| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove63 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 17:34:08 03/10/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 17:45:20 03/07/01 Wed
My curiosity has been stirred by Michael’s sensitivity to my question about his father. Other than knowing that both his parents died prior to Michael’s incarceration, I know nothing of them. Aside from that one night in my apartment, Michael has never spoken much of his past life. I thought my question was natural, drawn from knowing so little and from craving to know more. I never expected the reaction I got. If I had any delusions of Michael becoming an open book outside of Section, they clearly would have been shattered by that conversation.
As I watch the passing scenery while Michael drives, a feeling of light-headedness overcomes me. Closing my eyes, I cling to my seat as I hope the wave passes. The dizziness reinforces my condition in my mind, reminding me of what these next few months will bring. But fear clouds my perception, blocking me from seeing anything beyond a growing belly.
When will I stop being controlled my fear? Will we ever be able to achieve happiness and security, without having to look behind us?
Or perhaps it is only my insecurities that stand in the way of our happiness? It’s as though I fear that I don’t deserve happiness or joy. By getting my hopes up, I’d only set myself up for defeat.
As the Pathfinder comes to a halt, my thoughts quickly dissipate. Opening my eyes I note that we are no longer in the city, but instead parked across from a grand house peeking through a series of the tall trees. I sense it is not an ordinary house as it is in the Belle Epoque style and quite large. Soon my eyes cast onto Michael who appears to be studying the house as well. But his interest seems different than mine, as he nervously runs his hands across the steering wheel.
Michael nervous? I must be imagining things.
“Are we going to get out or just stare at that house Michael?” I prod.
But Michael doesn’t reply and I’m not even certain he heard what I said as his focus remains on the house. After another moment of silence I speak again.
“Why are we here? Does this place have meaning for you?” I gently prod further. “Michael?”
Michael turns his head as the sound of his name finally registers in his consciousness.
“Where…”
“It’s the house where I grew up.” Michael plainly states, cutting off my question.
I firmly nod my head expecting more of an explanation. Receiving none, a feeling of hurt fills me. If he thinks he’s going to drag me all over France while keeping me at a distance….
I put that thought in check. Well, what would I do? Leave?
Of course not. For better or for worse, I’m bound to him, more so than by any words or promises.
Strengthening my resolve, I silently stare back at him, hoping for Michael to reveal more. I remind myself that this is a part of his life that he set aside over 15 years ago. It’s understandable that returning to his home after such a long time would affect him deeply. Despite my own neediness, I must give him the space he needs. But even knowing this, I still long to understand what has drawn him back here.
No matter how many times Michael has asked for me to be patient, I have yet to embrace that virtue. Maybe someday I will learn.
I look up at Michael, as his hand gently grasps mine, squeezing it. His green eyes appear stormy and conflicted as he prepares to speak.
“This house would have been mine. My inheritance. And then, one day, my son’s. But with my ‘death’ in prison, it went to the next male heir. My cousin.”
I nod, feeling a sense of relief as Michael begins to open up to me, but also a sense of sorrow, realizing Michael’s loss. I give his hand a soft squeeze as I perceive the sadness and regret in his eyes.
“This house has been passed down the Samuelle line for over a century. But to me, it doesn’t quite seem the same without my mother’s touch. For the house and the surrounding gardens lack the color and splendor they once had. I guess what they say is true. You can never go home again.” Michael breathes.
My heart feels heavy sensing his emotions, but I lack the background to relate to those emotions he’s experiencing. For I never had one place to call home. And especially not one as fine as where Michael grew up.
Home was wherever Roberta could manage to scrape enough cash together to put us up at. That is until we were thrown out and went scavenging for the next place. It wasn’t always cash that was paid, but Roberta usually did manage to find a roof to have over our heads. As for heritage, I lacked that too, having only a drunken mother as my family. A drunken mother who struggled to run from the demons of her past, running straight into a liquor bottle to blur the painful memories.
But in looking at my life before Section, I realize Michael lost far more than I in being recruited to Section. Losing not only his sister, but also his heritage and home. Then, his time in Section brought only more loss as he lost Simone, Rene and eventually Adam.
I only lost my mother, a broken woman who was bound to her substance abuse and poverty. Granted, she did love me in her dysfunctional way, but the times she showed it were few and far between. In a sick, twisted way, I found more love and compassion from my Section ‘family.’ From people with whom I shared no blood relation, who were there like me just trying to survive another day.
I realize now that despite all the neglect I endured as a child, Section was the darkest place I ever endured. But yet in that darkness I managed to find the most precious light in my life. Michael.
He and I are so different, having been molded by such contrasting childhoods. Despite that we somehow made a connection. A deep love and kinship that I cannot explain or fully comprehend. Thinking of our childhoods has me wondering. What kind of childhood will our child have? Is that what Michael is thinking, too?
“We better go. I don’t want anyone to think we are casing the house, and I’d rather not have to explain the appearance of a dead man.” Michael exhales, resigned to depart.
With one last glance at his childhood home, Michael turns the key in the ignition, restarting the Pathfinder.
As we pull away, a realization strikes me. The reason that Michael returned to his childhood home was to remember who he once was and the heritage he was forced to leave behind. The innocence that is no more, but the identity that he cannot change. For the impressionable child still lives inside the hardened shell of adulthood. And this is especially apparent now that his Section persona has been cast aside and the man behind the façade dominates once again.
~~~~~
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