All of this happened a little over a year ago. 

And I swear to God, every single word of it is true. 

You might think I'm absolutely mad.  You might read this entire story and say aloud, "What kind of cockamamie books are they letting these weirdos put out these days?"  I wouldn't blame you if you do.

Because some days, yes, I would agree with you.  It has not been - and will not ever be- easy.  Not to say I have suffered, because there are so many other people in this world who have endured much more than I with less to support them, and they have lived to tell inspiring tales.  But as the preceding chapters have demonstrated, I'm not that strong. The only reason I'm still standing is due to all the invaluable help I've had the past year, and especially the last six months.  Perhaps I have gone crazy.  Maybe this book, in truth, is merely a testament to the onset of unadulterated madness. 

I admit it, every now and then, even I squint at the memories I carry in the back of my mind, and say aloud, "No, that didn't honestly happen.  That's crazy." 

But wouldn't you?  As real and life-changing as those two weeks were, sometimes they just strike me as too far-fetched to discuss with anyone that isn't John, Veronica, or K.  It's one thing to write down and publish; I don't have to look you, the reader, in the face, and shrug awkwardly.  Even with Stuart Preus, the now-renowned Princeton physicist who calls me at least once a week to check in with how I'm holding up these days, I have kept mum about nearly everything that happened to me.

All I can really know for certain is now....

And now, I am twenty-one years old. 

I sit here in my personal nook of the lovely London house that I have called home for about the past six months.  I have to leave for work pretty soon; money for school must be made somehow, and I won't be doing it by going blind in front of the computer.  With one hand I'm typing the last few sentences of a big report that's due tomorrow in my online college courses- and with the other, I'm holding the most beautiful little baby in the world against my chest while he works away at his supper. 

"Finished!" I exclaim, then look down at the pair of big curious eyes staring up at me and say, "I'd read you my report if it wasn't such boring, dry tripe.  You understand, don't you?"

All he does is blink, still sucking hungrily. I can't help but smile and kiss the top of his little head. My son has the most wonderful appetite, it makes me so happy.  His name is Danny, although his birth certificate brands him officially as John Daniel Samuels.  He was born almost four months ago on the eighth of September, and is the joy of his godparents, and the light of my life.

Ah, speaking of his godparents, here they come now.  I can hear their footsteps tread up the stairs.

Two knocks, and I hear her say, "Are you prepared to surrender him yet?"

"Maybe another minute, he's almost done eating," I call back, and then, addressing Danny, who's finally full, "As for you, I'm sorry I only got to read you one of your books today, I'll make it up to you tomorrow.  That's my day off, we'll read three at least, plus a few new ones I bought.  How's that sound?"

With a high-pitched squeal, he reaches up one chubby little hand and pats it against my lips while I'm talking.  For some reason that reminds me.  "Oh, yes, I almost forgot!  Better sing now, you'll be fast asleep when I get home tonight."

It's kind of a ritual of ours; Danny gets a Queen song every day.  Sometimes I'll sing it, sometimes I'll play it, sometimes there won't be any music at all and I simply play the audio of my old smart phone video, so that the boy at least knows the sound of his daddy's voice.  So tonight, I pull my shirt back down and walk around the bedroom, bouncing Danny gently against my shoulder while I sing him a very special little song, one I played for him even before he was born.

"Hear my song/ Still think of me the way you've come to think of me," I sing softly.  "The nights grow long/ but dreams live on./ Just close your pretty eyes and you can be with me. /Dream on..."

I don't know if he understands a word I'm singing; he probably doesn't, especially the Japanese part.  But somehow, he seems to listen a little closer whenever I sing the "Teo torriatte konomama a iko" section.  Maybe I'm imagining things...

"Don't you work fairly soon?" Now John's calling through the door.

I roll my eyes.  "John, I'll hand him over in two minutes, I promise!"

"I just don't want you to be late again, you said they got quite miffed last time."

A likely story.  It's true, John and Veronica are most certainly not lacking in children or grandchildren, but it doesn't seem to matter. In fact, I doubt if there is any other man in this world as insane about his godson as John is about Danny.  Of course, it doesn't help that John clearly treasures Danny as Freddie's only child, the miraculous last living vestige of his friend and band mate- or that the boy is directly named after him.

I hoist Danny up more comfortably in my arms (he gets bigger every day, I swear), and open the door, saying, "All right, got the sack of potatoes right here, for whoever wants him."

"Oh, do you have to call him that?" Veronica laughs.

"What of it?  He's certainly as heavy as one," I smile, tapping his little nose.  "Way cuter, though."

"Gamamamah..." Danny babbles back, sticking his finger in his mouth.

"Give the little nipper here," John grins. "Haven't seen him all day."

I just look at him.  "You mean, besides at breakfast, and lunch, and tea, and this afternoon when you insisted on taking him for a walk-"

"Yeah, see? Scarcely saw the lad.  Come on, hand him over." 

"He's all yours, Deacy."  With that, I plop Danny into the man's arms.  Danny grins again; he loves the Deacons so much, they're like the best kind of doting grandparents.  As John holds the boy and looks him over, a certain kind of awe comes across his face.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Veronica asks.  She can see it, too.

John shakes his head solemnly.  "Nothing, just... I still can't believe he's real.  He looks- so much like him, Ron.  Do you see it?"

"Takes after his daddy more every day," she nods, looking at me, "but he's still going to look mostly like you.  First boys tend to do that, resemble their mums; Robert was just the same way."

I watch John with the boy, and feel Veronica's hand gently grip my shoulder.  There's a roof over my head, and a means for me to save money till I have the wherewithal to return to the States and set out independently into the world.  A year ago, I was living day to day in sheer terror, the doors shutting on me at every turn.  What a sweet situation I have at the moment.  And I think to myself, Thank God for friends, and open windows.

"I know I've said this before," I murmur after a moment, pulling my coat on, "but I- I can't tell you how grateful I am to have you two in my life- in our lives.  I don't know where I'd be now if not for you."

John looks up from bouncing Danny gently on his knee.  "And thank you for letting us sort of- intervene, as well."

I feel my face heat up.  "I love you guys." 

The blood rises up in John's face.  "Well, uh- thank you.  And- I mean, you know how fond we are of you as well.  Both of you."

Veronica shakes her head.  "He means, we love you too."

John nods shyly, and the four of us stand there awkwardly a few seconds until I sigh and whisper, "I'd better head off to work now."

"Do you need one of us to drive?" Veronica offers.

"Oh, no, it's okay.  I've called a cab."

I lean over to kiss the top of Danny's head again.  He reaches for me, grabs a lock of my hair in his fist and holds on.  With a smile, I unwrap the fat fingers from around it, and assure him I'll be back tonight, blowing one raspberry against his stomach.  Like always, he leans forward and hides his face in John's neck, peeping back once to show me he's smiling contentedly.

And I cover my mouth and try not to become emotional all over again before trotting out the door.

It shouldn't surprise me anymore. Danny's a happy baby, and he smiles all the time. But the sight of it always gives me a terrible jolt. For I know that open, friendly smile.

I've seen it before, on the face of my prince.

It's quite obvious who Danny's father is. All you have to do is look at him. At first blush, he resembles me more; his nose, mouth, coloring, perhaps even the shape of the face- all those belong to me. But it's there. If you look a little closer,and note the elvish ears that stick out just a little; the subtle widow's peak where his dark, soft hair grows; the creases around his mouth that form whenever his lips draw up in this adorably impish grin.

But even if those features slip past you, there's no mistaking the eyes. Good God. It's almost scary, how similar they are to Freddie's, especially when he was that age. The color, the shape, their very expression...

I come back down to Earth suddenly, and find I'm still standing outside their door, fiddling nervously with my ring.  The cab is coming round the corner; now's a good time to come closer and meet it halfway.  But I'm still thinking.  Winter nights are meant for introspection, especially this one.

Brian and Roger have no idea that Danny exists. The Deacons and I decided early on to maintain the vow of silence with them. Were we to alert the remaining members of Queen, it would have been unwise. For the only thing worse than Brian and Roger ignoring my story would be that it actually were to go public- and I have no wish to be branded worldwide as the demented sicko who claims a dead rock icon had fathered this child, born twenty-seven years after he took his final breath.

Mary also knows nothing about Danny. I can think of no reason to tell her in the first place. I mean, how would you even go about telling her something like that? I, Freddie's ex-lover, approaching Freddie's closest friend (and one-time lover) and throwing it in her face that I had had his baby and she hadn't? No. That would be cruel.

Perhaps the only person I fight with telling is his sister, Kashmira Cooke. I haven't paid a call on her yet, though Veronica keeps saying I should at least notify the woman that she now has a tiny young nephew. I'm still not sure what to do about that.  I don't know if I want to take that risk, a fifty-fifty shot between being believed- or being full-on rejected, the door slammed shut in my face.

All the same, it would be nice if Danny had a relationship with some of his actual blood-related family aside of just me.  He has his godparents the Deacons, and me his mother.  And as of right now, that's it.  My parents have not held or even seen my little boy face-to-face yet. 

(When I finally broke down and told them I was pregnant, they tearfully did as they had promised they would, marking the beginning of three hellish months making it alone- but that's another long, drawn-out story all by itself. Suffice it to say, I came across the pond to visit the Deacons at their request and expense when I was seven months along- and wound up staying under the same circumstances.)

But even more than that- more than anything else, really- I wish he were here.  And that's the whitewashed, polite description.  To be more accurate about my feelings, I will simply say this:

My God, I would give anything and everything just for one more day, just one last time to hear him speak, to see and touch him, to hold him close, to introduce him to Danny, and show him that we really could make beautiful babies.

Not a day passes that I don't wonder what might have happened to us, had I stayed with him; not a day passes that I don't wish I had stayed after all.  But I don't dwell on these thoughts for long.  They keep coming, but I never let them linger long.  Why should I? 

For if there is one thing I have learned, it's that Time is fixed; there's not one thing that happens that was not predestined to happen.  Therein lies the paradox.  Of course, we have free will to a point, in that we are able to live our lives, choose not to fall into despair whenever things take a turn for the worse- when we decide to make whatever short time that is allotted us on this Earth count for something.  But simultaneously, there's nothing that happens that isn't supposed to happen.  One thing leads to another, and all our actions hinge on the actions of others.  K believed that then, and I believe it now. 

But all that means is, even when the seas rage and rise, we still have to put our heads down and go for it. I've tried running, I've tried hiding. The only way to face Life is just that: face it, meet it in the air.  That's how Freddie would do it.

I live for the day when I finally have my answers, and I see for myself why it had to be Freddie, why it had to be me, why these two worlds had to collide- and why we had to be such stupid idiots and fall in love. Till then, I'm content to live sunrise to sunset, planning for the future but still willing to roll with the changes.

I could conclude this chapter now with a "The End," in the typical style of storywriters.  However, that would not only be abrupt, but inaccurate.

Because nothing has ended.  Everything has only just begun to unfold.

Don't ask me how I know this, because I don't.  But I can feel it.

I feel a stirring deep down- a stir of hope.  The hope that while this particular story I've just laid out for you may be coming to an end, our ultimate story still has yet to open up and be read.  The worst in our lives can be turned around on itself and transformed into something truly wonderful.

It's this one truth I cling to, whenever the earth begins to quake under my feet, and at times even split open and send my hopes and dreams adrift.  The mysterious Rudy's words ring in my head, loudly and continuously, like a mantra:

There's a plan. 

And I can only hope and pray, that somewhere, somehow in this plan, Freddie might find that he indeed goes on, not only in the sense of a musical legacy, but in the sense of his very flesh and blood.

Sitting here in the back of the cab, I quietly resume the song I was singing to Danny- a song that in itself doesn't ever end.

When I'm gone,
They'll say we're all fools,
And we don't understand.
But oh, be strong.
Don't turn your heart.
You're all,
We're all,
For all,
For always...

Let us cling together
As the years go by,
Oh, my love, my love.
In the quiet of the night,
Let our candle always burn-
Let us never lose the lessons we have learned...

I do not claim to be Freddie's greatest, most faithful friend. I do not claim to be the one true love of his life. But I do know that I, Julia Samuels, was indeed once his friend- and that he once loved me. In my mind, to be able to call those two things the undisputed truth is the greatest of blessings.

For I still love my prince- and I know I always will. Because love, real love, is eternal.

I could feel no other way.

-Julia Christine Samuels
January 20, 2019