Title: Raising Blair
Author: Piratelf (originally posted under the penname Michka)
Characters: Blair, Naomi, some oddly familiar guys (note - this is NOT real people fiction)
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Category: General Smarm
Disclaimer: Blair and Naomi Sandburg and belong to Pet Fly, Paramount, and currently SCI-FI. I claim NO rights to them, or THE SENTINEL and no profit will be made from this work.
Summary: Stories from Blair's childhood
Author's Note: Blair was born in 1969
*************************************************
1971, 2 years old
"Hi!"
The officer looked down to see a naked little urchin with big blue eyes, lots of curly hair and no tan lines. "Hi there, little man, what's your name?"
"Beahw."
"Bear, huh?" Not too bad, could have been FreeLove or God or Hashish, all of which he had heard before. "Bear what?"
"Beahw Sambuhwg."
The officer knelt down and held out his hand, "Hello Bear Samburg, I'm Bruce."
"Hi Bwhuce!" Blair took the man's hand and shook.
Bruce looked around for signs of grown-ups, nothing. "Say, Bear, how old are you?"
"Dis mamy," Blair held up two fingers.
"That many, huh? Well, old man, what are you doing out here on the beach all by yourself?"
"Nod by sef, Mommy too."
"I see, and what is mommy's name?"
"Maomi."
"And does mommy have another name?"
"Uh-huh," The child nodded. "Maomi Sambuhwg."
"Ah, Mommy Samburg. Okay," Bruce thought for a moment. The little boy squished his toes in the sand and giggled.
"Bear, why don't you tell me what mommy looks like?"
"Phwetty."
"She's pretty?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, that narrows it down. Uh, Bear, do you know where you live?"
"Hehwe."
"Here? On the beach?"
"No, HEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHWWWW." The boy illustrated, throwing his arms open and turning in a circle.
"O-kaaaaaay," Bruce said, not quite knowing how to interpret that. "Well, tell me, Bear, do have any clothes where you live?"
"Yep. Die-Dye. Mommy made!"
"Your mommy makes you Tie-Dye clothes?"
Blair nodded, smiling, "Phwetty."
"Why aren't you wearing your clothes, Bear?"
"Wet."
"Wet? You're wet?"
"No, shit wet."
"Shit wet?"
"Uh-huh, Die-Dye."
"Oh your SHIRT is wet! I see."
"Uh-huh," Blair looked out at the water. "Bye-bye!" He waved and started to scamper off. Bruce ran after him.
"Wait, wait!"
Blair stopped and turned, "What, Bhwuce?"
"Listen, little guy, you can't just run around out here naked on the beach."
"Why?"
"Well, because you have to wear clothes."
"Why? Body BOOOOOOO-TEEE-FUHW!"
"Yeah, I'm sure, but not in public."
"Why?"
"Look, Bear, let's go find your mommy, okay?"
"Why?"
"So she can put clothes on you."
"Why?"
"So you won't be naked."
"Why?"
"So . . . so . . . look, let's just find your mom, kid."
"Otay, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMYYYYYYYYYYYY!" Blair looked around.
When no one appeared, Bruce decided that maybe it was time to involve child welfare. "I tell you what, Bear," he scooped the child up in his arms. "Why don't you come with me to where I work, wouldn't you like that?"
"Whehwe you wohwt?"
"Yes," Bruce answered, walking toward his patrol car.
"STOP!" Suddenly an angry mama bear, in the guise of a long haired hippie chick in a tie-dyed mini-dress and no shoes, came barreling toward them. "Let GO of my BABY, you PIG!!!" the mama bear screamed at the uniformed officer who was trying to kidnap her cub.
"MOMMY!" Blair yelled, delightedly.
"Uh, miss, your son was unattended on the beach, naked-"
"He has EVERY RIGHT to be here! You don't own the beach, you fascist!" Naomi pulled Blair from Bruce's arms.
"Miss, I wasn't-"
"Get AWAY from us! What were you going to do? Arrest him? Take a two-year-old and put him in a cell for not living up to YOUR propriety? He's a BABY, for Christ's sake!"
"Uh . . .I . .um-"
She abruptly turned and stalked off.
"Bye-bye, Bhwuce!" Blair called from over his mother's shoulder, and blew him a kiss.
Well, he was right, she is pretty, Bruce thought as he resumed walking his beat.
1972, 3 years old
"Mommy! Mommy! Look! A butterfly!"
Naomi opened her eyes and glanced heavenward for patience before smiling at her three-year-old. "I see, Blair. She's very pretty." She closed her eyes again and resumed the lotus position.
"Mommy?" The boy plopped himself into his mother's lap. "What are you doing?"
Naomi opened her eyes again, taking in the angelic countenance of her son. With his big blue eyes, adorable smile, and dark blond curls, who would ever guess that he could be such a little demon? After a morning tantrum over breakfast - he wanted the Batman bowl, damn it! - and a serious disagreement over semantics - crash "No, no, sweetie, don't throw your cars." "Okay." Crash "BLAIR! I said DON'T throw your cars!" "I didn't throw it, I just tossed it." CRASH "Like that, see?" "Blair Sandburg! That was naughty! You give me those cars right now." "NO! Mine! NO! NO! MINE!" - Naomi decided it was definitely time for some serious negativity cleansing. So, she lit some sage in the sink and brought Blair outside to run around while she meditated. Or rather, while she tried to meditate.
"I'm having some quiet time, sweetheart. Why don't you go and play in the sandbox?"
"How come you hold your fingers that way?"
"It helps me meditate."
"What's meditate?"
A light bulb went off in Naomi's head. Hey, maybe this would work. "Oh, baby, it's something grownups do."
"Can I do it?"
Naomi frowned in thought. "Umm, maybe when you're a little bigger, sweetie."
"Mommy, please?"
Naomi sighed. "You really want to try it?"
"Yeah!" Blair nodded vigorously and his curls bounced wildly.
"Well…" Naomi pretended to think it over. "Okay." Naomi lifted him off her lap and set him down beside her. "Now, cross your legs like me. Uh huh, and hold your second finger under your thumb like this."
"Like this?"
"Not quite." Naomi laughed, and readjusted the little fingers. "There. Now put your wrists on your knees. And close your eyes and we're going to think of just one thing. Okay?"
"Okay. Can I think about puppies?"
"Anything you want, sweetie."
There was almost five seconds of silence before a small voice piped up. "What are you thinking about, Mommy?"
"Solitude," Naomi sighed.
"What's that?"
"Blair, we need to be quiet to meditate, okay?"
"Okay."
. . .
"Mommy, how did you know that butterfly was a girl butterfly?"
"Do you know what quiet means?"
"NO talking."
"That's right."
. . .
"Mommy, I hate this, it's like a nap. I'm gonna stop now, okay?"
"Yes, sweetie, why don't you go play in the sand box?"
"Okay." Blair scampered off.
Naomi closed her eyes and concentrated. "Om."
. . .
"Mommy, will you play with me?"
*SIGH*
1975, 6 years old
"Mom! Mom!"
Her son's cry woke Naomi from a sound sleep. She rushed to his bedroom. "Blair, I'm here, sweetie."
"Oh, Mom!" The six-year-old threw himself into her arms, shaking and crying.
"Hush, sweetheart," Naomi sat him closer and rocked him. "Did you have a bad dream?"
Blair nodded and sobbed louder.
"Shh, shh, it's alright. It's okay, now."
But Blair wasn't calming down, in fact, he was getting more and more agitated. "It got me! It got me! It bit my leg off!"
"Blair, listen to me. Find your center, baby. Let's focus now, find your center."
Blair's shaking slowly subsided.
"Good, good," Naomi soothed, wiping tears from his face. "Now let's take a cleansing breath." Naomi demonstrated, inhaling through her nose. "Hold it….and let it go," she exhaled through her mouth. "Come on, sweetie, you do it. Breathe in." Blair copied his mother. "Hold it….now breath out….Good. Again."
After several more, Blair had visibly relaxed. "That's it, sweetheart," Naomi kissed him. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," Blair yawned, rubbing his eyes with his left fist.
"Good," Naomi cuddled him close. "Now tell me about your dream."
"Um," Blair put his head down in Naomi's shoulder, facing away from her. "Do I have to?"
"You don't want to, huh?"
Blair didn't answer.
Naomi kissed the top of his head, the soft curls tickling her lips. "Okay. Well let's get back under the covers, here, Bear," she said, using his old nickname from before he could pronounce "BL". She pulled the covers up to his chin. "You going to be okay now?"
"Y-Yeah, I guess," Blair said.
Naomi brushed his hair off his forehead. "You sure?"
"Here you are," said a quiet voice from the doorway. Naomi's live-in boyfriend, Rich, came into the room and sat on the other side of Blair's bed. "Wow, you guys, guess what? I had this wild nightmare."
"You did?" Blair asked.
"Oh, yeah. It was about this big shark. Really scary."
"Aww.." Naomi patted his back.
"Man, I don't know if I can go back to sleep." Rich shook his head, then he looked up like he'd just had an idea. "Hey, Champ, how 'bout you come snuggle in bed with your mom and me? I think that'd make me feel better."
"Yeah?" Blair smiled. "Okay!"
"Okay, then." Rich lifted the boy out of his bed, swung him up onto his shoulders, and galloped down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Naomi. Once they were all tucked in, Blair in the middle, they practiced their Kundalini breathing until soft snores were heard from the center of the bed.
"I TOLD you this would happen if you took him to see Jaws," Naomi accused.
Rich gave her his most innocent look. "Honey, I told you, we went to the Mariners game."
"Yeah, right." Naomi wasn't buying it.
"…….Well, okay, but he really, really wanted to go."
"Well I really, really DIDN'T want him to go, Rich!"
"SHHH, shh, babe, you'll wake him up." Rich gave a contrite sigh. "Okay, you were right and I was wrong. I'm sorry. But Blair gave me the puppy eyes, Naomi! I mean, come on, I'm only human!"
Naomi grinned and shook her head at him. "Go to sleep, you big cream puff."
1976, 7 years old
Blair wandered out to the yard where a large black man was sitting on the grass, strumming a guitar and welcoming the dawn. "Henri?"
The man looked around and smiled. "Hey little B, what are you doing up so early?"
"I don't feel so good, man."
"No?" Henri slung his guitar over his back and stood, his 6'4" frame towering over the child. Blair, at seven, was a little small for his age, 3'6". "What's up with my man this morning?"
"I just keep throwing up and I don't have anything left to throw up anymore, but I'm still throwing up." Blair explained. After a moment he added, "My belly hurts."
Henri dropped to his knees and felt Blair's forehead. "Mmm-mmm-mmm, you got yourself a nice fever going too, sugar."
"It doesn't feel too nice, man."
Henri chuckled and lifted the child into his arms, carrying him back into his house. He'd met Blair's mother, Naomi, six months ago at a concert, and she and her son had been living with him for four months now. Naomi was working nights at the local paper as a print setter, a job she wouldn't keep long once they found out who kept putting phrases like "liberate yourself" and "equality now" in the recipe section. "Mama won't be home for a while yet, so let's see what the witch doctor can do, huh?"
"You're not a witch doctor, " Blair grinned, resting his head against Henri's chest.
"Wha? Not a - ? Boy, I oughta - you calling me a liar?" Henri gave Blair a gentle shake.
Blair just giggled.
Henri took Blair into the bathroom. "You wouldn't know a witch doctor if he bit you on the butt," he mumbled rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. After searching all the shelves he sighed and frowned, thinking. "I don't know, little B, I haven't got any baby aspirin."
"I don't need baby aspirin!" Blair said, in an insulted tone, never having had any other kind in his life.
"Yeah?" Henri filled a Dixie cup with water then set Blair on the sink while he reached in and pulled out the aspirin bottle. Shaking a pill into his hand, he offered it to Blair. "Here ya go, then."
Blair popped it into his mouth and chewed. Immediately he made an awful face and spit it into the sink. "YUCK!"
"Well you don't CHEW them!" Henri laughed. He gave Blair the cup. "Take this water and rinse your mouth out."
Blair obeyed.
"That's right. Do it again."
"Blech! I still taste it." Blair said, wrinkling his nose.
"I guess that's what you get for putting down the witch doctor," Henri teased.
Blair opened his mouth to reply, but then a panicked look crossed his face, he pushed himself off of the sink, and stumbled to the toilet where he began dry retching.
"Oh, baby B," Henri said sympathetically. He reached down and held Blair's stomach as the little muscles spasmed.
When it was over, Blair was panting and sweating. Henri picked him up and rubbed his back.
"My belly hurts, " Blair complained again.
"I know SugarBlair," Henri said sympathetically. He thought he had a bottle of Pepto-Bismol somewhere. "Come on, let's see what we have in the kitchen."
He flipped through the cabinets with one hand, holding Blair in the other. Finally he found it, in the refrigerator. "Ah ha! Let's have some of this pink stuff, here. You hold this bottle for me?"
Blair took the bottle.
"That's a boy, thank you." Henri opened a drawer and grabbed a spoon. Then he settled at the table with Blair on his lap. "Gimme that," he said, taking the bottle and shaking it. "Here we go now, this is the stuff we should have had in the first place." He poured a spoonful, "open wide for me."
"No," Blair refused mildly, "I don't like that stuff, Henri."
"Please, baby, it'll make you feel better."
"I don't like it, Henri!" Blair insisted, crankily.
"Now, Blair, come on," Henri cajoled. "Just one spoonful and that's all."
Blair's eyes teared up. He began to sniffle.
"Oh come on now, don't give me the water works." Henri rubbed the child's back. "Just take this one spoonful, SugarBlair? For me? Huh? You can just swallow this little bit for Big H, can't you?"
Blair closed his eyes, wrinkled up his nose and opened his mouth. Henri dumped the spoonful in as fast as he could.
"That's it, all done. See, not so bad, right?"
A tear fell down Blair's cheek. "I want my mom."
"I know, B," Henry said gently, "just a few more hours, little man."
Blair put his arms around his mother's boyfriend's neck, and cried. Henri took Blair to the rocking chair in his living room. He sat down, tucking the boy beneath his chin and slowly rocked, singing.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home.
"I looked over Jordan and what did I see, comin' for to carry me home, a band of angels comin' after me, comin' for to carry me home.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home.
"If you get to heaven before I do, comin' for to carry me home, tell all my friends I'm comin' there too, comin' for to carry me home.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home.
"I'm sometimes up and sometimes down, comin' for to carry me home, but still I know I'm freedom bound, comin' for to carry me home.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home.
"If I get there before you do, comin' for to carry me home, I'll cut a hole and pull you through, comin' for to carry me home.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home."
Blair had slowly quieted, but he wasn't asleep. "That's a nice song."
"You like that? My grandmama used to sing that to me."
"Can I meet your grandmama?"
"No, little B, she's not with us anymore, she's in heaven, now."
"How do you know she wasn't reincarnated?" Blair asked.
"Reincarnated? Uh . . . oh, well, see, I don't believe in that one."
Blair's eyes grew large as saucers. "You don't believe in reincarnation? Not at all?"
"No, baby, I believe that when we die we go to heaven to be with Jesus and the angels."
"Oh," Blair nodded, familiar with the concept. "So do you believe in hell?"
"Yes, I do." Henri nodded.
"Do you think I'll go to hell?"
Henri was shocked. "NO, Blair, of course not! Only bad people go to hell, you're not a bad boy, you're a good boy." Henri dropped a kiss on Blair's forehead.
"But I'm Jewish. I thought that everybody who believed in Jesus thought that Jews were going to hell."
"Who told you that, sugar?"
"My Bubbe, she's MY grandmama. She said that Jesus made up heaven for Christians and you have to be Christian to get in. But Zaida says Jesus stole it from the Amorite Sumerians, and everybody is gonna get a big surprise when they get up there expecting Saint Peter, and they get Hammurabi instead, and he won't let them in because they ripped off his "eye for an eye" thing." Blair giggled. "But mom doesn't believe in heaven, she believes in Nirvana, but you gotta get reincarnated a whole lotta times and get rid of all of your bad karma before you can get there. My Uncle Aaron says that there is life after death and everybody who dies really keeps on living in this other place, no matter what they believe or what church they go to or anything. But my Uncle Benj says that's not fair and he sure as hell isn't gonna spend his eternity with Hitler and George Wallace. My Auntie Leah says that - oh man, I think I'm gonna throw up again!"
Henri was almost too overwhelmed by the theology lecture to catch that last sentence but they made it to the bathroom just in time for Blair to expel the Pepto-Bismol.
Henri wiped his mouth with a damp cloth. "Okay, baby, it's alright."
"I'm hot," Blair said, kicking his pajama bottoms off.
"You are?" Henri went to the tub and opened the taps. "Let's have a bath, then."
"I like showers more."
"Baths are better for fevers."
"No, they aren't." Blair whined.
"Yes, they are." Henri tested the water. "Okay, boy, skin out of your skivvies and dive in here."
Blair pulled his underwear down and off one foot, nearly falling over in the process. Henri caught him and picked him up, letting the little Y-fronts slide off the other leg on their own, then put him in the tub.
"I hate baths," Blair announced.
"Jeez, you're grouchy as an old woman today!"
"Am not!" Blair splashed the older man.
"Are too!" Henri swept a tsunami over Blair's chest.
"Am NOT!" *SPLASH*
"Are TOO!" *SPLUSH*
"Not! Not! Not!" *Splish splish Splish*
"Too! Too Too!" *SPLOOOSH*
Blair giggled, "You're a too-too twain!"
Henri rolled his eyes and handed Blair the soap and a washcloth. "Okay let's see some scrubbing here. You want me to wash your hair?"
"Yeah, you do it better than mom."
"Your mom just needs to learn a little bit more about curly hair." Henri poured shampoo into his hands and worked up a lather. "Duck your head and get it wet."
Blair did and Henri rubbed the lather through his hair. "Mmm, feels good. My head kinda hurts."
"Does it? Well, you just relax here and let me take care of that." Henri rinsed the shampoo out, them massaged in conditioner. Just as he rinsed the last of it out, they heard Naomi's voice from the doorway.
"What in the world happened here? A flash flood?"
"He Did It!" Blair and Henri said.
"Uh-huh," Naomi came in and knelt down to kiss Henri. "Hon, you're clothes are soaked!"
"Guess you'll have to help me get 'em off," he purred.
She winked at him then leaned over to kiss Blair. "Oh, Sweetie, you feel hot!"
"I'm sick, mom." Blair told her as he stood, holding his arms up.
Henri wrapped him in a towel and lifted him out of the tub.
"Sick?" Naomi asked.
"Yeah, he's been throwing up." Henri explained as he carried Blair to his bedroom. "I gave him Pepto-Bismol, but that came back up too."
"You got him to take Pepto-Bismol!" Naomi whispered.
"I'm good." Henri mouthed. He sat Blair on the bed and began rubbing him dry while Naomi rummaged through his dresser for some pajamas.
"Sweetie, you want your Snoopy jammies?"
"No, mom, they're too hot. Can I have the Batman ones? They have shorts."
"No, honey, they're in the wash."
"Can I have the Spidey ones? They're shorts too."
"Sure, sweetheart, just let me dig them out. Henri, love, why don't you go get into something dry before you come down with something too?"
"Sounds good." Henri nodded. He stripped off his shirt and headed toward the bedroom he shared with Naomi.
"Okay, Bear, here are your Spideys." Naomi held them out.
"Just the bottoms, okay mom?"
"Yes, that's okay. Do you want underwear?"
"Uh-uh."
Naomi scrunched up the pajama shorts and helped Blair into them. "How's that?"
"Good." Blair reached for his mother.
Naomi picked him up and sat on the bed. "What hurts, sweetie?"
"My belly and my head."
"Oh, honey." Naomi kissed his tangled curls. "We'll have to get you combed out, mop top."
"Can Henri do it?"
"I think he would." Naomi smiled.
"He might not." Blair snuggled into her shoulder.
"Why not, Bear?"
" . . .I grumped at him," Blair confessed quietly.
"Oh, I see," Naomi nodded. "Because you didn't feel good?"
Blair nodded, tears came to his eyes once more.
"Are you sorry?"
Blair nodded again and sniffled.
"Well, now, don't cry, sweetie. We'll just go tell him you're sorry and everything will be alright. 'kay, Bear?"
"'Kay."
Blair was a little too heavy for Naomi to carry anymore, so she took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom.
"Hey, handsome."
Henri turned around, "Hey, foxy."
"Blair needs to tell you something."
Henri smiled and looked down. It was only then he noticed that Blair was half-hiding behind his mother, looking down at his feet. Henri knelt down, almost eye-level with him. "Whatsa matter little B?"
"I'm sorry," Blair said.
"Sorry?" Henri took the child in his arms. "What you sorry 'bout, SugarBlair?"
"Cause I grumped at you before."
"Aw, that's okay, my man." Henri kissed Blair's cheek and rubbed his hair. "How 'bout we drag a comb through this rat's nest, huh?"
"Okay, but don't pull hard, my head really hurts."
"Now, Blair, do I ever pull hard?" Henri hefted Blair on his hip and gathered a comb, a cup of water and bottle of No More Tangles, then settled Blair on his lap in the living room.
"Listen, while you do that, I'm going to make some chamomile tea." Naomi filled the tea pot.
"Hey, hot stuff, you got any, uh, " Henri glanced down at Blair, "b-a-b-y aspirin in your purse?"
Blair looked up at Henri in annoyance. "I can spell BABY, Henri! Jeez, I'm not two years old!"
"Yeah, Henri!" Naomi teased. "He's not two years old!"
Henri held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
"Anyway, " Naomi produced a bottle of the little orange pills from her bag. "I do." She shook two out, and walked over to pop them in Blair's mouth. "Chew those up, sweetie. I'll bring you some tea in a minute."
"'Kay, mom."
Naomi put the water on to boil and mixed the dried tea ingredients; chamomile, spearmint leaves, lemon grass, orange blossoms, rose hips.
Usually she would have heard her son and her boyfriend chattering back and forth. It was a sign of how sick Blair was that all she heard was Henri singing "Let It Be".
After the tea steeped, she removed the tea ball and added a generous amount of honey, then stirred until the tea cooled.
She returned to see Blair, eyelids at half-mast, barely awake in Henri's lap. His silky hair combed out, tangle free, and just beginning to dry into spiral ringlets.
"Here sweetie, drink this for me." She held the cup to Blair's mouth and he took a long drink. "Very good."
Henri took the cup from her. "Why don't you go shower and change? You haven't even taken your shoes off yet." He kissed her.
"Mmm, thanks, I still have ink under my fingernails, too. You two will be okay?"
"I think I got it under control here." Henri smiled.
Naomi shed her clothes and went through her usual after-work cleansing rituals - light sage, bathe, short meditation.
She returned to the living room, refreshed. She found Henri singing a lullaby to a sleeping Blair.
"Sleep, my child and peace attend thee, all through the night.
"Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night.
"Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping; God His loving vigil keeping, all through the night."
"Knocked him out, huh?"
"Yep, poured the rest of the tea down him too." Henri showed her the empty cup. "And I think it's gonna stay there."
Naomi, put her hand to Blair's head. "He feels cooler."
"Mmm-hmm," Henri kissed her.
"You think it's serious?"
"No, mama, just a little flu bug biting him." He nipped her bare shoulder. "What he needs now is time to let the aspirin and the tea get to work, and some sleep. He'll be okay." He nuzzled her.
"Mmm," she smiled. "Then let's tuck him in so I can rock you to sleep, baby."
"Sweet dreams, mama, sweet dreams."
1980, 11 years old
Naomi came home from work to find her son sitting in the lotus position, in front of a lit candle. She let him finish his meditation as she started dinner. Half an hour later, Blair blew out the candle, stood, and stretched.
"Hungry, sweetie?" Naomi called.
"Not really, Ma." The usual spark was gone from his voice.
"Blair? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Come on, Blair," Naomi came out of the kitchen and hugged him. "Tell me what's the matter."
"Mom, don't take this personally, but I just need some space, okay?"
"Sure, sweetie," Naomi nodded, backing off. She went into the kitchen and put the pot of Jamaican Eggplant chili on the stove to simmer, while she read the new issue of Ms. An hour later, she ladled some of the spicy mixture into bowls. "Blair, soup's on."
"I'm not hungry," Blair called from his room.
"Come on now." Naomi carried a bowl to his room, surprised to find his door open. "Just eat a little bit for me, huh? Make you big and strong."
"Quit dreaming, Naomi, I'm never gonna be big or strong," Blair answered in a tired voice.
Naomi put the bowl down on Blair's dresser and sat herself directly in front of him on his bed. "Alright, kiddo, spill it."
Blair rolled over to face the wall. "Mom, I don't want to talk about it. "
Naomi crossed her arms. "Well that's too bad, 'cause you are going to talk about it."
"Maaaa," Blair whined. "Leave me alone!"
"No."
Blair crossed his arms, too, and ignored her, resolutely staring at the wall.
"Did something happen at school?"
Blair didn't answer.
"Is someone making fun of you?"
No response.
"Blair Sandburg, you answer me!"
Blair turned back to her with fire in his eyes. "YES!"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, EVERYTHING! YES something happened at school! YES they make fun of me! YES! Okay, mom?! YES! You happy now?"
"Who made fun of you!"
"Mom, what difference does it make?"
"Blair! It makes a big difference! Honey, if he's doing it to you, he's probably doing it to other kids."
"No, Mom, you just don't get it! They aren't picking on anyone else, they're picking on ME. Because they're all 13 and 14 and I'm only 11, and I'm short, and I'm smart, and my voice hasn't changed, and I get all the top scores but nobody wants me on their team in gym class. THEY HATE ME BECAUSE I DON'T FIT IN! And I hate being me! And I hate school! And I hate everything!" Tears stood in Blair's eyes.
"Sweetie." Naomi was shocked speechless. She tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch, so she leaned down and kissed him.
"Mom, was my dad short?"
"Oh, sweetie, I don't know."
"Mom, please, just look at me! I don't look like you or any of the other Sandburgs. I must remind you of somebody! Mom, please, think!"
"Oh, Blair." Naomi hugged her son tight. "Baby, if I knew, I swear, I'd tell you in a second. But I just don't."
Blair sat up and put his arms around his mom. "Why do I have to be different, Mom? I hate it."
"Blair Bear, I know it's hard on you now, and I'm so sorry. If I could make it better, I would. But you're special, sweetheart. You're unique and brilliant and beautiful. I promise, when you get older, things will be easier."
Blair let her go and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. "Mom, why did you name me Blair?"
Naomi smiled. "I named you after a good friend of mine who took a trip he couldn't come back from."
Blair sat up, eyes wide. "You mean, he OD'd?"
"Well, yes."
"Oh, wow," Blair said softly. "Nutty."
"Hmm," Naomi said. "But he was a beautiful man, full of love, always smiling, a peaceful man."
"Was Blair his first name or his last name?"
"Oh, neither. His name was Libra, I just transposed it to make Blair. I thought it would be kind of confusing to name you Libra when you're a Gemini."
"Thank you," Blair said with relief. "That's a little more special than I need to be."
Naomi laughed and ran her fingers over his tickle spot, it was on his left side about two inches up from his belly button.
Blair curled up and giggled. "STOP! STOP!"
"What?" Naomi asked, still tickling. "I can't hear you. What?"
"St-o-o-o-p!"
"Oh, stop! Oh, okay." Naomi stopped. She kissed Blair and stood up, walking his dresser and picking up his bowl of chili."So, I guess I'll just pour this back into the pot, huh?"
Blair sat up. "Wait, uh, is it still warm?"
Naomi felt the bowl. "Yes."
"Oh, well I guess I'll eat it for you, then."
"Okay, thanks." Naomi put the bowl back, careful not to smile until she'd left he room. She ignored the bowl she'd set out for herself and went straight to the phone.
"Hello? Doctor Katz? This is Naomi Sandburg. You remember my son, Blair, from last summer? … Yes… Oh he really learned a lot too…Uh-huh…I think he could use a few more sessions …. Right…When could you fit him in?….. Okay, great, thanks….Yes….I'm looking forward to seeing you again, too, Doctor. Good bye."