| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove77 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 08:33:54 07/07/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 08:17:24 07/07/01 Sat
The hum of falling rain fills the air, as I rest against the cushioned sofa of our hotel room wearing only a soft terrycloth robe. Removing the towel from my hair, I begin to slide my fingers through its wet texture, recalling the earlier scene.
Teary-eyed, my throat burned as the taste of vomit plagued me. A gentle voice spoke over my breathy sobs.
“Here, let me.” His words did not register until I felt a handkerchief being gingerly stroked across the sticky strands of hair hanging around my face. Then, Michael dabbed a few areas of my shirt, before speaking again.
“Do you still feel nauseous? Or do think you’ll be okay until we make it back to the hotel?”
Blinking back the tears, I began to focus on the tenderness expressed on his face. It was so unlike the guarded concern I’d seen in the past, expressed by the stoic operative I’ve known these last several years. But I had a pervading feeling of embarrassment at having Michael see me in this less than glamorous moment of losing my cookies. It was a time that I would have preferred to have been alone and at least out of view. While some operatives had proved to have weak stomachs at the more bloody and macabre scenes witnessed, I didn’t recall ever losing my lunch, and especially not in front of Michael.
Soon it became obvious he was waiting for an answer. I found myself struggling for a moment to remember what it was he had asked just previously. It was difficult to focus as my legs quivered weakly beneath me. Clumsily, I reached my arm out to grip his shoulder in order to steady myself. Though I felt the need to cough several times, trying to clear my throat, I didn’t think there was much left in my stomach.
“I think I can make it.” I answered hoarsely, not completely certain.
Fortunately I did make it back to the hotel without having Michael stop the Pathfinder even once. It was a quiet ride, as I suspect Michael understood I wasn’t up to talking much. I’m also guessing that he sensed my need for solitude as I now sit here alone in our hotel room. Or perhaps it is he that needed to be alone.
Either way, I idly sit here listening to the soft sound of rain ever since finding the scrap of paper alongside an unopened bottle of ginger ale.
It simply read, “I’ll be back soon. --M.”
As always, a man of few words.
I breathe a sigh, as I lean back against the arm of the sofa and prop up my feet.
Okay, maybe I didn’t really want to be alone. What the hell do I know? My hormones are wreaking havoc on my sanity. One minute I could be laughing and the next I’m ready to bawl my eyes out.
Couldn’t he have waited until I got out of the shower before leaving?
I begin to wonder if he’s still thinking about his parents or Marie. Reminiscing about his youth and the good ole days. Or despondent like I found him earlier.
I fiddle with the sash of my robe, sliding my finger through the knot, releasing it. I begin to cup my hand around the round shape of my stomach. Not that it’s any rounder—no, it’s the same as it always has been since I have remained well nourished as a section operative. But I keep trying to imagine what it will feel like as the baby grows.
What will our life be like with a baby? Maybe he’s out thinking about the same thing as I am?
The more the reality of it sinks in, the more I realize that there is so much we need to discuss and plan. I’m not even sure of where to start.
I swallow hard remembering something I had long forgotten. I couldn’t have been any more than 10 years old. Immersed in daydreams and childhood games, I had placed my dolly under my sundress, mimicking pregnancy. Except I hadn’t realized that Roberta was nearby, witnessing my charade.
“Get that thing out from under your dress!” She staggered toward me. “You don’t need to be pretending. You’ll be knocked up one of these days. Especially if you keep flirting with the boys like I’ve seen you do.”
“I do not flirt with the boys.” I retorted indignantly, before slowly retrieving the doll from my dress, backing away from Roberta’s approach. Granted I did spend much time with the boys of the neighborhood, but I thrived on competition and trying to fit in. I had no interest in getting the kind of attention Roberta received from her numerous male friends. And I especially had no intention of emulating any of her behaviors.
“Don’t you think I know a whore when I see one? You know the apple never falls to far from the tree.” Roberta’s gaze frightened me. I’m not sure if she was drunk, high or both. But when she got like this, all I could do was try to find a good hiding spot until whatever it was passed through her system and she regained her sanity.
“And you’re not as smart as me. You’re too damn trusting. You’ll fall for some man’s wiles. And carry his bastard child. Yeah, he’ll throw you out on the street so he can return home to his wife. And then no one will want you.”
I began to cover my ears as I ran from the trailer home and away from Roberta. I couldn’t understand how my own mother could condemn me as a whore. How she could love me one day and hate me the next. I didn’t understand she was fighting some deep-seated demons.
Even though I understand that now, the memory of those words still hurt. Would she equate my current circumstances to the scenario she forecast?
Why the hell am I thinking this? I have nothing to be sorry for. I’m nothing like my mother. I may not be Martha Stewart or June Cleaver, but I will be a good mother. I’ll love and support this child. And Michael is not going to throw me out on the streets. He loves me. He promised that he would be back soon.
And he will.
As the rain begins to strengthen, I tug my robe tightly around me, tying the sash once more. Shifting my weight, I rest my cheek on the pillow propped against the arm of the sofa. My heart feels a pang of loneliness as I stare at the walls of the strange hotel room. I find no warmth in the simple décor that I’m certain is repeated in each room that lines this hall.
But with the click of the door handle, my head darts up, as I feel anxious to catch sight of Michael returning.
~~~~~
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