From: mav@isi.com Message-Id: <9407010010.AA13761@hardrock.isi.com> Sender: mav@hardrock Date: Thu, 30 Jun 1994 17:06:50 -0800 Subject: Reflections Of.... - Part I "REFLECTIONS OF..." by Christina Mavroudis - Roundtable story PART I Suddenly, Sam felt the electrical pulse of leaping coursed through his being. The leap energy dissipated, Sam's vision clarified and he began to discern his surroundings. As usual, he found himself somewhere, sometime that he did not know. One of the things Dr. Beckett had gained during his many leaps, is the ability to react quickly, and, in this case, it saved a life--his. Sam looked around just in time to see the late model Chevy sedan barrelling towards him. Sam leapt out of the way, just as the car crashed into the tree standing behind him. He looked into the front seat to see a boy of no more than ten or twelve behind the wheel of the car. Upon further examination, he saw a women of about forty sitting ...or rather laying... in the front seat. The young man, with a look of terror on his face, turned to Sam and weakly intoned, "Oh boy." * * * * Sam switched to emergency-mode, gave an encouraging smile to the boy to ease his concern while racing over to open the driver- side door. For a moment it wouldn't budge, then with a start, it gave in to his insistent pulls. Brusquely flinging the door aside, he leaned in, kneeling on the door lip, his right hand grasping the long, low front seat for balance. More than the sights, it was the sounds which yielded apprehension. Hissing steam from a broken radiator. Crackling windshield. Sputtering engine. Deep and fast breathing from the youngster. And worse, the ragged, shallow ones from the woman. Each sound pierced the tranquil setting, knifing bird songs, and owl hoots. All nature adjacent to the backroad stimied, holding its breath as the drama played out. But Sam didn't have time to let his mind seek the quieting comforts of nature's beauty. Man-made ugliness compelled him. Before straightening her, he checked for spinal breaks, pulse and breathing difficulties, his fingers nimbly hitting spots in a familiar and practiced motion. "Are you hurting anywhere?" Sam's voice calmly asked the boy just inches from his face. The boy hadn't uttered a sound in the few moments since the accident. "Mm-m-mom," the boy tried to say more, but couldn't think beyond the picture before him. His eyes saddened and he bit his lower lip in an effort to keep tears from spilling over. It didn't work. Quickly Sam gave the boy a visual exam, noting the normal pupils, and minor scrape on his cheek. He would be fine. The boy reached tentatively toward the woman's head, his fingers touching the silky light brown tresses, then pulled away as if his action might do further harm. Her breathing became more regular and the open mouth closed slowly. "It's OK," Sam hoped his even voice and sincerity would be picked up, "I think she'll be fine." "..but, but all that ...blood," the boy let out a choked sob, then sucked the rest back. Where as the boy had been seatbelted, the woman had not. A jagged gash marred her otherwise smooth forhead, liquid red flowing profusely from the desceptively minor wound. Sam began taking off his shirt. Combining its style with the cars vintage, he guessed it was the 50's, but something nagged at him. That date seemed wrong and the boy... For a split second, Sam stopped. He gribbed the wadded, long-sleeved white shirt tighter. He had seen that boy before, the features were familiar. The boy stared back, unafraid, but still shaken by the incident. His fingers returned to his mothers hair, hair previous groomed in a simple pony-tail, now unbound and in disarray on the seat. "The cut superficial," he began as he held the shirt on her forhead. "Do you know what that means?" "Of course. It means it's only on the suface." The boy's voice became more confident. 'Cocky kid,' Sam smiled inwardly. "Here, put your hand here." Sam gently took the boy's hand and put it on top of the shirt, removing his own. A tingling went through his fingers - a weak electrical current. Where had he felt that before? And then it hit him. Actually recognition came to both Sam and the boy at once. The boy looked up, a smile beginning to appear on his face. He was helping his mom get better. The smile turned quickly to scared, tight-lipped awe as he took in Sam's features. Studying the boy, Sam, too became aware of something. "Who are you?" the boy ventured. Sam gulped, his nerves shaken. "What do you mean?" The boy finally blinked. "One minute you look like a perfect stranger and then you look like..." Sam took in a deep breath. How could he explain it to him -- the boy with the white lock of hair. The boy who looked like... actually was... Sam. The woman, Sam' mother, quietly moaned and her hand went up to her forhead. Her eyes were still closed, but she tried to talk. "What hap..." Sam used the diversion to his advantage. "It's alright, Mrs. Beckett. You were in a slight accident. You're going to be fine." He started to pat young Sam's hand, but the electrical current returned. 'Hey! Stop that! And who are you?" The boy was insistent this time. Thelma Beckett finally opened her eyes at the sound. "Why, Sam, what's gotten in to you? Are *you* all right? Can't you see this nice man's trying to help us?" "But, but...he's not stranger, Mom!" Young Sam persisted. "It's me!" END PART I ____________________________________________________________________ Christina Mavroudis - Integrated Systems Inc. - ext. 241 "Funny thing about kindness: the more it's used, the more you have." ____________________________________________________________________