Epilogue-

"How much are your cucumbers?" From that day forward, I figured that as long as my faith in myself, my friendship with Heather, and my newly formed Cucumber Fund, didn't diminish, there was nothing on God's green Earth I couldn't accomplish or achieve.

On her bed, Meg sat in quiet exhilaration of the tale she had just finished reading, her eyes wide and her mind totally blown.

Half-buried in piles of faded newspapers, she followed edition after edition, opening and devouring every chapter her ancestor had put to page. Looking across her bedroom, Meg could see that there were still more issues packed away that she hadn't even touched yet.

"Wow! Now that was a history lesson," she said to herself.

"Not a bad tale, if I do say so, myself," a different feminine voice replied.

Meg screamed with a start when she heard it. Apart from herself, the room was empty. "Who's in here? Who are you? Where are you?"

Meg heard the voice saying casually, "Answering in that order, "May Griffin", "your ancestor", and "look in the mirror"."

Meg, extricating herself from her loose cocoon of read newspapers, padded over to the side of her dresser's mirror and cautiously tilted her face in front of it. May's smiling face appeared in its place as they both slowly stepped up to it.

Meg's brain staggered from the reality of what she was seeing right in front of her. "Oh, my God. It's...really you. The girl in the newspapers! You're May! May Griffin!"

"Hi, Meg."

"A-Are you a ghost?" Meg asked her, wanting to quail away from the looking glass.

May shook her head. "No, just a spirit from the Great Beyond."

"What's the difference?" Meg asked.

May was a little thrown by the question, but answered, regardless. "Well, I didn't stay on Earth with unfinished business when I died. Anyway, I'm here because of you."

Misunderstanding, Meg jabbered, "You are? Wait! Did I disturb your rest or something? I'm so sorry, if I did! I didn't mean to!"

May waved her hands to calm her progeny. "No, no. Quite the opposite. You called me, believe it or not, and I came."

Meg took this news with some suspicion, from what she could remember, she did nothing to suggest this. "How? 'Cause I'm not into all of that black magic stuff. I'm Catholic."

"No, nothing like that," May placated. "It was your need and you protecting my newspapers that did it."

Meg's memory jogged into understanding when May mentioned the newspapers. "So that was you when that guy flipped the coin in the shop today."

"And knocked your boxes over when you put them in your room. You said you needed a subject for your report, so I lent a hand. How did you like my story, by the way?"

Meg had forgotten her fear as she remembered that it was May who had wrote the story, and happily recalled as much of the whirlwind account as she could in one try.

"I couldn't put it down. I loved it. I had no idea you lived such an exciting life back then."

May chuckled, saying, " A little too exciting most days, but from one writer to another, I'm glad you liked it, Meg. I hope it was also inspiring, as well."

"It really was!" Meg said. "So, tell me, how famous did you get?"

May posed thoughtfully, then said, "Well, when all was said and done, I did get two of my books published before I got married and moved to Ireland. But, it turned out, I was a better reporter than I thought. People seemed to remember me more for that. Go figure."

Meg's face fell in slight confusion. "I don't get it. How does that help me with my report? Why did you want me to read your story? I thought you became a world-famous writer. I thought you were a big-

"Success?"

"Yes!" Meg exclaimed, sounding almost exasperated.

May sighed from her end of the mirror. Obviously, the future had its share of impulsive youth, as well.

"I was, in my own way," May explained. "But don't mistake success for history, Meg. The fact that my family was able to survive back then and stay together was as much an achievement as ever winning prestige as a writer. Yes, I did find some fame, but I also found love and a family of my own. In a time when things like that were practically denied to us, that was a success, too."

"I understand," Meg fretted. "But is that enough to write a report on it?"

May sighed again and said quietly, "That's for you to decide, Meg. But even if I didn't find fame and fortune in my lifetime, would you still think I wasn't historical important in my own way?"

Meg asked simply. "I don't know. Are you?"

"You tell me," May told her, just as simply. "You are here, aren't you?" Then, with a disappointed waver, May faded from Meg's sight.

Seeing her reflection again, Meg sat by her dresser in a proper funk, wondering why their meeting ended so coolly, and pondering what she said, as she moodily looked around the room, from the newspapers on her bed, to her reflexively uncomfortable likeness in the mirror. She wished May would come back to talk to her again, despite the strangeness of the very act.

She tried in frustration to figure out May's cryptic, parting words, but she also felt guilty for how she had talked to her just then. Her ghostly image may have looked like a fellow teen, but May Griffin was still one of her eldest family members by over a century.

Something hit her, just then.

Eldest…family member…

Meg wanted to kick herself for not seeing it sooner, and she knew she had her own damned impetuosity to blame.

She ran back to her bed and grabbed the edition that had the last chapter of May's story written on it. Scanning along the last few paragraphs, Meg finally found the clue that had nagged at her a moment ago.

"Dewey McFinnigan," Meg read aloud. Afterwards, she considered the name deeply. "Grandpa was a McFinnigan, too. That means that May married Dewey and started the line of McFinnigans that led up to Grandpa, Dad…and this family. I couldn't be here without her. That what she meant!"

Chagrined, she walked back to the dresser and touched the looking glass gently, wishing even more that May would come back, and fearing it may have been too late.

"I'm so sorry I didn't listen, May. I understand what you were trying to say, now."

Meg took her hand from the mirror and said nothing else, lest she lose the coming muse that rose to meet her, as she grabbed a tablet and pen from a drawer in her dresser, and then went to work in studious silence.

Two weeks later, Meg's class sat around in typically various degrees of general disinterest and conversation, idly waiting for their reports to be returned, after their were graded and proofread.

"Class," the English teacher called out, to get their attention. "You'll all be getting your reports back in a few minutes, but I want to tell you that one report really stood out from the rest, and I want you all to hear it before the end of this class."

Curiosity for this exceptional writer was marginal, at best, but when the teacher called Meg up to the front of the classroom, eyes followed the surprised girl as she got up from her desk.

Her teacher proudly handed Meg her report, which was adorned with circled capital "A" in front, and she stood before the students as they began to quiet down. For some of them, they would consider it light entertainment and a distraction, at the most. For Meg, however, she only hoped what she wrote was enough.

With a steadying breath, she read.

"This is not about some historical figure I researched online. And although the universal desire for equality was, and still is, universal, and not a contest to see whose people suffered the worst, that's not what this is about, either. Instead, I'm going to write about this.

Black History Month, by definition, commemorates historical African-American achievement. When I found out a while ago that I had black ancestors, I went to learn more about my early family, and in doing so, I also found out that they actually started the bloodline that eventually produced me. That was when I discovered what this month really means to me. It meant that I am a part of that history, by virtue of being alive.

Yes, I have other people in my ancestry. Jewish, Irish and German blood flows through me, and I'll be sure to acknowledge each of them in their own respective Heritage Months, but it's the knowledge of my black lineage that brings a lot of things into perspective for me, and helps me tie all the other threads of the tapestry of my life together so well.

If my African-American ancestors didn't have the strength of will to survive their enslavement, and achieve, despite their unwarranted disenfranchisement, I couldn't exist. I couldn't live to enjoy the freedoms and opportunities today that were once parceled out to only a lucky few.

As a result, my original forebears have become an inspiration to me, as great as all the other peoples who make up my family tree. But my admiration for them will always be much deeper and dearer, because they were the first, and to me, that's all the history I need to remember them by.

Perhaps, that's how we should all come to view Black History Month, not as an event shrouded in commercialism, racial politics and debate, but rather as a happy time of enlightenment to not only commemorate the many who gained ground and had their voice heard over the power-hungry few, but also a time for those of black heritage to take a deep breath, and remember the simple courage of their forefathers and mothers that paved the way for their descendants to acknowledge their role in their family histories."

Meg sat back down at her desk amidst the intrigued murmurs of those students who actually listened to her, and quietly waited for the bell to ring.

Meg marched into her bedroom, threw her bookbag on her the floor and dove for the bed, flopping on it with a relaxed sigh.

She rolled over on her back and sighed again, this time more pronounced and troubled. Her well-received paper didn't register on her mind as she stared at the ceiling and looked forlornly through one of her open windows, as she had for about a fortnight.

"What difference does it make if I got a good grade on my report, if it meant I drove a member of my family away? Even if she was a ghost," Meg sulked. "I acted like a spoiled brat to May. I wish I could've let her know how much I appreciated everything she done for me."

"I'm not a ghost, but I think I know."

Meg fought her initial reaction of fright upon hearing someone and not knowing who spoke. She knew who it was, and she leapt out of bed, running to the mirror.

"May!" Meg cried out happily. "Thank God you came back. Listen, I'm sorry I treated you like I did. You're family, and I shouldn't have thought that you would steer me wrong. I should have just taken what you told me to heart and used it gladly. I just didn't think."

May's face, in place of Meg's, in the mirror, gave a forgiving smile and said to her, "That okay, Meg. I was full of piss and vinegar once, myself. The important thing is that you learn from your mistakes, and I think you did."

"Thanks, May."

"So," May cheerily asked, ending the subject. "How did it go? Did your teacher give you a high mark on your report?"

"Our report," Meg graciously corrected. "And I got an A!"

May grinned proudly. "Congratulations! See, that's why I wanted to help you out so much. You remind me so much of myself way back when."

"Because I had a talent for writing at a such an early age?"

May shrugged. "Well, that, and because you get picked on. A lot."

Meg looked away slightly from that. "That easy to spot, huh?"

"Spiritually? Yeah, but so was I, so I'm gonna tell you something important that I found out when I was alive."

"What's that?"

"A lighthouse is at its best in the dark."

Not understanding right away, Meg thought it was an odd thing to relay. It almost sounded like a code phrase from a 60's spy film.

"Okay," Meg said uneasily.

Sensing Meg's confusion, May explained. "What I mean is, you're gonna run into adversity, whether it be people out to harm you, or a really big deadline, but if you straighten your back to it and persevere, not only will you be inspired to victory, but you'll inspire it in others."

With an encouraged smile, Meg said to her, "Wow, thanks, uh…What exactly are you? My great-great-great-great grand...aunt? Cousin?"

Chuckling, May bade, "I live in Heaven and even I lost track. It would be easier just to call me May, and know that I'm your kin and I love you. If you have any questions about the past, or our family tree, or heck, if you just wanna talk, girl-to-girl, I'm just a mirror away."

Meg felt humbled and grateful by the depth of her newfound connection with this family member. Although no longer living, May was offering herself to be the bridge to Meg's living past. That was a greater gift, Meg thought, than all of the newspapers ever found.

"Thanks, May. You're the best, and thank you for helping me when I really needed it."

May happily waved the compliment aside. "Anything for one of my descendants. Well, I better be off. I promised to meet up with Heather for lunch today. Girl loved machines when she was alive, and I don't want her haunting some nuclear power plant somewhere."

"Wait," Meg said quickly. "Before you go, what kind of advice could you give me as a writer?"

"Hmm…Two things," May pontificated. "One, never write about anything you don't know. Always research your subjects. And two, never bend over in front of a black guy while wearing pajamas."

"How does that help me?"

"It doesn't, but I understand that's how you and that Jerome fella hit it off, that night," May said with a wink.

"Oh, God," Meg muttered while she blushed hot.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, child," May teased, smiling. "You definitely got that from my Mom. Well, I have to go, and remember, don't let the world's detractors get you down. I didn't, and I know you've got a strong heart."

"It runs in the family," Meg said to her with sincerity.

With a proud affection, May nodded to her and said, "Take care, Meg. Knowing that you're in the world made it all worthwhile."

Smiling, Meg heard a bird singing clearly through the open window across her bedroom, and with that cheerful sound, May Griffin contentedly faded into the light of the afternoon.

The End