Superhero Mantle: Chapter Six B: Relationships are Responsibility?

There was only one drawback to being in a relationship. It turns out that you’re not supposed to look at other girls. Now in general it’s understood that you’re not supposed to stare at girls. It’s weird and stalker-ish, so the challenge guys normally face is checking them out without quite staring.

            I didn’t know that there is another way to be. But now, walking with Jean through the halls, I wasn’t supposed to check out any girls. Kyana had told me this at some point. I found the easiest way to do this was to stare into Jean’s eyes the whole time we were together, but I bumped into a lot of people, especially during the period changes when the halls were full.

            And then one time I caught a glimpse of a behind in front of us, and next thing I knew I was staring at it, its rolling tic-toc was a hypnotist’s watch, and I couldn’t look away. The owner of the magnificent behind turned into her class, and I snapped out of it, to look over at Jean, hoping she wasn’t watching. She was glaring at me.

            She shook her head, a slow small shake, and said nothing. I said, “Sorry about that.”

            Still nothing.

            “I just got hypnotized. I couldn’t help it.” Rather than answer me, she turned a one eighty, and walked the other way. The maneuver caught me off guard, and I just watched her behind sashay away. “Nice ass,” I remarked. I figured Miss Farr would say it was the wrong time for humor, but I didn’t know what else to do.

I told Mike and Kyana at lunch. Kyana said, “Was it my ass? I should get a license.”

Mike said, “You’ve got to control yourself, man. Girls deserve respect; she deserves it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Yoda says, ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’” Star Wars trumped everything.

“What do I do now?”

Kyana had that one. “You got to do something nice for her. Buy her flowers, write her an apology and talk about how much you like her. Can you write poems?”

Mike said, “He can write shitty ones.”

“Well, get Mike to write you one. His are pretty good.”

“Would you?”

“You’ve got to pay me ten bucks.”

“Kay.”

Mike’s poem wasn’t bad. I’ve included it here.

Upon looking away from where I want to look

I have seen a lot of things, and some of them are asses,

I have dreamed a lot of things, some with long lashes,

But you still surprise me when your beauty flashes.

Without you, I’m a drunk driver, I caroom crashes.

Sorry, whip me forty lashes, slice me with tongue slashes,

But talk to me, cause you’re still my only boo-smashes.

I re-wrote the poem in my handwriting and slipped it into her locker. She texted me, “Its OK- but if u do it again L”.

We met before practice and I told her how much I liked her and it should have been nice but I felt a little fake. I liked looking at that other butt. I didn’t like that she didn’t like it, so now I pretended something else.

I realized that a relationship was a responsibility, even if it involved kissing, which was really nice.

Kisses? Chapter Six, A

           
Chapter Six: Kisses?

I was late to practice on Monday. When I rounded the corner to my locker I saw her, standing by my locker. She was in a yellow skirt printed with fun flowers. She smiled big and I felt a stirring. We wandered back to the terrace, but a couple groups of kids were smoking cigarettes and some other stuff. Miss Farr says you’ve got to be stupid to risk expulsion by having drugs on school property, and that your education is worth more than looking cool or getting high. I never even thought about it, since my dad would kill me if I got caught smoking weed on school grounds. Some kids still do it. Even Central has idiots.

I’d given myself a lot of pep talks about having the balls to make the first move, so when we got outside I took her hand in mine. I was kind of figuring she’d slap it away, but she held hands back, and ran her fingernails along the inside of my fingers. I was surprised how good it felt. I led her to the South Lawn. She told me about her day, complained that nobody she liked had her lunch. I told her I sat with Mike, but I was thinking about joining the soccer players.

“Why leave Mike?”

“He really hates soccer.”

“You’re not just a soccer player, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Alex said you’re a big nerd.”

“What?” I was stalling while I figured out the way to answer this.

“She says you and Mike are really into Hamlet and you always talk the most in class.”

I shrugged. “I like it. Yeah, I guess that makes me a nerd.”

She said, “It’s okay. I’m a nerd too. Just don’t tell anyone.”

By then we’d walked under the spreading boughs of an oak tree, its green leaves tinged with copper. It felt like we were alone. She turned to me and leaned in and kissed me. I responded with the best imitation of the movies I had. This included throwing my arms around her and mashing my face into hers. She pulled away after a second.

“Doogie?”

“What?”

“Relax. Slow down. It’s more fun if you’re gentle.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I felt kind of dumb.

She had her arms around me, and she pecked the corner of my lips, right where the lower and upper lip meet. She said, “First kiss?”

I looked around. I was a nerd; I’d never kissed a girl. She knew too much, too fast.

She laughed. “That’s good. I get to teach you.”

More kisses. This time I tried to go slow and follow her lead. I liked it a lot. Being super-powered was an awesome feeling. When I went on those runs out the R8 tracks, my feet drumming the railroad ties, throwing wind-wounding punches, I was strong against the world, and that made me feel alive. This was different, the beginning of a togetherness that was just as vibrant, but calming in this deep and sexy way. She said, “I like kissing you.”

“Thanks.”

Time passed

Later she said, “The team is running laps.”

I looked over and saw practice had started. I kissed her one last time, and took off down the hill. I shouted, “See you tomorrow.”

“Call me,” she yelled.

The next day I stopped by the soccer table, where Aiden was. He congratulated me on making out with Jean. The other guys said similar things. It was fun to be there but eventually I peeled off and made for our corner table, where Mike was working a lunchroom hoagie like it was his first meal in forty days.

He said, “You see these Primo Grand commercials?”

            “Yeah.”

            “They freak me out.”

            “Why?”

            “All the kids in the commercials, they have this weird look. They look mindless.”

            Mike could be weird himself, “That’s just commercials, man. Don’t be crazy.”

            “No, watch them when you go home. It’s like Barbie heads or something. A nonstop smile, almost plastic, and nothing behind it.”

            “Why do you think they all look like that?”

            “I don’t know. Something is going on at that mall. There is something rotten in the city of Philadelphia, and it’s Primo’s Grand. That place is up to no good, trust me. We should go investigate it.”

He could be such a dork. I pictured us with magnifying glasses and notebooks, wandering through a mall full of kids who were cool and attractive, like Encyclopedia Brown apprentices. I couldn’t get my head around that idea.

“You serious?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“I don’t know, man. I’m kind of busy. Looks like I got a girlfriend!”

            “Fine, I’ll investigate myself.”

            “Alright, just don’t get spotted by the evil Primo.”

            “I’m serious.” While he spoke, his square fingers ground his hoody into the glass.

Super-Loser/Hero Wannabe: Chapter Five A

Chapter Five: Pick Up the Phone and Dial Her Number

            The soccer season was going pretty well. Everything was going well, except that I didn’t have the ability, okay, courage, to call a girl. Random people congratulated me on my play, including the president of the high school. “Doogie, right.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “I’m hearing great things about you!”

            “Thanks, sir.” I knew I was a big deal when the boss of two thousand five hundred people stopped me in the hall.

            Not only that, my dad had started attending the games. It was a big turn around for him from me getting cut the first day. I could hear him yelling during the games, “That’s my Doog!” After the first game he drove me home and asked Mom what we were eating. He’d been scarfing pizza store food for a while refusing to touch anything she cooked. He’d been saying loudly to no-one that it was probably poisoned. Mom kind of looked surprised that he was going to eat home. She thawed some steaks. My dad stayed in the kitchen while she cooked, sucking down a beer, and giving her advice. “Pepper, baby, lot’s of pepper. Cook that boy three steaks, Mindy. He’s got to be hungry after that game.”

            “Get out of the kitchen, Doug or you’re not eating anything.”

            He pulled up a seat next to me and Steve, who had found his way to kitchen probably shocked to hear the civil conversation between our parents.

Mom set dinner on the table, steaks and mashed potatoes. Steve and I launched in, happy not to be eating Mac-N-Cheese out the box, but Dad kept talking, “Doog was the best player out there.”

“That’s great, baby.” Mom was more happy that Dad was eating steaks, but then she was always proud of me. For her I didn’t need to score a goal to be impressive.

“He’s only a freshman, and he’s the best player out there. He could go D-1, Mindy, D-1. He could even go pro.”

            He didn’t go out that night and they went upstairs early. After that he didn’t go out most nights but stayed in. In the morning he’d give her a kiss, Mom looked at him with these puppy eyes, with a look I’d never seen before. Steve shook his head, like, “Look at this Valentine’s Day shit,” and I shook my head, but if I’m honest, it was okay. It made the world feel safe.

            I had to call Jean. There was every reason to be motivated. She was cute, and she liked me (or at least I had every reason to believe she liked me). The main reason I wanted to play soccer was girls. So you’re thinking, what’s the problem? There were a bunch. For starters I hadn’t called a girl before. What did you do after dialing and saying hello? That moment after hello and before whatever came next was a terrible gap, the yawning space between the dragon’s jaws, and I feared it. I also wondered if I could trust them. Maybe Alex and Jean were conspiring against me, getting me to call, and then they’d make fun of me (these some farfetched now, but at the time I was plagued by the ghost of Sara and her jagged shiv of a rejection, “What a loser.”)

I was sitting in the living room, watching TV, because I don’t have cable in my room, and because my plan was to be alone in my room to make the call. Since I wasn’t in my room, I couldn’t make the call.

            The news was going on about this super rich guy named Primo, who was starting this ginormous mall just for teenagers. Adults were going to be allowed in, but it was going to cater to teenagers. Some parents were mad about it. They were complaining to the reporter, “What goes on in there?” The mall seemed cool to me; two video game stores were going to be in it with free play. They had a super large screen in the food court and were going to have video game tournaments.

            “Kids, be who you want to be, and do what you want to do, at the Primo.” He was a big guy with a frothy white beard, kind of like Santa Klaus except he looked super powerful whereas Santa just looks fat. “We’ve got everything you want.” It seemed like he was looking right at me, but of course that was the way they made the ad. They flashed shots of the video game tournaments, some clothing shops, and a sports arena.

            Steve came in and wanted to change the channel to Batman. I punched him a couple times, hoping we could have a bro versus bro smack-down that would delay my journey to my room, the space of call-possible. He just said, “Ow. Give me the remote.”

It was like a sign. I groaned and got off the couch. I climbed the stairs, pulled my phone out, and sat on my bed with my heart down in my stomach. Do it. You heard me. I said do it. Oh my goodness, what if she asks why the hell I called. She’s not going to say that. Just call.  

            Fine. I pressed call. Ring. Please don’t answer. Ring. I could hang up. Ring. Don’t hang up, Doog, that’s for babies. Riiin—“Hello?” Her voice. Curious. Click. I hung up.

I sat there for a minute, shame and relief battling in my head. Shame won; I punched myself, super-powered smashes to the chin and stomach. I was a weirdo. I couldn’t make the call. Now I really couldn’t, because she had my number saved as “WEIRDO STALKER” in her phone.

Super-Who-O Chapter Four- Part One

If you are starting now, scroll back to chapter one.

Chapter Four

            On Monday something was up with Mike. At first I thought it was because Alexandra sat next to me before class started, and began talking excitedly about how much fun Friday had been, and how Jean said she really liked hanging out with me. She asked me what I thought of Jean. I thought she was pretty, and Alexandra got happy about this, and said that she didn’t have a boyfriend, and didn’t Aiden give me her number? And I said, yeah, but I was busy, which you and I know was bullshit. She said I should call Jean, and by that time Miss Farr was goading us toward our desks, her red hair abuzz as she cried, “Journal! Now, kiddies.”

            I saw Jean walk by in the hall a few times and look in the class. I’d have waved but Miss Farr was good at catching that kind of thing, and as much work as she gave us, her class was fun.

            At lunch I told Kyana and Mike about what happened. That was when I noticed that Mike didn’t seem too happy. Normally he works through the greasy stuff on his styrofoam platter like each item was a one up mushroom, but he was eating like a robot. That’s when I wondered if he was upset because Alexandra was talking with me.

I told them about Jean so that Mike would know he didn’t have to worry about the me and Alexandra. He said, “Congratulations, man. It sounds like easy street now. You know she likes you. She sent her friend to basically tell you that, and you have her number. Only someone as dumb as you could possibly mess this up.”

            Kyana was holding up a thin piece of ham so that the florescent lights shone through; the ham rainbow resplendent as oil on a seal’s muzzle. “This ham is shit. So is your date. I know that Jean girl, and she’s stupid.”

            I didn’t know why she was so mad. But then her face changed, and she said, “At least the pickles are good.” She went on to tell us a story about a crazy guy on her block who believed that he was E-40, the second in command to Weeble-Man. When he told her this, she held in her laugh, “I’m afraid of crazy people.” He asked what she was reading, and she told him Hamlet. He told her he’d read it, and he was sad when the little pig died, his face dead serious. He asked her if she was sad about the little pig, and she told him she bawled her eyes out. I laughed at lot at the story, but Mike was staring off across the lunch-room. His lunch was only half-eaten. Something was definitely going on.

            Kyana said, “Mike, what’s wrong?”

            He turned and looked at us slow and mournful as a dying elephant. “Nothing,” he said.

“Come on, tell us.”

            He went on to narrate how this kid Deshawn on his block that used to bully him in middle school now has been calling him names that Miss Farr would kill us for using- you know gender and anatomy insults, because Mike won’t fight him. On Friday Deshawn cornered him and started punching him. That was when I saw, and I felt bad that I’d been so excited about a girl that I hadn’t seen it, that his one cheek was dark with the bruise, and his eyebrow was split.

            Kyana said, “I’ll fight him. I’m coming home with you. I’ma whip his ass.”

            Mike said, “Great plan, Kyana, then everybody on the block will respect me.”

            She said, “I’m so mad. You just want to be you, and he come at your neck. Dickhead probably know he dropping out this year, and he see you going to Central, and he so salty he just try and fight you.”

            Mike said, “It’s not a big deal.”

But it was. I didn’t want those things happening to Mike; I wanted the bully punished. Unlike Kyana, there was something I could do about it. There were logistics to figure out, but I could definitely do something. How was I going to figure out who Deshawn was? Was there any chance he would be armed? But once I got those little details ironed out, I’d be up close and personal, delivering super-punches into his face, asking him how he liked it.

            I said, “What’s his last name?”

            “Williamson, why?”

            “I like to have a last name when I fantasize about beating someone up. Is he a drug dealer?” I figured he would only have a gun if he was.

            “No, he wants to be, but I don’t think he does anything but yell if he sees the cops. He’s putting together a resume, and somehow he thinks beating up Central nerds is an important accomplishment.”

            It wasn’t that hard to find Deshawn. He had a public profile on the Face. He thought his name was Deshawn Do-One-Thing Williamson. I memorized his stupid face. He had high cheek bones and squinty  meanness in his eyes. Overall he was better looking than I expected, but I planned to make him more how I’d imagined.

            I put all black on, but I was just wearing sweats, no mask, no stripes. I looked like a normal person. Super-Kid doesn’t have that kind of get up. I’m working on the name thing.

            You can imagine the kind of nervous energy that was boiling in me. This was my first moment of action. Up to now, all my new talent was used to become popular (okay, I wasn’t popular yet, but I was on my way.) I loved Spiderman, despite the constructed quality of the story, and there I was, little Spiderman. Spider Boy! All I had to do was beat Deshawn up, and let him know that it was justice, and if he picked on anybody else, I’d kill him. Start small, Lance-Often. Lance-often was not bad. Our school name was the Lancers, and it played on Lancelot.

            Some of you are saying, what about the girl? Couldn’t you have called Jean, who was probably holding the phone in her hand, waiting for your call? First of all, as much as having super-powers had given me new confidence, I wasn’t picturing her holding the phone waiting. The thing I was thinking about was what happened after we’d exhausted discussing Bio homework? And how pretty she was and how nice it’d be to impress her and also how likely it was that I wouldn’t.

            It was easier, that night, to play Bat Boy. Nope, sounds like a baseball bitch.