| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove75 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 17:42:45 07/02/01 Mon
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 17:12:11 07/02/01 Mon
“Michael.”
I call to him several times. But he continues briskly walking, as if unaware of me, focused on something in the distance.
Frustrated by his lack of response, I struggle to quicken my pace. I can see no obvious reason for his behavior, as I peer beyond him. Attacking the incline in my flustered state, I propel myself forward, intent on following Michael. But my gait becomes less steady, as I fight the urge to hurl my breakfast. However, I am unwilling to let a little morning sickness get in the way—not when Michael has fled the Pathfinder with no explanation.
My apprehension eases some as I see Michael coming to a halt where the road curves sharply. I pause to call his name once more, this time with more urgency. But he still fails to respond. Instead, his eyes appear fixed toward the sea.
Gulping a few breaths of damp air, I summon the strength to continue. It’s not much further. I can make it.
Finally, I creep up alongside him, with the sound of my breath raging in my ears.
“Michael.”
Only when I touch his shoulder, does he finally respond to my presence. His green eyes flicker with recognition, as if aware of me for the first time.
“I’ve been calling after you, but it’s as if you were a million miles away. What’s wrong?” I ask breathlessly, struck by his odd behavior. I find it disturbing—unlike anything I’ve seen in him before. My only guess is that it must have to do with seeing Marie. But I’d like to hear him say as much.
“I’m sorry.” Michael whispers as his eyes slowly withdraw from me and stray toward the sea again.
My heart feels heavy, having detected the desolation in his eyes. I slowly reach to stroke his face, attempting to soothe away the worried lines.
“It must be hard knowing you can never let Marie know you’re alive. I’m sorry…that Section robbed you of your life.” I struggle to find the right words.
That’s it! Remind him again of everything he’s lost. Of everything that Section took from him. Just go and rub more salt in his wounds!
Casting my eyes downward, I withdraw my hand and shift my feet, longing for the earth to swallow me. But my poor attempt to console him does not go unanswered.
“It’s not about my sister.”
The abruptness of his statement puts me more off balance. Puzzled, I look up to see that Michael’s focus has not shifted. He continues to stare out toward the sea.
Struggling to understand Michael’s distance, I turn to see what has his attention. Scanning the dark waters, I see nothing but a few gulls hovering above the emptiness. Any boats I may have seen earlier, have sought shelter with the rain coming. With the sound of the water lapping against the land, I look straight down, following the jagged descent to the blue sea. A lonely bush has managed to root itself upon a shelf of rock. But otherwise, I see nothing.
“Then, what’s this about?” My voice sounds tentative, as I feel at a loss. But my eyes implore him to give me some answers.
“My parents,” Michael whispers, as he his murky green eyes meet mine. “It was a cold, miserable November night. Their car was traveling too fast for the wet conditions. It didn’t make the curve.” His voice sounds hollow as his fingers stroke the rail, wiping away a few stray raindrops.
My stomach knots as I grasp the meaning of his words. Those last moments must have been horrifying. To have no control. Trapped inside a box as the world dropped out from beneath, with no way out. But at the same time, I feel a perverse sense of relief, as Michael’s actions begin to make sense to me.
“I’m so sorry.” I start to reach for him, but I pause, uncertain my embrace is welcome, as his stance still seems distant and introspective. Michael numbly continues to brush his fingers against the wet metal. Instead, I step closer, turning to lean against the rail beside him, trying to ease into his personal space. Considering what to say next, I bite my lip. Michael’s eyes drift to meet mine again, as he breaks the silence.
“I put it out of my mind for so long. I never dealt with all the lingering doubts that surrounded their deaths,” Michael pauses. His turbulent green eyes remain focused on me.
“In Section I learned to compartmentalize my life. To close off any portion that held any raw emotions. Anything that could be perceived as a weakness—anything I perceived as a weakness. Instead I focused on achieving each next level. I focused on being the best Section operative. But now….”
“Now, you’re no longer an operative. We are no longer operatives.” I reply understanding his difficulty in expressing his current state of mind. As much as I’ve always longed to be free, the prospect of starting a new life and leaving Section behind is admittedly quite daunting.
“I’ve often wondered what would have happened had I not started an argument with my father that night. Would the events of that night have transpired differently?”
Despite wanting to know more about the argument and that night, I work toward lessening Michael’s guilt.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You weren’t the person driving the car. And thinking ‘what if’ won’t get you anywhere. Neither you nor I can turn back the hands of time.”
“No.” Michael answers with air of resignation
In coming to know Michael these last six years, I understand it is unlikely he will ever feel completely free of guilt. Always taking responsibility for those around him, whether it be his team members, me, or in this case, his parents. But I don’t like to see him carrying all this pain inside for things outside his control. I want to ease his pain, yet I’m never quite certain how.
“And as selfish as I know this will sound, I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like had I never met you. As much as I despise what Section did to me, and to you, “ I cringe knowing what I’m about to utter, “I can’t deny that it saved me from a life on the streets. Without Section, I could have ended up living the same kind of life as my mother, or even worse. But without you, I don’t think I would have survived inside Section.”
“You would have. You are stronger than you even realize.”
Uncertain that I agree with his assessment of me, I turn to grasp the rail and allow the sea breeze to capture my hair, whipping it back from my face. Cool drops of rain splash against my searing skin, as if the heavens sense the weight of this emotional day. As my eyes are drawn to the steep descent, my stomach twists with the urge to wretch. Closing my eyes, I step back while inhaling a few controlled breaths.
How long will I have to endure this nausea?
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