| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove70 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 07:17:07 03/25/01 Sun
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr, Lovegrove" on 08:05:43 03/24/01 Sat
I stand for a moment outside the church contemplating my next move. Catching sight of a stray rose that has fallen from one of the floral arrangements, I reach down to pick it up. Twirling the rose in my hand, I make firm my resolve to accomplish what I came here for.
Nikita, trying to stay with me, looks at me expectantly as I walk behind the church instead of returning toward the Pathfinder. I extend my hand out beside me, allowing her to grasp it and walk alongside me. The gravel path we follow leads us through a gate into the cemetery. On each side are a series of graves, each covered by a tombstone and capped by a headstone. As the path diverges, I strain to remember the way since it’s been so many years.
“It’s creepy here, Michael.” Nikita murmurs. With the sky gray and threatening rain, I understand her concern. Our status as living ghosts, coming close to death so many times, does not make it any easier to walk amongst the truly dead.
“You don’t have to come with me if it makes you feel uncomfortable.” I reply, gently presenting that option to her. She shakes her head and grasps my hand tighter, as if determined to stay at my side.
One more turn, and the area becomes faintly familiar. Scanning the stones, I catch sight of what I seek. Reading the gravestones, I see:
Jean Samuelle b. 1939 d. 1982
Angélique Samuelle b. 1943 d. 1982
“My parents.”
It’s the only thing that I can say as I view the stones for the first time in nearly 20 years. Similarly carved, the two stones each hold a cross. Bending down, I gently lay the single rose atop my mother’s grave as I whisper a tiny prayer.
As I rise up again, I see it. A different stone, one I have never seen before, standing to the left.
Michel Samuelle b. 1966 d. 1984
Despite knowing it would be here, the sight of my own name unsettles me. I turn away, feeling strange and uncertain how to react. Some poor soul lies in my place, bearing the burden of my name, while I stand here breathing in the scent of honeysuckle.
“Are you…okay?” Nikita’s tone changes mid-question, as she sees my name.
I turn back toward her, watching as her blue eyes stare at my tombstone. Moving behind her, I reach my arms around her waist, pressing her to me.
“The last time I was here, the headstones had finally been put into place. Marie and I traveled down from Paris on what would have been my mother’s 40th birthday. After my parents death Marie and I left Marseilles. We went to Paris since I had been accepted to attend the University there.” I say, feeling the need to think aloud.
I can’t help but remember that painful morning when the police investigator showed up at our door. I knew something was terribly wrong the minute I saw him. But I had no idea the man was there to relay the news of my parents’ death.
Feeling numb by the man’s words, I somehow had the cognizance to request that I be the one to inform my young sister. Being left as the man of the house, I immediately clung to that responsibility. I also took my mother’s role of comforter, wiping away my sister’s tears as I assured her that she had nothing to fear. Not knowing that less than two years later, she would lose me as well.
“How did they die?” Nikita gently asks.
Releasing my hold of her, I consider my answer. But I stiffen with fear as I hear a familiar voice carried on the wind.
~~~~~
My thanks go out to Quinn and Kadyn for our chat last night regarding cemetaries in France. (And for Quinn's picture of one.) Their contributions helped to mold this chapter. :)
Of course they pointed out that Michael would have the French equivalent of a Texas accent had he grown up in Marseilles, lol. And that Marseilles is very blue collar.
So the backstory they devised is that his father was a perfume designer (Grasse is near Marseilles...many perfumes are made there.) and his mother is from Paris. With parents not from Marseilles, he perhaps would not have a Marseilles accent, lol. Not sure if I'll really incorporate it into the story...but it shows that internet research may not be enough to give you the real 3-D picture...hehehehe.
Schnee
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