The miniature, solid door slides open and I can see movement from the other side.
“You’re my first since moving to Overland, thanks for coming. So, what’s on your mind?”
I look away from the remaining lattice barrier, “I don’t actually save people.”
This time, the barrier, which was keeping me confidential, is pushed to the side.
“What do you mean? You’re wearing tights. You even have a cape!” He assesses as he sticks his bald head through the small opening, “Hey, aren’t you Milton?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s my family name.”
His head still on my side, he looks up and fixes his gaze on me. “Son, you have no choice, that’s what we do here, that’s what your family did here. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I hear my Secret-Urgent phone. Danger’s on the horizon.”
“But Reverend, what am I supposed to do?”
“Live out the tights, my son.” The Reverend crosses himself, spatters me with holy water, and charges out the confessional.
Moving my unremarkable frame from the impersonal, wooden bench in the confessional to the thigh-suctioning, vinyl booth in the diner doesn’t make my day look any better. Radar, owner of the “We Know What You Want” diner, stands behind the counter, smirking.
“Boss didn’t let you take the case, huh?”
He already knows the Reverend went himself, “No, the Reverend went on his own.”
“Yup, Boss can peg who can and who can’t. Gotta give him that, Milton,” Radar smiles, teeth clamping on a toothpick. He turns his focus to the three sitting at his counter.
I warm my hands on the waiting mug of coffee, and watch the steam from my usual plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Like the coffee, the plate of food always hits the table before I push the door open. Radar uses his power every living moment.
In my heart, it plays out perfectly. The idea, the action, the ending…superb. When it comes to the actual doing, it never works. Sometimes I feel that my ability to think and see things to an acute degree is part of my soul. Yeah, it isn’t as flashy as some, but it’s undeniably there. It pulses within me. But what if it’s just my imagination? What if being born into a line of Thinkers doesn’t mean a thing? What if what I perceive as great barely hits the line of average? No, it isn’t just fantasy; I know I have this talent, without doubt. Yet, I still feel useless. I feel as if I’m serving no one. I’m in a town, a costume, a life that I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be in.
“Hey, Milton! Any cat calls lately?” Tentacles heckles from the counter.
I mumble.
“What was that?” Megaear joins in the cutting of what little respect I have left.
Bubbleblower, the silent one with the other two, throws a wadded-up napkin into my mug.
I pinch it out and drop it onto my plate, “I said you know that cats have been outlawed since the incident.”
Radar’s voice clobbers Tentacles’ next insult hurled my way, “Guys, we got a case, ten miles from the north border. We need the whole town.” He shouts back as he runs out the door, “Brown, stay here.”
How could I move? The sweat from my tights has me glued to the vinyl. It just doesn’t work. Nothing in me works. I can’t catch escaped criminals with my many arms. I can’t hear muffled cries caught under debris. I can’t soften the fall of a jumper. Past or future, I have no special sight for either. The one time I lived out the tights, mistakes all over, not to mention furry appendages and whiskers. That poor cat, Lucy. I think that was her name. I thought I had used my net gun, but after pulling the trigger, I realized in my rush to the scene I had pulled the massacre gun off the wall instead. And now I’m here, alone, as the most untalented, hopeless, living-a-lie superhero.
The ringing phone scares me enough to rip my thighs off the seat. I run over to the counter and set my hand on the receiver. I have to answer it, no one else is here. Maybe this is my chance? Yes! It must be!
“Yes, Uh huh. Got it. Wait what was the street? Oh, okay, I thought you said ‘turtle’. No, no ma’am, it’s fine.” I clear my throat, “I’m on my way.”
I lunge forward, falling into the gutter in front of the house, my breakfast from earlier lands before me. It should have worked. I thought about it, I saw it so clearly. The little boy was stuck on the roof with his mom yelling at him from below. No wonder he wasn’t coming down, she was threatening his very life because of his excursion to get the baseball out of the rain gutter.
It should have worked.
I used the net gun this time. I made sure of it before shooting it. The boy should have been comfortably confined and then I would have brought him down. But the holes were too big for his tiny structure. Big enough for his head to fall through and for the netting to take hold of his neck. Thank goodness Radar sent Speeder. I didn’t even feel him run up the trellis as I feebly climbed my way up. He saved my case. He saved my last chance.
Wiping my face, I try to stand and realize I’m stepping on my cape. It rips as I rise. A jagged piece of black cloth lies dormant on the exposed insides of my stomach. I cry as I walk away. Why not? I’m not a superhero. I’m not even a hero. What I have in me is useless. The passion doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.