Stardust

I used to read comics when I was a kid. Superman, Batman, Captain America, Thor, the Fantastic Four--you name it. These guys are what inspired me to snap my tighty whities on over my pajama pants and go squealing around the neighborhood on my training wheels with one of my mom's dishtowels tied around my neck. Although I was the laughing stock of the block, I was never deterred from saving the damsel in distress or rescuing cats from trees (that is, until Mom grounded me from ladders when I broke my arm whilst attempting to coerce Mrs. Nesbit's cat to come down from the big oak in her front yard).

Still, my efforts in the field of heroism continued on until I hit puberty and decided that girls don't really like Batman and Robin the way I do. So I swapped out the comics for car magazines and that was that. My old comic books are still in the attic and sometimes I go up there and look through them for hours, imagining myself beating up bad guys in a skin-tight costume. The life of a hero is solitary, without many friends and they hardly ever really get the girl, but it must be gratifying. I always liked the thought of being a hero--I guess that never went away.

But I've learned that there are just some things you can't save.