It's the Thought...
by Swellison

Jim Ellison surveyed the scattered ribbons and crumpled Christmas wrapping papers that surrounded Blair's side of the sofa and spilled over to the floor, comparing it with the pile of neatly folded wrapping paper and carefully collected bows and ribbons at his feet. His anal-retentive side itched to organize Blair's holiday leavings into the same neat piles, but he refrained. It was Christmas, after all, and his partner's opened gifts were stacked neatly on top of the coffee table. "So that's that. Merry Christmas, Chief. D'you think we opened enough presents?" he asked rhetorically.

"No."

"No--?" Jim repeated, surprised.

"No. I haven't opened my Mom's gift yet." Blair nudged a mound of used Christmas wraps with his foot, exposing a large, still-wrapped package. He leaned over to pick up the large red and green foil-covered box. "Ugh, it's heavy." He placed the box in his lap and stared at it, seemingly lost in thought.

"Saving the best for last?" Jim prompted, after a few moments' silence.

"Sort of. I was remembering... When I was ten, I wanted a pair of indoor, lace-up roller skates. All the other kids had 'em, but I just had a pair of metal clip-on skates. We had just moved from out-of-state and money was tight. That Christmas, I only had three presents. I got a plaid shirt and some socks, then Mom handed me a box. 'And here's your last present, Blair'--she made it sound like I'd already opened gobs of presents--'It's from me.'

"I opened the present and it was this really cool pair of black indoor roller skates. Since then, it's become a Sandburg tradition. No matter how many presents we received, Mom and I always opened each other's gift last." Finished, Sandburg plucked at the side of the box, his fingers slipping under the folded flap of paper. He quickly tore a wide swath of wrapping paper from the box, then pushed aside the remaining paper. The box had pictures of its contents on all sides. "Rock Cascade," Blair read the label as he glanced at the picture of a small indoor water fountain.

In no time, Sandburg had opened the top of the box and extracted the man-made water sculpture. He pushed some of his other presents back, creating space for the weighty object on the coffee table. A slate base with a two-inch lip supported a five small black steps or mini-ledges, with several smoothed river stones glued to each step.

"Be right back," Sandburg rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen. Jim took the opportunity to examine the outside of the box, reading about the rock cascade. Blair reappeared with a pitcher of water, trailing an extension cord behind him. He sat down, skimmed the instruction booklet, then poured the where the directions indicated and turned it on. The machine hummed for a few seconds, then a small flow of water formed at the top step, encircled the various stones and gradually trickled down the lower steps, pooling in the cascade's base and until it was recycled.

"Isn't this great, Jim? The dripping water has a soothing, naturally calming effect." Blair paraphrased the wording on the box.

Jim snorted. "For you, maybe. All I hear is the annoying buzz of the electricity."

"Well, we can fix that easily enough. Sit back and close your eyes," Blair slipped instantly into Guide mode. "That's it, now take a deep breath and relax. That's it, that's good." Sandburg watched Jim take a couple of slow, deep breaths. "Now, listen to the machine buzz and picture the volume dial. Turn the dial down until the buzzing becomes tolerable for you--past five, four, three, there, stop at two. Now, open your eyes and listen to the falling water."

Jim obeyed, hearing the water trickling from one level to the next. "It's okay, Chief--but not really necessary for me."

"What do you mean, Jim?"

"We live within sight of the bay. If I really want to listen to moving water, I could hear the real thing."

"Really? You can hear water moving in the bay from here?" Blair questioned excitedly. "That's awesome, man!"

"Ah, now I never said I did hear it," Jim backpedaled. "I said if I wanted to, I could."

Sandburg glanced from his seated partner to the balcony window, glimpsing a few hardy sailboats in the distant bay. He jumped to his feet and pulled on the older man's arm. "C'mon, Jim. Let's try something."

"What?" Jim asked, letting himself be propelled to his feet.

Blair stepped around the wrapping paper strewn on the floor, making his way to the balcony doors. He paused to admire the fully decorated Christmas tree, which stood in front of living room's right-most window, then waited impatiently for Jim to join him in front of the balcony doors. He bounced on his heels as Jim stood next to him.

"Remember the Martin case, when you piggybacked your eyesight to your hearing to observe that drug bust? Well, we're going to try a reverse piggybacking here."

Jim looked down at his excited roommate. "Funny, I don't remember asking Santa for a Sentinel test for Christmas," he teased.

"Got you covered, man. I asked him for both of us."

"I see."

"Exactly! Focus on the bay, and use your eyesight to guide your hearing towards the water. Can you hear the water rippling against the beach?"

Jim stared at the bay and tried to direct his hearing towards the water. After several seconds of silence, he winced. "Fog horn," he grumbled.

Blair placed a hand on Ellison's shoulder and he tried again.

"I can hear it," Jim said after listening intently for almost a minute. "A rhythmic lapping of water against the beach. Very relaxing, like you said."

"That's great, Jim."

"But still unnecessary," Jim turned to face his Guide. "I can find all the peace and tranquillity I need"--he placed his hand lightly over Blair's heart--"just by listening to this."

the end