When the Mellow Moon Begins to Beam
Summary: An unexpected reunion on the Fourth of July reaffirms for Gary the meaning of love and freedom. This very short story is a sequel to "Somewhere in Time".
Disclaimer: Sarah Borelli is my own creation. Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
Author's Notes: I wanted to write a story on the Fourth of July, but my brain was scrambled. My mother suggested this concept as a natural progression from "Somewhere in Time." As a woman who celebrated her youth against the backdrop of the Second World War, my mother has shared with me some fabulous personal accounts from this bygone era. She continues to be my strength, my guiding light, and my touchstone in this changing world.
The title was inspired by one of my all time favorite songs, "The Man I Love", a timeless classic by the incomparable George Gershwin. IMHO, Gershwin's brilliant musical strains will resonate forever.
I dedicate this story to my twin sister Stacy (Happy Birthday!) and to my mother, Sarah Arlene Miller. To Rose, a sweet lark with a powerful and honest voice. And to Faith Brayden, God Bless and Get Well Soon!
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
When the Mellow Moon Begins to Beam
The mellow moon radiated a fabulous light across the celestial landscape. As God's children slept on Earth, the angels celebrated in Heaven. Palms unselfishly opened, the angels winked. Soon, the sky was painted with an army of twinkling and beguiling stars that offered no hint of the thunderstorms that meteorologists had predicted would reverberate tonight as temperamental alternatives to firecrackers this night before Independence Day.
She gazed out of the window marveling at the heavenly rejoicing. Stars. Sparkling. Glorious. Jewels that were more precious than diamonds. The nights were the hardest for her. Memories seemed the most jealous at night; they were a blessing and a curse. They warmed her heart as she lay in a bed still cold with grief. She missed him so much. Sometimes it was hard to stop her heart from its pitiful sobs. Yet, she knew that their love would never die because she'd carry him inside of her forever. And she'd see him in her mind and whenever she looked at their children. Their children were the seeds planted and nourished through love, a legacy of a man that had been called home to the angels.
Armando.
Sarah Borelli left the window and walked over to her desk. The mahogany was worn but resilient with the strength of character reminiscent of a bygone era. The desk, given as a wedding present from her parents in 1942, had stood the test of time.
She turned on the lamp seated on the desk. She opened the drawer and removed her stationary and pen. She hesitated only briefly before she wrote a letter.
* * * * * *
July 4, 2002
Independence Day. A holiday. A celebration of America's birth and the ideals of freedom. The smell of barbecue. The sound of laughter. And a time of reflection about what it means to be an American. Honoring the brave men and women of the armed forces that courageously gave their lives for the freedoms that we often take for granted. A melting pot. That name has been bandied about to describe America. A kaleidoscope of various hues and ethnic groups connected by the powerful thread of American pride. While people all over the country celebrated the Fourth of July, for one man, a hero, his life's work didn't provide for a holiday. There would be neither barbecue nor laughter today for him. Not yet anyway.
Wearing a short sleeved, blue T-shirt and jeans and with stubborn sweat glistening from his brow, Gary hurried to the designation of his next save. The T-shirt was moist from his perspiration. Heat wave. The Paper had given him so many disasters to prevent that he felt as if he had covered most of Chicago. It was now late afternoon as he hurried towards Lake Shore Drive to prevent two youngsters, ten and eleven-years-old, from sustaining serious injury in a firecracker mishap.
Gary arrived in the nick of time. The older child was poised with a match intent on heralding his own fireworks display. The younger child stared with wide-eyed anticipation and adulation. Not surprising that the children didn't appreciate the unexpected interloper who suddenly appeared on the scene, snatched away the firecrackers then lectured them about safety. If Gary had a bar of soap he would have gladly used it to cleanse the foul words hurled from the older child's mouth. Respect for adults, something he had been taught at his mother's knee, was conspicuously absent from the older child. The younger child was silent. However, before both children left him, the younger child rewarded Gary with a powerful and painful kick to the shin. Brat.
It was almost six o'clock when he returned home to McGinty's. An envelope addressed to him greeted him at the door. He retrieved the envelope. There was no sender's name gracing the delicate yet disciplined writing. He opened the door and proceeded to the office. Exhausted, he climbed the stairs to the loft. His Fourth of July celebration would consist of cold pizza, beer, shower, and bed.
"Meow." Cat greeted him enthusiastically as he entered the loft. Cat was seated on top of the couch. An act of defiance, maybe. Cat certainly knew the house rules about staying off the furniture, rules that the feline often intentionally ignored when asserting territorial rights. Cat was the bane of his existence. How often had he silently cursed the deliverer of his early edition? But there was an unspoken kinship between man and animal forged through their knowledge of the burden and importance of The Paper. Cat couldn't speak, not in words anyway, but his message came through loud and clear. There was a part of Gary Hobson that resented Cat's presence. However, there was another part that had grown so accustomed to the orange tabby that somehow he knew that he would miss Cat if the animal weren't around.
Gary eyed Cat for a moment before deciding not to yell about the furniture infraction.
A brief silence.
"Happy Fourth of July." Gary said to Cat.
"Meow."
"You know, you could have told whoever you worked for to give me a day off. It's a legal holiday for crying out loud."
"Meow."
"Never mind."
Gary shook his head. Why did he even bother? Gary walked towards the couch and plopped down. Cat glanced at him. Perhaps discerning the annoyance on the hero's face, Cat jumped off the couch enabling Gary the space to wallow in whatever he was wallowing in.
Gary briefly stared at the mysterious letter before opening it. He quietly read the letter. The sender was Sarah Borelli, an elderly woman he had recently met. Sarah's husband Armando had been killed when a car fatally struck him in an attempt to save a little girl that had wandered into the street. Gary had hurried to the scene rushing from another save hoping that he could save Armando, but he was too late. He had arrived at the scene just as the car struck Armando. He had removed his leather jacket and covered the elderly man to prevent him from going to shock. Through tortured breaths, Armando asked the young stranger whether the little girl was okay. Gary assured him that the child was fine. Then Armando insisted that Gary remove the cross from around his neck. Gary couldn't understand why but he honored the request. "Give this to Sarah and tell her that I love her." Armando said before his eyes closed. Armando died at the scene. Later, Gary had learned from Armando's obituary the identity of Sarah and about the funeral.
Gary met Sarah at Armando's funeral. Even in her grief there was a quiet elegance about her as she related the story of her wartime romance and marriage to Armando.
Now she wanted him to come over to her house tonight for dinner. She apologized for the short notice and said that she hoped that he didn't already have plans. She was alone today because her children and grandchildren were away. She really wanted to see him. Despite his exhaustion, Gary knew that he couldn't deny Sarah's request. The invitation was for 7:30. She told him that casual attire would be fine. Gary proceeded to his closet and selected a white shirt and black pants before heading for the shower.
On the way over to Sarah's house, he stopped at a florist and bought a beautiful bouquet of mixed flowers. He walked the path along the manicured street to the Borelli home. When Sarah opened the door, she greeted him with a warm smile. She thanked him for coming. Gary sensed that she didn't expect him to.
He handed her the flowers and she beamed with gratitude. The aroma of barbecue assaulted his nostrils the moment he entered the house. She told him that she was preparing barbecue chicken. It was one of Armando's favorite dishes and she hoped he liked it, too. He told her that he did. Green beans, mashed potatoes, rolls, and salad rounded out the meal. Maybe that was too much food to eat on such a hot day, but he suspected that Sarah wanted to cook for someone. Sarah excused herself as she went into the kitchen to check on dinner.
As he entered the living room, he saw the proud display of photographs gracing the white marble fireplace. A lifetime of happy memories lovingly honored. Pictures of her children and her grandchildren. And a sterling picture of a handsome young lieutenant with dark hair decked in his military finery. Gary was seemingly mesmerized by the young image of the elderly man he had briefly met.
There was Sarah and Armando's wedding picture. How beautiful and happy she looked. How very much in love they appeared. Their love seemed to jump right out from the picture and touch Gary.
A cool breeze kissed the stifling air.
Gary picked up the wedding picture just as Sarah entered the room. He clumsily attempted to place the picture back in position until she reassured him that she didn't mind that he had picked it up. She sat down on the couch. Instinctively, he joined her on the couch. He was still holding the photo.
"Armando was twenty when that picture was taken." She explained. "You remind me so much of him."
Gary smiled politely over the compliment. "How proud he was to serve his country. How very proud he was to be an American." Sarah continued. "Armando always said that there could be no greater calling then to give one's life to preserve the ideals of freedom." Sarah gently removed a photo album from the coffee table. "I'd like to show you something."
Gary watched with quiet reverence as Sarah opened the book full of her memories. She told him the stories about all the nameless phantoms he was seeing and through her stories he felt as if he knew these people. There were so many pictures of Sarah and Armando. Her mind was lucid as she recalled the minute details surrounding each picture. There was a picture of her and Armando in a park sitting on a blanket with a little boy. "That's Michael." She revealed. The Borellis dressed in 1940's attire. "I was performing at a club. I sang 'The Man I Love'. That was the song that I had sung the night I met Armando. We always considered that 'our' song."
Picture after picture, memory after memory, a flight of wonderment. Gary walked with Sarah as she revisited her life. It seemed as if they had gazed at the pictures for a very long time before Sarah realized that it was time for dinner. As Gary walked with Sarah to the dining room, he caught a glimpse of the moon, mellow and beaming.
And he could have sworn that he saw a very bright star happily smiling.
The End
Summary: An unexpected reunion on the Fourth of July reaffirms for Gary the meaning of love and freedom. This very short story is a sequel to "Somewhere in Time".
Disclaimer: Sarah Borelli is my own creation. Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
Author's Notes: I wanted to write a story on the Fourth of July, but my brain was scrambled. My mother suggested this concept as a natural progression from "Somewhere in Time." As a woman who celebrated her youth against the backdrop of the Second World War, my mother has shared with me some fabulous personal accounts from this bygone era. She continues to be my strength, my guiding light, and my touchstone in this changing world.
The title was inspired by one of my all time favorite songs, "The Man I Love", a timeless classic by the incomparable George Gershwin. IMHO, Gershwin's brilliant musical strains will resonate forever.
I dedicate this story to my twin sister Stacy (Happy Birthday!) and to my mother, Sarah Arlene Miller. To Rose, a sweet lark with a powerful and honest voice. And to Faith Brayden, God Bless and Get Well Soon!
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
When the Mellow Moon Begins to Beam
The mellow moon radiated a fabulous light across the celestial landscape. As God's children slept on Earth, the angels celebrated in Heaven. Palms unselfishly opened, the angels winked. Soon, the sky was painted with an army of twinkling and beguiling stars that offered no hint of the thunderstorms that meteorologists had predicted would reverberate tonight as temperamental alternatives to firecrackers this night before Independence Day.
She gazed out of the window marveling at the heavenly rejoicing. Stars. Sparkling. Glorious. Jewels that were more precious than diamonds. The nights were the hardest for her. Memories seemed the most jealous at night; they were a blessing and a curse. They warmed her heart as she lay in a bed still cold with grief. She missed him so much. Sometimes it was hard to stop her heart from its pitiful sobs. Yet, she knew that their love would never die because she'd carry him inside of her forever. And she'd see him in her mind and whenever she looked at their children. Their children were the seeds planted and nourished through love, a legacy of a man that had been called home to the angels.
Armando.
Sarah Borelli left the window and walked over to her desk. The mahogany was worn but resilient with the strength of character reminiscent of a bygone era. The desk, given as a wedding present from her parents in 1942, had stood the test of time.
She turned on the lamp seated on the desk. She opened the drawer and removed her stationary and pen. She hesitated only briefly before she wrote a letter.
* * * * * *
July 4, 2002
Independence Day. A holiday. A celebration of America's birth and the ideals of freedom. The smell of barbecue. The sound of laughter. And a time of reflection about what it means to be an American. Honoring the brave men and women of the armed forces that courageously gave their lives for the freedoms that we often take for granted. A melting pot. That name has been bandied about to describe America. A kaleidoscope of various hues and ethnic groups connected by the powerful thread of American pride. While people all over the country celebrated the Fourth of July, for one man, a hero, his life's work didn't provide for a holiday. There would be neither barbecue nor laughter today for him. Not yet anyway.
Wearing a short sleeved, blue T-shirt and jeans and with stubborn sweat glistening from his brow, Gary hurried to the designation of his next save. The T-shirt was moist from his perspiration. Heat wave. The Paper had given him so many disasters to prevent that he felt as if he had covered most of Chicago. It was now late afternoon as he hurried towards Lake Shore Drive to prevent two youngsters, ten and eleven-years-old, from sustaining serious injury in a firecracker mishap.
Gary arrived in the nick of time. The older child was poised with a match intent on heralding his own fireworks display. The younger child stared with wide-eyed anticipation and adulation. Not surprising that the children didn't appreciate the unexpected interloper who suddenly appeared on the scene, snatched away the firecrackers then lectured them about safety. If Gary had a bar of soap he would have gladly used it to cleanse the foul words hurled from the older child's mouth. Respect for adults, something he had been taught at his mother's knee, was conspicuously absent from the older child. The younger child was silent. However, before both children left him, the younger child rewarded Gary with a powerful and painful kick to the shin. Brat.
It was almost six o'clock when he returned home to McGinty's. An envelope addressed to him greeted him at the door. He retrieved the envelope. There was no sender's name gracing the delicate yet disciplined writing. He opened the door and proceeded to the office. Exhausted, he climbed the stairs to the loft. His Fourth of July celebration would consist of cold pizza, beer, shower, and bed.
"Meow." Cat greeted him enthusiastically as he entered the loft. Cat was seated on top of the couch. An act of defiance, maybe. Cat certainly knew the house rules about staying off the furniture, rules that the feline often intentionally ignored when asserting territorial rights. Cat was the bane of his existence. How often had he silently cursed the deliverer of his early edition? But there was an unspoken kinship between man and animal forged through their knowledge of the burden and importance of The Paper. Cat couldn't speak, not in words anyway, but his message came through loud and clear. There was a part of Gary Hobson that resented Cat's presence. However, there was another part that had grown so accustomed to the orange tabby that somehow he knew that he would miss Cat if the animal weren't around.
Gary eyed Cat for a moment before deciding not to yell about the furniture infraction.
A brief silence.
"Happy Fourth of July." Gary said to Cat.
"Meow."
"You know, you could have told whoever you worked for to give me a day off. It's a legal holiday for crying out loud."
"Meow."
"Never mind."
Gary shook his head. Why did he even bother? Gary walked towards the couch and plopped down. Cat glanced at him. Perhaps discerning the annoyance on the hero's face, Cat jumped off the couch enabling Gary the space to wallow in whatever he was wallowing in.
Gary briefly stared at the mysterious letter before opening it. He quietly read the letter. The sender was Sarah Borelli, an elderly woman he had recently met. Sarah's husband Armando had been killed when a car fatally struck him in an attempt to save a little girl that had wandered into the street. Gary had hurried to the scene rushing from another save hoping that he could save Armando, but he was too late. He had arrived at the scene just as the car struck Armando. He had removed his leather jacket and covered the elderly man to prevent him from going to shock. Through tortured breaths, Armando asked the young stranger whether the little girl was okay. Gary assured him that the child was fine. Then Armando insisted that Gary remove the cross from around his neck. Gary couldn't understand why but he honored the request. "Give this to Sarah and tell her that I love her." Armando said before his eyes closed. Armando died at the scene. Later, Gary had learned from Armando's obituary the identity of Sarah and about the funeral.
Gary met Sarah at Armando's funeral. Even in her grief there was a quiet elegance about her as she related the story of her wartime romance and marriage to Armando.
Now she wanted him to come over to her house tonight for dinner. She apologized for the short notice and said that she hoped that he didn't already have plans. She was alone today because her children and grandchildren were away. She really wanted to see him. Despite his exhaustion, Gary knew that he couldn't deny Sarah's request. The invitation was for 7:30. She told him that casual attire would be fine. Gary proceeded to his closet and selected a white shirt and black pants before heading for the shower.
On the way over to Sarah's house, he stopped at a florist and bought a beautiful bouquet of mixed flowers. He walked the path along the manicured street to the Borelli home. When Sarah opened the door, she greeted him with a warm smile. She thanked him for coming. Gary sensed that she didn't expect him to.
He handed her the flowers and she beamed with gratitude. The aroma of barbecue assaulted his nostrils the moment he entered the house. She told him that she was preparing barbecue chicken. It was one of Armando's favorite dishes and she hoped he liked it, too. He told her that he did. Green beans, mashed potatoes, rolls, and salad rounded out the meal. Maybe that was too much food to eat on such a hot day, but he suspected that Sarah wanted to cook for someone. Sarah excused herself as she went into the kitchen to check on dinner.
As he entered the living room, he saw the proud display of photographs gracing the white marble fireplace. A lifetime of happy memories lovingly honored. Pictures of her children and her grandchildren. And a sterling picture of a handsome young lieutenant with dark hair decked in his military finery. Gary was seemingly mesmerized by the young image of the elderly man he had briefly met.
There was Sarah and Armando's wedding picture. How beautiful and happy she looked. How very much in love they appeared. Their love seemed to jump right out from the picture and touch Gary.
A cool breeze kissed the stifling air.
Gary picked up the wedding picture just as Sarah entered the room. He clumsily attempted to place the picture back in position until she reassured him that she didn't mind that he had picked it up. She sat down on the couch. Instinctively, he joined her on the couch. He was still holding the photo.
"Armando was twenty when that picture was taken." She explained. "You remind me so much of him."
Gary smiled politely over the compliment. "How proud he was to serve his country. How very proud he was to be an American." Sarah continued. "Armando always said that there could be no greater calling then to give one's life to preserve the ideals of freedom." Sarah gently removed a photo album from the coffee table. "I'd like to show you something."
Gary watched with quiet reverence as Sarah opened the book full of her memories. She told him the stories about all the nameless phantoms he was seeing and through her stories he felt as if he knew these people. There were so many pictures of Sarah and Armando. Her mind was lucid as she recalled the minute details surrounding each picture. There was a picture of her and Armando in a park sitting on a blanket with a little boy. "That's Michael." She revealed. The Borellis dressed in 1940's attire. "I was performing at a club. I sang 'The Man I Love'. That was the song that I had sung the night I met Armando. We always considered that 'our' song."
Picture after picture, memory after memory, a flight of wonderment. Gary walked with Sarah as she revisited her life. It seemed as if they had gazed at the pictures for a very long time before Sarah realized that it was time for dinner. As Gary walked with Sarah to the dining room, he caught a glimpse of the moon, mellow and beaming.
And he could have sworn that he saw a very bright star happily smiling.
The End