Do the bad men on the TV make her headaches? Like they make her cry?”
My throat goes dry, as I know she does not fully understand what she has seen on the TV screen. She only knows that some bad men did something horrible. For that is how Nikita and I tried to explain it to her. She’s too young to truly understand the events themselves. But she can perceive how it affects Nikita and myself.
Setting her down onto the padded kitchen chair, I kneel down beside her, with one hand grasping the back of the chair.
“The things the bad men did have made Mommy and me sad. But Mommy is lying down because she doesn’t feel good. The bad men did not make her headache. With a little rest she’ll feel all better soon.”
With a soothing stroke, I brush my hand around the frame of her face before rising. It’s too soon to explain what’s to come. We don’t even have the doctor’s confirmation yet.
Taking the cover from the chocolate iced birthday cake, I begin to slice two pieces, a smaller one for her and a larger one for me. Before bringing the plates to the table, I retrieve the gallon of milk from the fridge, pouring two cups.
Angelique’s eyes light up as I place the cake and milk before her. Before I can get my own portions to the table, the little sprite has a chocolate ring around her lips. Wide-mouthed, she eagerly shovels another big piece in.
Watching her delight, the feelings creep back. I still feel torn. When Nikita first suggested having another child, I had been firmly against it. I did not feel secure in bringing another child into the uncertainty of our world, even with three relatively uneventful years having passed. One never could be certain when the past could resurface.
But she did not let that stop her from working on me over the last several months. Nikita insisted that Angelique needed a sibling. She did not want Angelique to be alone should anything ever happen to us. Thinking of Marie, I tried to impress upon Nikita that having another child would not ensure this.
Talk of another child had stirred thoughts of Adam—and my ever-present question. Should we one day tell Angelique of her half-brother? The boy whom Section hid from me after I was already forced to abandon him. Adam would be almost ten now. I can only try to imagine what he’d look like today. Can I explain his existence while sparing her of any knowledge of Nikita’s and my past life in Section? Unfortunately not without lying to her like we do to those around us. It’s something we’ll have to consider as Angelique gets older.
Despite voicing my opposition to expanding our family, Nikita would not give up. Soon Nikita changed her angle, lamenting that our baby was no longer a baby. She wanted another baby. Needed another baby.
As Angelique’s third birthday approached, Nikita became more persistent. I’m not sure why, but I relented. Perhaps it was the distance that was being created between us—the distance I wanted removed. I wanted my lover and friend back. Also, I had considered that I was being overprotective. Unreasonable. That I should trust in our love and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But now the other shoe has dropped. Our world has been rocked by terror. Once upon a time, I played a role. I was the unfeeling machine that was necessary to rid the world of the bad men. And Nikita, my partner in this quest. We wore no shining armor, we received no accolades, but we took on the purpose of making the world a safer place despite losing our freedom and our dreams.
Now that I live the dream, I cannot go back even if I wanted to. I can no longer rid the world of the bad men. I can only try to soothe my child’s fears. And hope that someone else can bring the bad men to justice and prevent the next madman’s plot from being successful.
As I wipe the chocolate from Angelique’s face and hands with a damp cloth, she begins to squirm, anxious to be done with being cleaned up. Sliding from the chair, Angelique follows me around the kitchen as I try to clean up from our snack. Grasping my pant leg, she clings to me making it difficult to walk.
Yes, my world had changed from chasing the bad men of real life, to chasing the boogieman and the monsters from the dark corners of my daughter’s room. Unlike my shadowy existence inside Section, in Angelique’s eyes, I am a hero.
“Why don’t you get your new dolly out, sweetie? Or play with your Legos in the playroom?” I suggest as she persists in clinging to me. As she remains unmoved by these suggestions I ask, “Do you need to go potty?”
She shakes her head insistently before burying it into my thigh. I suppress a snort of laughter. You can’t help but realize that control is an illusion when you have to deal with a three-year old. She’s the one in the driver’s seat.
Crouching down to her level, I ask again, “Are you sure you don’t have to go potty? It’s been a while.”
“I don’t gotta go.” She insists before whispering, “I want to watch Dalmatians. Will you watch Dalmatians with me, Papa?”
“Sure, we can do that.” I answer, taking her tiny hand in mine.
Once in the family room I insert the tape, a movie I’m certain we must be approaching the 101st viewing. I’m already prepared for another series of pleas to get a Dalmatian puppy. I’m not sure how much longer my standard ‘when you get older’ answer will satisfy her. Perhaps having a baby brother or sister will suffice instead. Maybe Nikita is right, maybe Angelique does need a sibling.
As she becomes caught up in the magic of Disney, I’m able to slip out of the room. It’s my concern for Nikita that has me climbing the staircase that leads to our bedroom.
Slowly, I ease the door open, peering into the darkened room. Silently, I’m drawn in. With care, I gently sit on the edge of our sleigh bed and begin to watch your sleeping form. Pale and tired. Pregnant. I know this without any tests or medical training. For I know you.
Your short bobbed hair pushed carelessly behind your ear reveals your milky white neck. A neck I long to cover with kisses before moving lower. Time has not lessened my passion for you. If anything, it has only grown deeper.
I catch myself just before my fingertips can graze your cheek. I chide myself for my lusty intentions when I know it is sleep that you need. Instead I stay at your side, pulled by my protective nature.
Your breathing changes, but your eyes remain closed. With the terrible nightmare we’ve witnessed these past two days, I hope that only pleasant dreams fill your slumber.
It is you that teaches me each day to look past the fear, past the terror, to take each day head on, with defiance and fervor. To live for the thrill of new challenges and joys.
You are my challenge and my joy, my Love.
----
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