From: Jason Eric Dzembo Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1993 07:37:54 -0400 Message-Id: <9308301137.AA22176@localhost> Someone kicked him in the ankle, but fortunately there wasn't enough force to make it hurt. But, it was enough to get his attention and Sam looked down at the little boy in front of him. The boy returned his gaze, gave a gleeful giggle, turned and ran back into the room. Sam was standing in a doorway, his hand still clutching the cool metal of the doorknob. In front of him was what appeared to be a kindergarten classroom, judging from the small tables and chairs, the painted pictures of the letters of the alphabet - each depicting something that began with its designated letter - and the two dozen children, who were running wildly around the room, or throwing things at each other, or painting each others' clothes. Sam released the doorknob and groaned, "Oh, boy." Part II May 1, 1972 He closed the door loudly, in hopes of getting the kids' attention, but, although he could hear the sound echoing down the corridor outside, the children barely gave him a second glance. He cleared his throat. "Okay kids!" he pleaded, "Let's settle down! Okay?" No response. He sighed and crossed the room to what appeared to be the teacher's desk. As he did, the volume of the room decreased marginally and a couple of children gave him an idle glance, but he was still a long way from having control over the class. He placed the folder he was carrying on the desk, and noticed a small plastic whistle sitting dead center on the desktop. Taped to it was a note reading, "You may need this." Sam smirked as he picked up the whistle and turned to face the class. Inhaling deeply, Sam elicited a loud, high pitched shrill from the whistle. The children went silent immediately. Those who weren't near the tables gave looks of exaggerated surprise in Sam's direction and scurried to their seats. Maybe this rowdy bunch had been trained well after all. When the whistle was blown, they were to be at their seats, which appeared to be assigned. Good enough. "That's better," Sam said, putting the whistle back on the desk. Some of the children began to squirm restlessly. Finally one girl raised her hand tentatively and asked, "Who are you?" "I, uh, I'm your teacher," Sam replied, mentally adding, _I hope_. "No, you're not," the girl replied, shaking her head violently causing her straight brown hair to flop across her face. A few of the children voiced their agreement. Loudly. "I'm not?" Sam asked. "Nope," the girl responded, giggling. Smiling weakly, Sam slid a hand casually towards the back pocket of his pants - bellbottoms, which didn't make him feel any better about his predicament - in search of a wallet. In his first, and so far only, stroke of luck, the wallet was there and, when Sam opened it, a California driver's license was right on top. Sam looked at it, wincing at the picture - a young woman with long blonde hair and pale green eyes. "You're right. I'm not your teacher. My name's Irene Chapman," Sam announced triumphantly. "That's a funny name for a man," the girl giggled, her dark blue-grey eyes twinkling. The other kids at her table turned to look at her. One of them laughed harshly. "I-I'm not a man," Sam responded, hesitantly. He approached the girl, crouching so they could see eye to eye, and held his driver's license towards her. "See. That's me. Irene Chapman." "That's not you," the girl insisted, pouting. "You're a man." "No, she's not," the boy who had laughed responded. "He is too," the girl argued. "Is not!" "Is too!" "Now, hold on!" Sam interjected, standing up. "Is not!" the girl demanded, her voice rising. "You're so stupid!" "Hey!" Sam said sharply, turning to the second child, "We don't make fun of people, and we don't call them stupid." He had no clue what his role on this leap was, but his voice held an authority that caused the boy to look ashamed. Sam lightened his tone and said, "Now say you're sorry." The boy looked down at his fingers and fidgeted. "Come on," Sam said, gently. The boy glanced briefly at the girl and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Miriam." Sam turned slowly to look at the girl, who was looking satisfied with the apology. "You-your name is Miriam?" he asked. The girl nodded enthusiastically. And now, Sam could see the similar features. The eyes that looked almost violet, similar facial structure. "I knew a girl named Miriam once," he said. "Really?" Miriam's eyes widened. "What happened to her?" Sam frowned and looked into the little girl's eyes. She was so young, so innocent. Even if he could bring himself to tell her about her untimely demise, it would probably do more harm than good. "I - I don't know," Sam replied, "Yet." It was a half-truth. He knew what had happened in the original history, but he also knew that history could be changed. "Oh," Miriam looked crestfallen. Sam stood up, shaking himself slightly. "Anyway," he announced, "who here thinks I'm a woman?" Everyone but Miiam raised their hands with a chorus of, "Meeeeee!" Miriam looked at the raised hands and frowned stubbornly, her eyes glazing over. "But he's not!" she cried, "He's a man!" Sam interceded, "Miriam's right. I am a man. I thought I'd play a trick on you today and dress up like a woman, but I guess I couldn't fool her." He rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the story. On anyone other than children it would never have worked. He laughed awkwardly. Miriam looked at the boy who had argued with her and whispered, "Neener, neener, neener." The boy responded by sticking out his tongue. "Play nice," Sam said, absently. "Tell you what. Since everyone else here already thinks I'm a woman, Miriam, why don't you pretend that I am, too, and that my name is Irene Chapman. Okay?" "What _is_ your name?" Miriam asked. "Irene Chapman," Sam replied slowly, deliberately. "No, really!" Miriam insisted. "It's Sam," Sam replied with a sigh. Abruptly, he made a connection. In another fifteen years or so, the little girl who could see him was going to become an avid fan of a certain television show. He doubted she'd ever make the connection, and, even if she did, it seemed unlikely it would alter her future any, but it was worth a shot. "My name's Sam," he repeated carefully, "Sam Beckett." "That's a pretty name," Miriam said, smiling broadly. "Thank you," Sam replied. He looked at her steadily and said, "Remember it, okay?" Miriam nodded slowly, realizing that something was behind his words, but not old enough to be sure. "But for today," Sam continued, "I want everyone to think I'm Irene Chapman." He looked at Miriam. "Okay?" Miriam nodded again. "Okay." He glanced at the rest of the class. "Okay, kids? So who am I?" "Irene Chapman!" the class shouted in something almost, but not quite, entirely unlike unison. Sam placed a hand against one ear and smiled. "Good. Now, am I your normal teacher?" The children responded with a variety of negative answers and Sam frowned. "I must be a substitute," he said, thinking out loud. That would explain the note with the whistle. "Where's our teacher?" someone asked, followed by a chorus of similar questions from some of the others. "Uh..." Sam hesitated. "Out sick with the flu," Al replied, walking through a chalkboard. "Sick," Sam replied with a relieved sigh. "Wow!" Miriam breathed, "Hey, Mister, how'd you do that?" "What?" Sam asked, puzzled. "Not you," she replied, pointing at Al, "Him." Al glanced at Miriam in surprise and mumbled, "Oh, boy." "Who?" the boy asked. "Can anyone else see me?" Al asked of both Sam and the class. "I can." Miriam added, "How'd you walk through the wall like that?" The rest of the class looked silently confused. "Who are you talking to?" the boy demanded. "She's talking to my invisible friend!" Sam said, coming to the rescue. "If he's invisible, why can I see him?" Miriam demanded. Al said, "Must be because your alpha waves are..." "Al..." Sam muttered. He turned back to Miriam and said, "Tell you what. Why don't you tell everyone about Al, while I have a quick talk with him, okay?" There was a chorus of agreement from the class as the kids huddled around Miriam. Thrilled to have all eyes focused on her, Miriam launched into an explanation about how a man in a fedora and red silk jacket had walked through the wall. Sam gestured to Al and returned to the desk. "Al, what happened?" he demanded. "What do you mean?" Al asked furtively, "You changed history and you leaped; it happens all the time. You're name is Irene Chapman, and you're a substitute teacher at Harker Academy. It's a private school for accelerated learning in Palo Alto, California." Sam interrupted, "But does Ziggy say why I'm here?" Al replied hesitantly, "Well, she says there were some things left unresolved after your last leap, and maybe you're here to settle those accounts. That's pretty unlikely, though, since you're about twenty-one years before then." "I must be here to save Miriam," Sam murmured, glancing at her from across the room. Al hesitated before answering, "Not exactly." "What do you mean 'not exactly'?" Sam demanded harshly, "Right before I leaped, you said she was going to die, and I find myself leaping back into her life, only to have you tell me I can't save her? And, now you say I'm not here to change that? I mean, sure, I seem to have leapt back a bit further than necessary, but come on, Al!" "Miriam died of a pulmonary embolism, Sam. A doctor wouldn't be able to detect it twenty minutes before her death, let alone twenty-one years! I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't save her from here." "Then why am I here?" Sam grumbled. He watched as Miriam crossed the room to show her classmates where Al had entered the room. A group of kids began examining the wall studiously, looking for a trap door and Sam smiled involuntarily. She was beautiful, even as a child of five. Al consulted his squealing handlink and reported, "It might be a small consolation, but now Ziggy thinks you may be here to change another aspect of Miriam's future. In the fall, her parents send her to a Hebrew school. Unfortunately, it conflicts with a children's theater group that she wants to participate in. As it was, she did some stage acting later in life, and she was quite good. But Ziggy thinks if you could get her involved with the children's theater, it might give her enough experience to make it to Broadway!" "So she can die at twenty-six?" Sam asked dryly. Al frowned, but respected Sam's position. Then he brightened, "Who knows, Sam? Maybe, just maybe, if you can turn her future towards the theater, then whatever caused her embolism can be avoided." Sam looked at Al, his eyes widening. The surprised look on his face dimmed slightly, though and he said, "Embolisms aren't typically caused by a person's environment, Al. More likely, she has some medical problem or something in her genetic makeup that caused her embolism. Sending her to Broadway may not have any impact on her death at all." "Okay, maybe not," Al agreed, "But, Sam, think of the impact it would have on her _life_." Sam was silent for a moment, before raising his gaze to meet Al's. Slowly, Sam smiled and nodded. "I can at least help her that much," he agreed, "Now, why can she see you and me when the other kids can't?" "I don't know," Al replied, "These kids are all in a fuzzy area. Maybe she's a little more innocent than the rest, so can perceive the truth better. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that she becomes an avid Quantum Leap fan in the future. By the way, Sam, I've had Ziggy get copies of the show on video tape and I have to say I'm impressed." Sam joined the children at the wall, where they were expressing their disappointment at the lack of trap doors. Miriam was standing to one side, looking pleased with herself. Sam crouched down beside her and said, "You like being the center of attention, don't you?" Miriam smiled and said, "It's neat. They want to know why I can see Al and they can't." "That's a bit complicated to explain right now," Sam said, "but let me ask you something. Have you ever been in any plays?" Miriam shook her head. "But I want to," she said, eagerly. "I wanted to join children's theatre, but my Mom and Dad say I'm too little." She pouted appropriately. "Well, you keep pushing them, okay?" Sam said, "I was watching you tell everyone about Al, and I think you've got a lot of talent as a storyteller. I think you'd be a great actress." "Really?" Miriam asked, her eyes widening again. "Really," Sam replied with a smile, "But only if you get your parents to let you join the theater. Now, it might conflict with Hebrew school and they may not like that, but don't give up. You can be a great actress if you just put your mind to it." "I will. Promise." Miriam formed an X across her heart with a finger. Abruptly she leaned forward and kissed Sam on the cheek, before leaning back, giggling and blushing. "How's it going, Sam?" Al asked, crouching beside them on the floor of the Imaging Chamber. "You tell me," Sam replied, glancing at Al's handlink. "Wow! Neat!" Miriam said, staring at Al in wide-eyed wonder. Al studied the handlink, glanced at Miriam and stood up. Sam, realizing it probably wasn't good news, joined him and they stepped quickly out of Miriam's earshot. "What is it?" Sam asked. "Nothing's changed yet," Al replied, "She still doesn't enroll in the children's theater and she still dies in 1993." "Hey, Al!" Miriam called, running up to them eagerly, "Can I wear your jacket?" Al chuckled and said, "Well, I think it would be a little big on you, sweetheart. You'll have to get your own." He reconsidered and said, "Except, they don't come into style for twenty years or so." He shrugged and smiled at her. "I guess you'll have to make one." Miriam's mouth formed an O and she said, "Yeah! Hey, Sam, if my parents don't let me join theater, can I make costumes instead!" "Sure you can," Sam replied, "You can do anything you want to, Miriam." The handlink squealed. "Hey, look at this, Sam!" Al exclaimed, looking at the device. "She still doesn't get involved in the children's theater...but now, not only does she still do some acting, but she also becomes a damn-" He glanced at Miriam and amended, "a darned good costume designer, too!" He blinked, stared at the handlink in surprise and added, "And, hey, get this. She wins a fashion contest at the First Annual Quantum Leap convention...with a red silk jacket." Miriam gaped at Al, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping. "Wow! Thanks, Al!" Al smiled and winked at her. "No problem, sweetheart." Sam leaped....