A Step Backwards

by Lois RH Balzer

"Okay," Baby agreed, eager fingers reaching for, and squishing, a piece of the treat. "Beep beep?"

  "Commercial's almost over."

  "Den beep beep?"

  "Yeah."

  "Fwie?"

  "No, not tonight." Fortunately, Jim was rescued by the Roadrunner's reappearance. He returned to the table to find Naomi in thoughtful reflection, the previous discussion put aside but, Jim was sure, not forgotten.

  "Jim, when did Baby show up here?" she asked.

  "I can't give you the exact time. Blair disappeared sometime between 3:30 and 6:30 in the morning. That's as close I can peg it. When did you notice-- when did Blair disappear back then?"

  "I honestly can't remember when he disappeared from the rock festival. After midnight, for sure. Probably a few hours past that. Then, like I told you, he was gone all one day, and most of the next."

  "Where did you finally find him?"

  "A pig-- a cop found him down by the creek, behind the stage." She sighed. "Before you start judging me and deciding I was an unfit mother who allowed her child to wander away, keep in mind it was a difficult time for me. I was young. Rebellious. I had this adorable, lively child who everyone loved and who was my world, but I was also lonely, wanted to have fun, and tried to have it all at once -- be the perfect earth mother, party with my friends, raise my little boy in a peace-loving, carefree manner, and do whatever I wanted to by experimenting with whatever I wanted to. I'm not saying what I did was right--" she said quickly, "but, you know, it was the best I could do at the time. I didn't have a lot of options, and I was determined not to give him up."

  She looked across the room to see Baby standing on the couch, his little brows frowning in puzzlement as he stared at her. "He's not sure who I am. I'm familiar, yet not."

  * * * * *

  Blair hung up the dish towel to dry. "They're done."

  Hang Dog looked up from the pot of soup he was slowly stirring. "Thanks, Blair. You've done a great job." He looked closer. "Are you okay? How's the head?"

  "Hurts," Blair admitted, rubbing his forehead. "Headache's probably from my fall."

  "Well, take it easy, man. Enjoy the show," Hang Dog said, gesturing to the on-going concert. "Did you get enough to eat? Grab a sandwich or something."

  "I'd love some of that soup."

  Hang Dog got out a bowl and filled it. "Bring the bowl back tomorrow if you want. Can you help with breakfast? We generally start at sunrise."

  "I guess. If I'm still here."

  "You leaving early? Tomorrow's the last day."

  "I'm not sure yet."

  "Go listen to 'Green Machine'. Icy and Ollipeist may be obnoxious jackasses, but their music is groovy."

  Blair nodded wearily and left the tent. The sun was setting, the air already cooler. As he stepped around blankets and woven mats spread out over the hillside, he could see the crowd was much larger for the Saturday night concert. The city weekend crowd had descended on the festival.

  He wandered around searching for Naomi, trying to find her in the mass of faces. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but nothing he could say.

  What would I tell you? I love you, Mom. I wish some of the things that happened to us -- to me -- growing up had never happened, but I know you did your best.

  I'm sorry if I caused this to happen, if my desire to be the Shaman of the City, to be what Jim needs, made that younger version of me disappear. I don't know what happened. Could we have switched places? That's impossible. But then, so is this, me being here.

  Maybe I'm just delirious or hallucinating or something.

  Maybe not.

  My head hurts.

  I know you're sad, Naomi, and you're frightened. But if your little boy and I switched places, then he's with Jim and Jim will take care of him, I promise.

  Jim won't let anything happen to him. Jim will . . .

  Tears ran down his face, unheeded. Jim? Oh, man, I'm sorry. I hope you're okay.

  Hopelessness flooded him, and fear that he would be trapped in this time forever. Blair rubbed his hands over his face, wiping back the steady flow of tears. Dizzy, he stumbled, falling to his knees, his chest heaving as he attempted to muffle his cries, his face buried in his hands.

  "What's wrong?" A gentle hand rubbed his back, as a woman asked, "Are you okay?"

  It took him a minute to get himself under control. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." Through a veil of tears, Blair looked up to see Naomi's young face, peering at him with eyes as red as his own.

  "Bad day?" she asked, and smiled faintly as he nodded. "Me, too. My baby's lost and my fucking boyfriend is being an asshole."

  Blair blinked at the foul language coming from the delicate waif with long hair and hippie dress as she began to talk about Icy and how he wasn't paying enough attention to her, more concerned about playing in his band than being with her and helping her find her baby.

  "I'll help you," Blair said finally, pushing to his feet, swaying alarmingly. He knew it was useless -- face it, she wasn't going to find her kid as long as he was there, if what he suspected was true -- but he had to do something, and he wanted to spend some time with her. "Let's look again."

  "Groovy. That's cool." Naomi smiled, wiping her eyes as she steadied him. "Hey, the bandage on your head is dirty. Do you need to get it changed?"

  "No. Thanks." He really was feeling dizzy.

  "Let's try over here." She gave his hand a squeeze.

  "Sure." He actually didn't feel that well, but besides Harvey Hang Dog, she was the only one he knew and he didn't want to be alone.

  "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "What? Yeah." He followed her down the slope, stumbling. It was probably just the crowd. And whatever had happened to his head. Did he have a concussion?

  Jim would be mad. Jim didn't think he took care of himself properly. Jim was--

  Wait. Where exactly was Jim? He couldn't remember. Had Jim gone somewhere?

  "I wish I knew where he went."

  "Jim?"

  Naomi stopped and looked at him. "Who's Jim? I meant my son."

  "Oh. Right. Your son." Blair looked around, squinting in the twilight. He couldn't see very well.

  Were they undercover somewhere? That must be it, because Jim hates crowds like this. Undercover. Yeah.

  Wish I was undercover somewhere. In a nice bed, with cool sheets. Under the covers. Maybe with a cool cloth over my face. That would be nice. Huh, Jim? Wouldn't that be nice?

  The crowd began to cheer, and Blair looked back to the stage. The 'Green Machine' began their first piece, which sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. Sounded like one of those British songs.

  England swings like a pendulum do

  Bobbies on bicycles, two by two

  Westminster Abbey, the tower of Big Ben

  The rosy red cheeks of the little children

  He knew that song from somewhere. His head hurt. He couldn't think. He let Naomi take his hand and lead him away as she called out, "Blair? Blair, sweetie?" and he softly replied, "I'm here, Naomi. Don't let go of my hand," as he stumbled through the darkness.

  * * * * *

  Simon Banks watched his chief detective chase a very wet, very naked squealing toddler around the kitchen island. "You can outrun a criminal but can't catch a two-year-old? Jim, I'm shocked."

  "He's slippery," Ellison retorted. "I didn't think he could get out of the tub by himself. Don't just stand there -- head him off, will you?"

  Banks tried to make a grab for the child, who twisted away and ended up straight back in Ellison's arms.

  "Got ya, you little monster." Ellison disappeared back in the bathroom, a towel-wrapped mass of giggles in his arms.

  "Where's Naomi?" the captain called after him.

  "Went to the store. Apparently the food I bought wasn't organic," Ellison's disembodied voice answered.

  "Ah." Banks looked around the apartment, smiling at the oh-so-familiar signs of having a child in the house. A picture book on the floor,
the cushions half off the couch, the usual coffee table items now up on higher shelves, and a plate of what might be squashed banana remains tilting precariously on the arm of the couch. "Mind if I help myself to some coffee?"

  "There's a pot already made."

  "I see that," Banks said, laughing to himself. What was frustrating to go through yourself, was always funny when someone else was going through it. Sort of a payback, balancing some larger karmic scales.

  Ten minutes later, things had quieted down a bit. Jim was sitting on the couch with the child on his lap. Baby had a bottle in his mouth, happily sucking the apple juice down, curled up against Jim, one chubby little fist hooked in Jim's shirt. The toddler was wearing one of Blair's T-shirts which came to his ankles, the ends of his curly hair damp.

  "I bet Blair looked like that at that age," Simon mused.

  "Funny you should say that, Simon. . ."

  "What?"

  Ellison shook his head wearily. "I'll tell you after he falls asleep."

  Soft music filtered through the loft, the fireplace softly crackling. Outside it had started to pour, staccato raindrops blowing against the balcony windows. Banks smiled at Ellison's concentration on the child feeding in his arms. The little guy's eyes were at half mast, but trained on Ellison's face with an equal fixation, as though memorizing the detective's features.

  Sad thing was, Banks thought, the toddler would never remember any of this. He was too young. He would be reunited with his mother, or placed elsewhere. He would grow up, go to school, ride a bike, play baseball, and the days he spent in this apartment would be a blank.

  Ellison, however, would remember.

  * * * * *

  He wasn't sure how long they wandered the darkened festival grounds. The pounding in his head echoed with each step he took, but he didn't want to let go of her hand. He felt oddly displaced, and felt if he became separated from her, he might be forever lost.

  Must stay close to Mama. Don't get lost. Must stay close to --

  No. Must stay close to Jim.

  Jim?

  Just when he knew he could go no further, Naomi stopped outside a tent, the open side facing the stage. "This is ours. Why don't you crash here? Icy won't be back for hours."

  Blair sank to the ground, then half-rolled onto a sleeping bag, willing the soup to stay in his stomach and not make a reappearance.

  "What's your name?" she asked, kneeling beside him and running her hand gently through his hair.

  Shit. Okay, that's weird.

  She kept up the sensual message. "Well, what should I call you?"

  Well, he couldn't say 'Blair'. He honestly couldn't think of anything else.

  "Do you have a nickname?"

  Lots of them. Guppy. Darwin. Chief. Take your pick. Oh, and Baby Blossom, apparently.

  "Is your name Jim?"

  "Huh?"

  "Is that your name? You said it before."

  "Oh." Blair rested his head on his arm and closed his eyes. "Sure."

  "Okay, Jim." She stroked his head and it felt heavenly. "Get some sleep."

  The rosy red cheeks of the little children

  Didn't they know another song? he thought, as sleep took him.

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes, and the toddler had relinquished his hold on the bottle and was sound asleep. Ellison carefully picked him up and walked to Sandburg's bedroom, placing him on the bed and gently covering him with blankets. He put Sandburg's chair up against the bed, then took a dining table chair that Banks passed to him and put it next to it, preventing the toddler from rolling off the bed.

  Banks stood in the doorway and watched Ellison check and double-check the chairs, then with a last adjustment to the blankets, the detective motioned him out of the room.

  "What's up, Jim?" the captain asked as they returned to the living room. "Who is this kid? What aren't you telling me?"

  Ellison looked around the apartment, then bent and picked up the abandoned plate of cut-up bananas. "I'm not sure. My gut is telling me one thing. My head is saying it's impossible. What do you want me to say?"

  "Ask me what I want in my coffee."

  "I don't have to ask what you want in your coffee. I'm a detective." Ellison placed the plate in the sink and reached for the coffee filters. Within minutes the smell of fresh coffee circulated through the loft, and Ellison returned to the living room with two mugs, handing one to Banks.

  "So, Detective, who's the kid?"

  Ellison took a sip of his coffee, then said in a level voice, "Evidence points to him being Blair Sandburg, a two-year-old male who disappeared in 1971 while at a rock festival outside of San Francisco. He was missing for a day and a half, then suddenly reappeared. He was last seen wearing only a pair of brown shorts. When he returned, he was wearing a red and white striped shirt and a pair of denim overalls."

  He took a deep breath and continued, not meeting Banks' eyes. "This child appeared in Sandburg's bed around the same time my partner disappeared. He was wearing only a pair of brown shorts. I had no clothes for him so I went downstairs and bought the only clothing Colette had that would fit him, a red and white striped shirt and a pair of denim overalls. This afternoon, Baby, as he prefers to be called, accompanied me as I examined a crime scene. He found twenty-four white plastic pull tabs from bottled water, and in an alley adjacent to the crime scene he located a program from the Jazz Festival at the Emerald Theater. I then took him with me on my interview with Ivan Chomski. Baby indicated he knew the man, and directed my attention to a green guitar that Chomski admitted he had when in played in a group called the 'Green Machine', back in 1971."

  "Jim, what the hell are you talking about?"

  "This is Blair. A two-year-old version, but he's Blair."

  Banks stood up, his anger growing. "Get serious--"

  "Oh, I am, sir."

  The door to the loft opened. Naomi threw a bag of groceries onto the floor and, with a terrified look on her face, rushed across the room to Ellison, grabbing his arms "Jim! I remember. Oh, God. I remember him -- Oh, not him, please, God, not him." She started crying, gasping to breathe between the heavy sobs.

  Ellison held her close, trying to calm her down, rubbing her back, and offering her support while Banks could only stand and watch, unable to grasp what was happening and the ramifications of his chief detective's words.

  * * * * *

  "What's he doing here?" a drunk, male voice sounded by his ear.

  Blair woke, pushing himself upward in a rush of adrenaline. "What?"

  "Leave him alone." Naomi was still there at least, although Blair couldn't see her in the near pitch-black tent.

  "Get him out of here. That's my place. What the fuck is he doing in my place?"

  "He hurt his head so I said he could lie down for a while." Naomi half-dragged Blair off the sleeping bag. "See? He's gone."

  A large male body stepped over Blair, a bare foot shoving him out of the way. "Icy would freak if he found him here."

  "Yeah. I know." Naomi had a good grip on Blair's arm and helped him out of the tent. "Come on, Jim. I'll take you back to the food area."

  Jim? Oh, right. Right. Jim. I'm Jim. Well, not really, but that's fine. What else is she gonna call me?

  Blair stumbled down the hill, trying not to grab too much at the slim young woman beside him. "Sorry about your baby," he mumbled.

  "I'll find him," she said firmly. "He's here somewhere. I know it. I can feel him near by."

  "I believe you. Ouch!" He stepped on a sharp stone. "Can we slow down a bit?"

  "Oh. Sure." Naomi slowed their frantic race down the hill. "It's hard to see, isn't it?"

  He let her take his hand and lead him through the maze of barely-seen blankets spread out over the hill. He could hear voices around him, hundreds of people talking, laughing, giggling, high as kites probably. It took him a moment to realize she had stopped and was trying to get him to sit.

  "What--?" he managed, as his seat collided with the ground in a butt-
numbing splat. "Ow."

  "Wait here. I see the cops at the dining tent. Maybe they have word."

  Before he could respond, she flitted away from him, swallowed by the darkness. Blair made it back to his feet and stood wavering drunkenly. He could see Nash and Joe Dominguez standing inside the well-lit tent.

  "Naomi!" He called out after her, but she was already halfway to the tent. "Naomi, come back!"