ⓒ 2011 Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved
Resilience
“You wanna play superheroes?”
Doug sat in the toasted grass, picking a scab upon his arm. “I am a superhero, Todd.”
Todd was skeptical. Even at the young and gullible age of seven, he knew demigods like the Hulk and Spiderman probably didn’t exist. He peered through the slits of his eyelids and scrunched his nose in protest of the dazzling sun. “Are not,” he disputed.
“Am so!” Doug succeeded in removing the bothersome clot, and flicked it across the yard. It disappeared somewhere among the blades of browning grass to be consumed by some bug or another.
“Then why are you bleeding?” Todd crossed his arms with pride, clearly on the winning end of the argument.
“I’m not,” Doug spat, “it’s acid! It’ll melt the skin off of all of my nemesisesez’…” He brought the freshly opened wound to his mouth, and sucked the blood from his arm.
Todd watched, letting his posture slacken and scratched at a mosquito bite on his shin. “Nuh uh,” he said with wavering confidence. He diverted his gaze to study the tiny ants marching in a perfect line through the lawn, which scattered when he cut a stripe in the earth through their path. He watched them scramble, avoiding the line he’d drawn as though it were a force field. It made him feel like a bit of a superhero himself. “Then what powers do you have?” he demanded.
Doug stretched out upon his stomach, ripping clumps of grass from the ground and tossing them to his sides. “I’m not supposta’ tell. I wasn’t even supposta tell ya that I am one.”
Todd scrunched his face in thought; that was typically the way of the superhero. “I promise I won’t tell.”
Doug sat back up, brushing the larger bits of the lawn from the front of his shirt, and began biting his nails. He scrutinized his friend, could he be trusted, or was he to be an unexpected foe like Lex Luther to Superman? After all, they had been close, too. But then, Todd had split his lunch with him the time he forgot to pack one, and he couldn’t imagine Lex Luther doing something as nice as that. “You swear?” he asked.
Todd sat rigid, nodding with eyes the size of saucers. “I swear!”
He looked sincere. “Good!” Doug glanced around the yard, searching for any intruders or spies. The grass was barren but for the bugs, and the sidewalk was clear. “I’m invisible.”
Todd didn’t respond. He released the breath he’d been holding, and felt disappointment smack him in the face like the baseball his brother had thrown the week before. He probed at the area, sore from the memory, and shot a nasty glare Doug’s way. “You are not! I can see you.”
“It only works for bad guys,” Doug said with a roll of his eyes. He stood, grabbing a stick from the lawn and tossed it toward a tree. “And grownups,” he concluded.
Todd stood, too, still resentful from the fresh letdown. “Nuh uh,” he began, “Miss Collins at school talks to you all the time. She can see you and she’s a grownup.”
“It doesn’t work for all grownups. Besides Miss Collins is old, and I don’t think it works for old people neither. My grampa’ and gramma’ can see me all the time, too.”
Todd dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt. “Fibber,” he accused.
Doug frowned, wiping his nose along the length of his arm. He hadn’t expected his friend’s disbelief. “Fine!” he snapped, turning his back and marching toward his house. The grass crunched beneath his feet as he left Todd behind, and he could feel his blood boiling as he stomped up the steps to his front door.
The room beyond was sterile. Its white walls enveloped tidy furniture, which matched too well the pillows and decorative vases on the coffee table. The air hosted an artificial, fragrant stench, which if smelled too closely or too long would make one’s eyes water. There was no sound in the room besides the muffled sounds of his mother’s phone conversation in the kitchen, and a bubbling pot on the stove.
Doug slammed the front door behind him, making the vases in the living room jingle. He waited a moment for any reaction, and then removed his shoes upon the tiny rug by the door. His socks were dirt-stained from the ankles up and were the only thing within the house that displayed any signs of use. They muted his steps upon the hardwood on his journey to the kitchen, where he entered unnoticed. Only the top of his head was visible above the kitchen island where his mother was preparing dinner. She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she worked.
“Hi, mom.” Doug scaled one of the barstools and sat without response. “Todd thinks I’m a fibber.”
His mother continued to talk about grownup things on the phone. Not even her eyes greeted her son, who allowed his dirt-caked chin to rest upon the counter until he heard another entrance at the front door. The heavy footsteps and jingling keys identified his father before he entered the kitchen, where the suit-clad man set a briefcase upon the counter. Immediately he loosened his tie and greeted his wife with a kiss, and she stumbled upon an excuse to end her conversation. Hanging up the phone she embraced her husband, asking smiley, redundant questions about his day at the office. “So how was work, honey? Did the meeting have a catered lunch? Who catered?”
Doug watched the interaction with a moment’s disdain before smirking to himself, and clung to the feeling until he’d tucked himself into bed that night. “Goodnight, Mom!” he called down the hall. He listened to the pause in her conversation with his dad, too smart to think he’d be receiving a response. The muffled pop of a bottle of wine echoed through his room as he settled upon his bed in thought.
He knew his life was lonely, but that was a battle every superhero must face. And while parents are expected to tell their children how special they are, Doug didn’t need to hear it – for what other kid in the world could claim to be a real invisible boy?
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