Page 23 - Scene Magazine 43-12 December 2018

rhero
A Fictional Story
By Rick Chambers
“Well... it was rather creative.”
“Yeah, creative. Like microwaving a spider and trying to make it bite him so he can stick to walls.” Thomas shook his head. “The kid’s off his nut!”
A sudden shout of delight from upstairs paused their argument.
“Mom! Dad! It worked! I’m climbing up the –”
The sound of a dozen wooden-framed pictures crashing to the hardwood floor cut off the boy’s joyful cry. An ominous silence followed, then, “Um... never mind.”
Thomas took back his phone. “I rest my case.”
“Maybe he just needs counseling,” Martha sighed, shuffling off to survey the damage.
Thomas buried his nose in another news story. “A superhero,” he snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
**** *
Barry Parker stepped onto the playground
in his usual attire: a sky-blue T-shirt with long sleeves, a pair of faded jeans, and scuffed yellow sneakers. His wardrobe rarely changed; only in the most frigid weather did he surrender to the cold and don a winter coat. On this steel-gray Decem- ber day, his cape was enough to ward off the chill.
That cape! Red as a dwarf star, rippling in the breeze, it hugged his shoulders with cotton-poly- ester lightness, giving Barry a sense of comfort and strength. He stuck out his elbows, resting his small fists on his waist as he studied his snicker- ing schoolmates.
“Greetings, citizens!” he cried. “I’m here to keep you safe. Never fear –”
“Doofusbrain is here!”
The kids guffawed as Alex, Barry’s pim- ple-chinned archenemy, fired a barrage of insults.
“Hey Doofusbrain, what are you gonna do? Leap the swing set in a single bound?”
Another round of derisive laughter took its toll. Barry dropped his arms to his sides, lowered his eyes and chewed his bottom lip.
But Alex was just getting started. “Look! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s... oh wait, it is a bird. A dodo bird!”
The chortles reached kryptonite strength. Bar- ry’s shoulders sagged as he shrunk into his cape,
trembling at his sudden weakness. He should be used to Alex’s barbs by now, but he wasn’t. It hurt the same every time.
“Get rid of that stupid cape!” Alex cried. “Yeah!” the other kids shouted in unison.
But Barry wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not today, not
ever. Not if the whole world called him Doofus- brain.
Ms. Foster, the playground monitor, soon appeared. She placed a comforting arm around Barry’s caped shoulders and scolded his tormen- tors. Still snickering, they disbanded.
“Did they hurt you?” Ms. Foster asked.
Barry shook his head, not looking at her. “No duct tape today. It’s my only weakness.”
“The only one?”
He said nothing. Ms. Foster gave him a hug and sent him on his way.
Barry trudged off, his shoes crunching on the last brittle leaves of autumn, until he reached the far corner of the playground. There stood a relic of the schoolyard’s past: a giant concrete drainage pipe, six feet across and a dozen feet long, laid
on its side. Once a plaything for kids of decades past, now supposedly off-limits, it served as Barry’s fortress of solitude. There he could escape the schoolyard taunts, recharge his powers and strengthen his resolve.
But it did nothing to salve his loneliness.
Recess ended, and he made it to class on time; no one lashed him to the soccer goal again. Being the last school day before winter break, most of his classmates were focused on Christmas and the gift-filled, school-less days ahead. The final bell sparked a furious scramble as kids donned coats and backpacks, weary teachers waved farewell, and rivers of children streamed to waiting buses – or, in Barry’s case, began a solo walk toward home.
Snow had begun to fall that afternoon, and heavily, with six inches predicted by midnight. Already the grass was snow-covered, and an icy wind had picked up, prompting Barry to slip on his winter coat and the far-too-big woolen hat and mittens Aunt May knitted for him last Christmas.
Defiantly, Barry wore his cape outside of his
jacket and over his backpack. It billowed in the stiffening breeze, tugging at his neck. Alex and his gang hooted at him from their bus. Barry didn’t care. That’s what he told himself, anyway.
Walking alone, Barry puzzled over his plight. Why didn’t anyone understand? Even his parents failed to see what he was trying to do, and that hurt worst of all. He’d heard his Mom worrying, his Dad calling him “weird.” That cut deeper than anything Alex spewed at him.
Of all people, his parents should get it. Grownups should know how bad things were. Kids were starving or getting shot. Families were getting kicked out of their homes. People were being robbed or hurt or both. Wherever he turned, people were angry. Or sad. Or afraid.
For Barry, it was crystal-clear: The world need- ed to know things could get better. It needed hope. That’s why the world loved Christmas so much. That’s why it needed superheroes.
“Hey kid.”
Barry snapped out of his reverie. A stranger stood before him, blocking the sidewalk. He wore a tattered cloth jacket and oil-stained jeans. The falling snow clutched at his chaotic hair and dark, scruffy beard. He was old – not old like Papa Parker, who lived in a stark place that reeked of rubbing alcohol, but more like Dad-age old. Maybe he had a son like Barry, too.
Still, he was a strange man loitering near an elementary school. Barry should have been fright- ened. Maybe he was, just a little. But he had the cape. He had the power. Dismissing any unease, Barry struck his superhero pose.
“How can I help you, citizen?” he said in his bravest voice.
The man smiled, genuinely amused. He didn’t seem evil at all. Barry maintained his guard anyway.
“Halloween was six weeks ago, kid. What’s with the cape?”
CONTINUED...