INTERPRETIVE ARTS

Here is an excerpt from Lady G's book of "Quantum Leap" fan fiction, Green and Heroes. This snippet is from Heroes.

After a while Sam managed to slip away, back into the school, to the boys' lavatory, which by then he needed to use. A glance in the mirror showed him a bigger eight-year-old than he'd been prepared to meet; no wonder those kids had so willingly handed over their lunch money. "Lord," said Sam, aloud. "I'm Baby Neanderthal!"

"Pithecanthropus," corrected Al; Sam spun to face him. "Not a pretty picture."

"Well, don't you look dandy," choked Sam, giving his friend the once-over. "Running away to rejoin the circus, are we?" Unperturbed, Al pinched out the ample fabric of his red and yellow polka-dotted sultan's pants, unnecessarily improving their breadth, and turned slowly on tiptoe, modeling his attire. His matching blouse, complete with ruffled cuffs and a high-frilled collar, was also outsized, as were his floppy felt shoes (yellow with a red pompon at each toe), which made scuffing sounds against the invisible imaging chamber floor as he turned. A brilliant orange wig and a bulbous red plasticine nose nearly completed the costume. Al had even applied a large circle of clown white to each cheek and around each eye, above which he'd drawn two black triangular eyebrows. His ubiquitous cigar was clamped between the teeth of his cherry-red painted grin. "Super," admired Sam.

"Tina made this whole get-up," said Al, "even the shoes."

"I didn't know Tina could sew."

"Oh," said Al, "Tina is a woman of many talents. Many amazing talents. Many amazing, unusual talents. Many amazing, unusual, hitherto unsuspected talents. Many...."

"Enough," laughed Sam. "I admit she is amazing. I confess to being amazed. But why am I Pithecanthropically here?"

"Don't you want to know why I'm dressed like this?"

"It's Hallowe'en, Al. No big mystery."

Al stared at his friend. "How did you know?"

"Pumpkins and black cats and witches on the walls... black and orange crepe everywhere... give me some credit, Al."

"You mean," said Al, removing the cigar from his mouth (and somewhat disturbing the plasticine nose in the process), "it's Hallowe'en here too?" Sam had no answer for that. With one hand Al punched a few handlink buttons to confirm the obvious and with the other he readjusted his nose. "Well, I'll be.... Sam, has this ever happened before?"

"You're asking me?"

"I don't think it has, Sam. Our calendars have never coincided before; not as closely as this, not to the exact day. Wish it would happen at Christmastime," he added, ruefully.

"Well, Al," said Sam, softly, "we couldn't exchange presents anyway. It'd just make us sadder, I think."

Two boys, both older and bigger than Farmer (whose first name Sam still hadn't learned), burst into the room in a frenzy of laughter, which only subsided mildly when they caught sight of Sam. One of them shoved him roughly against the sink in passing; both boys urinated, vying for distance and duration, then left without washing their hands. Sam turned back to the mirror. "I thought I was the school bully."

"No," said Al, "only the class bully."

"Go on."

"It's 1963. Hallowe'en, it's Thursday, bla bla bla."

"Bla bla bla what?"

"Nothing. Ziggy's been acting a little weird -- she's throwing in some extraneous stuff from time to time, that's all. Your name...."

"What extraneous stuff?"

"Well, Sam, if you must know, this particular bla bla bla is the home phone number of every left-handed U.S. senator elected in an off-year. Your name is Frankie Farmer."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. And you're the class bull. Bull?"

"Bully, yes, we've been through that, Al."

"Patience, buddy, patience. You're eight years old, single, no children..."

"Ha, ha, Al."

"... and no mother, either."

"No mother?"

"No mother." Al looked unhappily away from the handlink for a moment. Sam would have put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, clown suit and all, but that shoulder was not physically present. "She died when you were six," Al said, finally. "Cancer.".


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