Recital

By WhiteJazz

Rating: G

Category: Stand-Alone

Series: Instructions for Life

Warnings: none

Notes: A shortie, because Angie was asking for fic.

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Memorize your favorite poem

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Blair breezed into the loft, immediately greeted by the tantalizing scent of baking lasagna. He paused in the doorway and inhaled a deep breath, letting the aroma envelope him. Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he stepped into the kitchen. He bit back a laugh at the sight of Jim Ellison in his flowered apron. Blair didn't think he'd ever get over seeing Jim in that thing. It was too funny.

"Dinner's almost ready, Chief," Jim said as he slid a pan of garlic bread into the oven. "About ten minutes."

"I can smell that." Blair snagged a tomato from the bowl of salad resting on the counter. "What's the occasion?"

"Peterson's going away for a long stretch. Life sentence with no chance of parole for forty years."

Blair let out a low whistle, remembering Jake Peterson and the hell he'd put Jim through over the last month. The man had been a professional thief, scaling buildings and robbing uptown penthouses while the residents were still asleep in their beds. About a week before he was caught, one unlucky woman woke up while Peterson was up to his elbows in her jewelry box. He clubbed her to death with an ivory lion sculpture.

"So we're celebrating his sentence?" Blair asked, unsure.

Jim flinched. "No, we're not. We're going to have a quiet dinner, because I know Cascade. Now that this case is over, something else big is going to drop into our laps tomorrow and we'll be living off the snack machines and instant coffee again."

"I hear that. Jim, do you have any Easter decorations?"

"Beg pardon?" Jim shot his friend a curious stare. "You're not thinking about putting yellow chickens and pink bunnies all over the loft, are you?"

Blair laughed. "C'mon, Jim. Would I do that to you? Don't answer that. Actually, the Anthro department is sponsoring an Easter egg hunt for the consortium school next weekend. I figured, you know, borrow versus buy."

"I'm not sure, Chief." Jim transferred the salad onto the dining table. "Carolyn might have left some stuff in the basement. You can check down there if you want."

"Right. I'll be back in ten minutes." Blair bounced towards the front door.

"Do you have to look right now?"

"I don't want to forget. Ten minutes."

As the door shut behind him, Blair heard Jim shout out, "Eight!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jim glanced at the clock again, his stomach growling. So much for back in ten minutes. It had been almost twenty. Heaving a sigh, Jim stood up and strode out of the loft. As he descended the stairs, he let his hearing travel down to the basement. He found a heartbeat, punctuated by a low chuckle and the rustling of papers.

"What'd he find?" Jim muttered, walking into the chilly basement.

The walls to his left and right were divided into six metal cages, each about seven feet squared, and labeled by apartment. His was situated in the far left corner, its door open half way.

"Sandburg?" he called.

"In here," came the reply, tinged with mild amusement.

Jim poked his head into the storage room. Sandburg had found a small box of plastic eggs, Easter grass and a pair of colorful baskets. But he hadn't stopped there. A larger box was open in front of him, its mostly-paper contents spread out on the concrete floor.

"What is all that?" Jim asked, his eyes skimming the mess.

Blair held up a certificate. "Perfect Attendance Award, 1977. What were you, a junior in high school?"

"Probably." Jim crouched down, taking the certificate from his friend. "I forgot dad gave us all this stuff."

"I thought you weren't close to your father."

"I'm not." Jim grimaced, putting the award down. "A bunch of old awards were mailed to me about a week after I got married. No letter, just this stuff."

Blair sifted through another pile, pulling out a frame. Jim recognized it immediately. Placed carefully inside was a newspaper clipping and photocopied check. The headline read, "Local student wins state recital." Along with the clipped article was a photograph of two men in ties and a young teenage boy.

"What's this?" Sandburg asked.

Jim looked it over, flooded with memories. "When I was twelve, the middle schools had a state-wide poetry competition."

"You wrote poetry?" Blair threw him an amused grin.

"God, no. We had to memorize a poem and recite it. They judged us on pronunciation and length. Prize was two hundred bucks."

Sandburg's eyebrows shot up. "And you won that? For the money?"

Jim snorted. "For my old man. Failure was not an option for him. He would have been furious if I'd tried and lost. So I didn't."

"Wow." Sandburg looked from the article to Jim, his eyes full of understanding. "Your dad was hard on you, huh?"

"Pretty hard. He wanted the best."

"What poem did you recite?"

Jim flushed somewhat as the title came back to him, mumbling, "Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake. One hundred and thirty-two lines."

He looked impressed. "Do you remember any of it now?"

Jim scrunched up his brow, recalling what he could. He said:

He paused, recalling only the end.

"Well, Chief, I never would have taken you for intellectual," Jim shot back. He grinned. "Now put this crap back. Dinner's getting cold."

Jim stood up, stretching the muscles in his back. He hadn't thought about that contest in over twenty years. It was the first time he'd recited it out loud since then, even if it wasn't the whole thing. He'd have to look up the poem again, just to see the familiar words.

After dinner, of course.

~End~