Heroes Exist (I'm Just Not One of Them)
NINETEEN
My fingers shake as I bring the cigarette to my lips.
Noticing this, Neil laughs, mostly because he’s an asshole, but also because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. No one fucking gets it, and for all his bluster and posturing, Neil’s no different than anyone else.
I’m no different than anyone else, besides the obvious. And damn is it obvious. Every time I step out the door there’s someone else who sees the stains It left on me, on my soul, on my flesh.
My flesh. Oh fuck, my flesh.
Damn it.
Damn It. Damn It Damn IT—
Neil reaches out to touch my shoulder. “Hey, man,” he says, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not.
To steady or maybe deaden my nerves, I take a deep drag on my cigarette. The poison seeps in to destroy my lungs before I let it out in a long stream of smoke. He sighs and lets go of me. He knows better at this point.
I lean back against the brick wall and stare up at the clouds. The sky is a beautiful shade of purple, bruised by the setting sun, and I just want this moment to last the rest of forever. When it comes to apocalypses, there’s no time like the present. A smile almost comes to my lips. Almost.
“Excuse me!”
… That’s not Neil’s voice.
With a scowl, I stub out the rest of my smoke and stagger jerkily to my feet. Too bad it’s too little too late. There’s a young mom right in front of me, too close for me to ignore her, and her little girl holds tightly onto her pant leg as she trails dutifully behind. At least I assume it’s her little girl, unless she’s gone and stole her or something.
The kid’s got the brightest, blondest hair I’ve only ever seen on this earth once before, and-- God. Her arm’s in a cast. Oh fuck me sideways.
Something tightens in my chest. It feels not unlike having a man with Parkinson’s play Operation with an electrified machete, thanks for fucking asking. Neil shoots me a glance that I bet he thinks is comforting but really it’s just annoying and unneeded.
“Excuse me,” the mom says again. She smiles as if she’s being polite and humble and nervous.
Now the look Neil gives me is a warning.
Fine, I’ll play your game, asshole. “Yes, ma’am?”
“My daughter goes to Westbrooke.”
I guessed as much, you dumb bitch. Why else would anyone, especially anyone with a crippled kid in tow, approach me nowadays? But of course I don’t say that.
A slight tremor builds in my bones, shaking my marrow. I smile at her and pretend it doesn’t feel like glass cracking. I kneel down to the little girl’s height, despite the pain in my knees and back. “Do you really?” I ask her, as if I need her confirmation. Kids like to feel that big, important adults are interested in what they have to say. And oh God, she’s got such wide, innocent blue eyes. Now that’s really not fair. Whoever or whatever’s up there is a fucking douchenozzle. Still. I smile at the little girl because it’s not her fault. The blame lies elsewhere.
She nods emphatically, her previous shyness lost in exuberance. “Uh huh! I saw you there! You were so cool!”
‘Cool’ is not how I would describe it. The forced smile on my face turns into a decidedly bitter rictus, but the girl is stupid with idealism – she couldn’t see failure even if it were her in the mirror – and she doesn’t notice.
Her mom, however, does. “Abby—” She goes to grab the little girl, but she’s too slow for a six year old kid bursting with fanatic idolatry.
“I was there too, see?” The girl – Abby, huh? – shoves her casted arm in my face. “So could ya sign it? Pretty please?”
The mom almost looks mortified – almost – but mostly just hopeful and expectant. I hold back a sigh. It’s not the girl’s fault. Can’t blame her. No matter how much I want to. (I never said I was a good person, damn it, so stop looking at me like that!) So I pull out a pen, which I’ve started carrying everywhere because this happens way too fucking often, and if I don’t have a pen people get upset or bring their own or kids cry or—
“Done.” I finish the signature with a flourish. Kids like that.
She grins like it’s the best thing I ever could have done. There’s a slight gap between her front teeth. She’s going to need braces when she grows up. She thanks me and rushes to snatch up her mom’s hand, chattering about how cool her cast is now as her mom leads her away.
I barely catch sight of the woman glancing back at me curiously, with that damn look in her eyes. My blood begins to boil. Before I do anything I’ll regret, I turn on my heel and walk into the apartment. Neil’s right on my heels, but I steadfastly ignore him until I can lock myself safely away in my room.
He bangs on the door once or twice but when I tell him to fuck off he leaves me alone.
Noticing this, Neil laughs, mostly because he’s an asshole, but also because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. No one fucking gets it, and for all his bluster and posturing, Neil’s no different than anyone else.
I’m no different than anyone else, besides the obvious. And damn is it obvious. Every time I step out the door there’s someone else who sees the stains It left on me, on my soul, on my flesh.
My flesh. Oh fuck, my flesh.
Damn it.
Damn It. Damn It Damn IT—
Neil reaches out to touch my shoulder. “Hey, man,” he says, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not.
To steady or maybe deaden my nerves, I take a deep drag on my cigarette. The poison seeps in to destroy my lungs before I let it out in a long stream of smoke. He sighs and lets go of me. He knows better at this point.
I lean back against the brick wall and stare up at the clouds. The sky is a beautiful shade of purple, bruised by the setting sun, and I just want this moment to last the rest of forever. When it comes to apocalypses, there’s no time like the present. A smile almost comes to my lips. Almost.
“Excuse me!”
… That’s not Neil’s voice.
With a scowl, I stub out the rest of my smoke and stagger jerkily to my feet. Too bad it’s too little too late. There’s a young mom right in front of me, too close for me to ignore her, and her little girl holds tightly onto her pant leg as she trails dutifully behind. At least I assume it’s her little girl, unless she’s gone and stole her or something.
The kid’s got the brightest, blondest hair I’ve only ever seen on this earth once before, and-- God. Her arm’s in a cast. Oh fuck me sideways.
Something tightens in my chest. It feels not unlike having a man with Parkinson’s play Operation with an electrified machete, thanks for fucking asking. Neil shoots me a glance that I bet he thinks is comforting but really it’s just annoying and unneeded.
“Excuse me,” the mom says again. She smiles as if she’s being polite and humble and nervous.
Now the look Neil gives me is a warning.
Fine, I’ll play your game, asshole. “Yes, ma’am?”
“My daughter goes to Westbrooke.”
I guessed as much, you dumb bitch. Why else would anyone, especially anyone with a crippled kid in tow, approach me nowadays? But of course I don’t say that.
A slight tremor builds in my bones, shaking my marrow. I smile at her and pretend it doesn’t feel like glass cracking. I kneel down to the little girl’s height, despite the pain in my knees and back. “Do you really?” I ask her, as if I need her confirmation. Kids like to feel that big, important adults are interested in what they have to say. And oh God, she’s got such wide, innocent blue eyes. Now that’s really not fair. Whoever or whatever’s up there is a fucking douchenozzle. Still. I smile at the little girl because it’s not her fault. The blame lies elsewhere.
She nods emphatically, her previous shyness lost in exuberance. “Uh huh! I saw you there! You were so cool!”
‘Cool’ is not how I would describe it. The forced smile on my face turns into a decidedly bitter rictus, but the girl is stupid with idealism – she couldn’t see failure even if it were her in the mirror – and she doesn’t notice.
Her mom, however, does. “Abby—” She goes to grab the little girl, but she’s too slow for a six year old kid bursting with fanatic idolatry.
“I was there too, see?” The girl – Abby, huh? – shoves her casted arm in my face. “So could ya sign it? Pretty please?”
The mom almost looks mortified – almost – but mostly just hopeful and expectant. I hold back a sigh. It’s not the girl’s fault. Can’t blame her. No matter how much I want to. (I never said I was a good person, damn it, so stop looking at me like that!) So I pull out a pen, which I’ve started carrying everywhere because this happens way too fucking often, and if I don’t have a pen people get upset or bring their own or kids cry or—
“Done.” I finish the signature with a flourish. Kids like that.
She grins like it’s the best thing I ever could have done. There’s a slight gap between her front teeth. She’s going to need braces when she grows up. She thanks me and rushes to snatch up her mom’s hand, chattering about how cool her cast is now as her mom leads her away.
I barely catch sight of the woman glancing back at me curiously, with that damn look in her eyes. My blood begins to boil. Before I do anything I’ll regret, I turn on my heel and walk into the apartment. Neil’s right on my heels, but I steadfastly ignore him until I can lock myself safely away in my room.
He bangs on the door once or twice but when I tell him to fuck off he leaves me alone.