“Mom?!”

Pounding on the steps grows louder.

“Dad?!”

Thumbing, banging, even stuffed under all the blankets and pillows, he can hear doors slam and closets shut.

“Mom! Dad?”

It was just like the boy to call out for both parents by the time neither showed themselves on the second call. David was the same way, but he remembers his long-time friend breaking out of the habit at a fairly young age.

His son is a little different.

He leans back, more than a little. Soft, unmistakenly satin, scoops under him. Further, he slides into the bed. Surely, not even a hint of his outline can be seen from the other side of the comforter. David is smart enough to keep an eye out for his perfectly round shape. His son, too, but less so.

Neither he nor David remember the time when he was actually born. His eyes came to be, pulled open, staring at a small army of other toys. Cowboys and animals lined the shelves. Even the occasional knight in shining armor. Jazz knew his worth. Wrist blasters honed to zap incoming aliens with zeta rays. A space suit that could propel him underwater, if the need arises.

Jazz Bright, the Galaxy’s Most Dedicated Hero, at your service.

Time slowed as he rested on the shelf. Not once did he grow bored. Not once did he become happy or even at peace. He was there. Standing, hands pulled backward thanks to the white cable ties. It was much different to now, as he lays under the thick comforter.

Restlessness sits in. David’s son Kyle is a smart cookie, no doubt about it, but the apple fell far from the tree when it comes to attention. Kyle grows distracted at the drop of a pin. David could sit down and help them mow over hoards of enemies for hours. Flying, soaking up every inch of the air, Jazz’s zeta rays would knock out every hostile sighting.

How he yearns for those days to return.

Drifting, Jazz allows his mind to have some fun with itself. He can see the towers of blocks crumbling. Dinosaurs and monsters made out of puddy melting thanks to the might of David and Jazz. He even allows himself a little smile.

But its all too brief of a stretch of his lips. Another set of footsteps sounds out against the wooden steps. Lighter, the feet are afraid to touch down, and Jazz knows who this is. If he doesn’t want the family to go anywhere all day, he has to hide. Quickly, he tucks his arms inward and rolls, over and over, away from the door, all the way to the other side of the bed.

A simple drop, but Jazz is fine. Lush carpet rises up to meet him.

“Did you check in the closet?”

Stomping, but Jazz can’t see this time who is the source. Only the dark green color of the wall stares back.

“I did!” Kyle whines.

“Ok, calm down.” David’s voice is soothing. “Well, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

A track grinds. Hands push apart hangers. Jazz can even hear Kyle attempt to push past his father. They slap around the different clothes and toys stuffed into the dark recesses of the closet. Again, Jazz allows himself to smile.

All going according to plan.

“Son, don’t worry.” Jazz knows the tone. Two hands push against the wall. He rolls on his wrist blasters and kneels, staring at the pair. A small ball of socks serves as just the right amount of cover.

“We know you didn’t take him to school.”

“Yeah,” Kyle mumbles.

“So, he has to be here, somewhere.”

“But I don’t want to lose him again!”

David pats his son on the shoulder. Both have the same goofy set of brown curls. Jazz remembers the terrible year David was ordered to shave his. A terrible year, where they were both locked in at home. Kyle holds back tears. His teeth bite down on his lip. David pats him on the head.

“He’s here. You’ll find him. I’ll find him.” The older head of brown hair nods in the direction of the window. Jazz can feel the paint in his stomach drop. Rays of sunshine cover the father and son.

“Let’s go play outside. You’ll find him later.”

Later? What the heck did he mean by later? Jazz shakes his fist. Sure, the pair might be heading out to play basketball or kick around a soccer ball. That’s not a crime, but Jazz is missing in their eyes, for goodness sake! Doesn’t he matter? After all the years and time he’d been with David, the man’s very own good luck charm.

“Ok,” Kyle responds. He sniffles, and makes a good attempt to hold back any tears.

Jazz pushes away from the sock. The small mound offers cover as he runs back toward the bed. The pair stand up and brush themselves off. The galaxy’s bravest ranger collides into several boxes of puzzles. He spins, much slower than he expects given the grip on the carpet. Still, he manages to shimmy along the open space just under the headboard.

Father and son walk out. Not even looking back. Jazz almost begins to panic. Almost. He looks down at both zeta blasters on his wrists. A few slaps to his face and Jazz is ok. Maybe not fine, Jazz will admit, but a galaxy ranger needs to remain calm. Surely, something can be done to get their attention.

From the floor, the bed doesn’t instill fear in Jazz. Still, he marvels at how long the shadow casts over him. Pumping his arms wildly, Jazz makes for the door. Father and son have long since touched down at the bottom of the stairs. He worries not about being caught.

A small trail of blocks line the wall to the left of the doorway. Jazz stops. To his right, space between the rungs open down to the main floor. Jazz hurries. Two hands grip the brown block. His fingers slip into the grooves of the letter “A” on the other side. Grunting, he pulls. Neither him nor the block scrape against the wooden floor.

Jazz’s foot dangles over the edge. Voices chatter away down below. David’s wife makes a pretty good joke. Even Jazz catches part of the punch line. He turns in a flash, rounds himself onto the other side of the block, and gives it a good heave ho. The letter “B” slowly careens upward until the ceiling, before dropping completely out of view.

Clack, thud, but the sounds are all too soft. Jazz wipes his brow. This is harder than the time David was surrounded by his pet dogs.

“Dad! I just thought of something!” Kyle shouts, unbelievably excited.

Maybe the sounds weren’t too light after all.

Running, Jazz can hear the steps round the corner. He turns to look at the bed. The center is all messed up, but Jazz can only just make out the remnants of his stay. He makes a mad dash for the nearest open door. David’s room, twice as messy as normal, and hides inside a blue sweater. The sweater rests in the middle of the floor, right next to the dresser. He scurries inside and under the polyester.

“My bed! I went to sleep and Jazz was right there last night!”

Jazz was, sweet dreams danced in their head while the pair sank into the pillows. The young boy rounds the corner and screams down when he sees the bed.

“He’s here! He’s here!”

A flop, but then Jazz hears a huff filled with disappointment.

“Kyle, what did we say about leaving your toys lying around?” David calls after his son. He too begins to climb down the stairs again.

Jazz slowly backs out of the sweater and away from the doorway. He looks at one of his blasters and the small forest of socks and t-shirts that reside on the floor of the bedroom. With a snap of his wrist, he undoes one of the zeta blasters. Jazz rests the green cylinder just in front of the dresser.

“Did you check in our room?”

“No, why…”

“You don’t remember coming into our room last night?”

Kyle did, arising out of his slumber in a panic. Not for the first time did Jazz think the aliens and wild lifeforms from other galaxies had descended onto their home. He was ready to fight to the death for his family. But the force Kyle fought against last night was invisible.

The pair kick around what little remains on the floor of Kyle’s room. Behind Jazz are golden handles. Quickly, he grabs onto one, lifts himself up, and connects with another. For some reason, he hasn’t been able to fly in months. Maybe Kyle can take him to the command center for a quick fix.

“Come on, let’s check in here.”

Suddenly, David swings around the corner. Jazz can only just duck out of view. He kneels down, allowing a small brown box to serve as cover. One step back and toward the door, a sidestep, and Jazz suddenly slips. A pearl snake wraps around his ankle. Arms waving, he smacks against the dresser.

“See, he was in here!” David bends down. With three fingers, as if holding a piece of stained glass, the zeta blaster rests.

He turns back around to his son. “Do you remember where you set him?”

Kyle moves around to the other side of the bed. Father and son, both with their backs toward Jazz, allow for the optimal time to escape. One hand pushes the pearl necklace off his ankle. The other grabs at anything in front of him: the air, clothes, letters in the mail.

“Well, this is mom’s side. So I would have been here first.”

“Right, we have to talk to your mother about that.” A pause, but Jazz dare not to turn around. “I can’t believe these things are still kicking.

Jazz takes off running and leaps off the dresser.

He bounds down the steps, one small leap at a time. If only his suit was working, he could zip downstairs and set himself down, in the corner of the playroom, waiting for Kyle and his father. Past shoes and crayons, Jazz keeps an eye out for Alicia. He can’t even hear her steps. She’s outside, Jazz hopes.

“I know! This morning!” Kyle grows excited. “I took him down to the sun room!”

A mis-remembrance, but one Jazz is grateful for. He rushes inside and falls face first on the lush, white carpet. To his right, a collection of teddy bears and stuffed animals stare back. Wide eyed, Jazz had never even talked to the lot before.

He can’t throw himself there. Kyle would never. David would never. To his left, sits parked is a small collection of cars and trains. Engines stalled, they aim straight at the entryway, eager to drive off into the hallway.

Hurriedly, he runs over, setting himself up, blaster in hand. The Corvette? Too small. Jazz nearly breaks the door as he tries to climb inside. The Jeep? Too wide. Jazz has to yank hard on his foot to pull it out.

A saucer, roof open, lies away from the main crowd. Jazz winces. Not exactly a regulation saucer, the brim is too wide for meaningful space travel. But Jazz doesn’t have time to make up the rules. He swings both legs inside, hands on the red steering wheel, ready to go.

The footsteps resume. Jazz sits ahead and smiles. All breathing has ceased. His focus tightens. Soon, Kyle and David will round the corner…

“Dad! Look!”

Jazz can feel himself lift up into the air. Kyle carries the saucer, rounding each bend and made up corner, blasting enemies with pews and booweys. The sounds may be entirely made up, but they’re still music to Jazz’s ears. The smile that was long ago painted onto his face rings true.

“Now, we can play!”

Just like old times, Jazz thinks. Just like long ago.