PART III - Chapter 53 : EPILOGUE

 

 

Epilogue

The Man with Three Names

(Ó 2010)

Five Years Later

Around 1:30 that afternoon, Melonie awoke from her nap. She was in that state between sleep and consciousness, and she opened her eyes halfway. The afternoon Florida sunshine was being filtered through the drapes of the sliding glass doors that led from her large master bedroom to the backyard patio. The light through the drapes, combining with the yellow pastel color of the walls made a low level golden glow about the room which can be only described as … divine.

 

Melonie was now all alone in her home; the only sound that she could hear was that of the tropical breeze through the leaves of the palm trees outside. She felt totally rested and relaxed, yet she still felt like she wanted to sleep just a little longer. She felt a warm sensation in her chest, and it radiated into her hands and knees, which now had no pain. Her breathing was at ease.

 

She turned her head slightly to her left to see the array of photographs on her dresser. The many photographs of the smiling faces of her children, grandchildren, and great-grand children. Her eyes fixed on each individual picture for a moment, as she did; she began to be filled with feelings of tranquility and joy. A slight smile began to form on her lips.

 

She then turned her head to her right to see the photos on her nightstand next to her bed. There was another array of photographs of her and her late husband, John. One was their wedding portrait, another of them together fishing on a large boat in the Atlantic, one of them at Christmas some thirty years ago, and another of them together at a black tie affair they attended. She remembered telling John that evening how handsome he looked in his tuxedo. She thought to herself of just how much she did love her John and how she missed him so. He had given her such a wonderful life, filled with happiness, love, family and security. The warmth in her heart grew as memories of that life went through her mind.

 

She then looked over to the corner of her room where she had a round dark wood table with a glass top that had a bookshelf below. On the table top it had six framed photographs given to her by the friends she had made while on her visit to France; Cosette, Miriam, and Giselle. One was an 8 X 10 formal photograph of Sergeant-Chef Logan Ian Morrow, of the French Foreign Legion. He was in his full dress uniform with shoulder epilates. His kepi noir with seven flamed grenade insignia was kept firmly in place by its chinstrap. He wore a stern expression … that of a warrior on his face.

 

Beside that photo was another of Logan and Lillian Morrow on their wedding day. There was another of Logan and Lily, with them both at the Le Club Argenté D'oiseau in Paris, they were in a full embrace with her head resting on his chest, and both were smiling. In addition, there were the pictures of Melonie that Cosette had given her that belonged to Logan. The picture of her sitting in the park in Ypsilanti with her teenage sweetheart Brent, attached to that picture was the one of her standing outside the ice cream parlor from her youth. She remembered when the pictures of her and Brent were taken. She remembered everything about Brent. She remembered how it was after he had disappeared, the initial anguish and worry that did deplete somewhat through the years. However, there was not a day that had past in those seventy-one of her ninety-three years when she did not think about him. About what had become of him, of where he was hiding and what he was doing at any particular moment in time … if he was all right … if he were happy … and even after so many years had past … if he were even still alive.

 

Many times when there was a full moon, a sunrise, or a sunset, she would stop, look at the view, and think about him.

 

The only remaining picture was that of the half-breed Lakota woman “Bird In The Rainbow” sitting outside on her chair holding and her little son, “Scowls Like The Wolf” on her lap.

 

Now she was looking at his pictures, thinking of him again, and looking down to the bookshelf portion of the table, where it had only one book … Logan’s book … Logan’s story, “ON TWO FRONTS”. When the facts of Brent’s demise came out, after the initial shock, she felt a small weight that had been removed. Not the cliché heavy weight that some would tell of. No, just the small weight of something. Like a medallion that you have worn everyday for years on end, and then one day you just take it off for good. Removed so simply, and to her surprise, when she finally learned of his life story, what she felt was not relief … but rather … fulfillment.

 

The one man who first touched her life … who first touched her heart.

 

The man with three names.

 

Melonie was now feeling overwhelmingly content and satisfied. She felt sleepy and turned on her right side and looked again to the pictures of her and her late husband. She took in a deep sigh and closed her eyes. She had a small smile on her face as she drifted back to sleep.

 

Some moments later … she died peacefully.