True Heroes (7 page)

              Caleb sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I have thought about that. About becoming a hero or a villain or a normal guy or living forever, but, since I don’t really know my power, I’m almost afraid of it. I am afraid of it. I’m afraid of how it was when I saved Carol: the all-encompassing loss of control. Before I even start to think about that path, I need to know who would be in control, me or my power.”

              His mom nodded and looked away for a few seconds as his mind began to wander away from her questions, but was yanked back when she spoke again. “Well, then I don’t see the risk in me trying to help a bit. Good thing we talked so I don’t feel bad about signing you up for a free Karate lesson today at the store. See if you like it and if it helps your mind out at all. I suggest you go put on a pair of shorts.”

              Caleb smiled through his thought, ‘Great, not like I had any of my own plans tonight….’

                            -                            -                            -             

              The cooling wind slapped Caleb’s slightly-sweaty face as he exited the stuffy gym. ‘That was a bit more of a workout than I thought it would be. Too bad it didn’t sweat any ideas out of my brain.’ He looked around at his fellow students and smiled a little at all of their red, sweat covered faces. ‘Some of these kids are lighter than me and they’re still letting out a sweaty-baby-fatty mist. I don’t think it took me more than a couple of deep breaths to calm down my heart.’ The stars shone down on him as he reached into his pocket for his phone, but spotted Carol across the parking lot before his hand could reach. ‘There goes my heart again.’ Her huge smile lit up the emptying lot more than any star or moon, and it only got brighter as she saw the surprise on his face. “Hey you. What brings you to these parts?”

              She pushed off her powder blue Cobalt and met him mid-stride with a kiss. “I’m here to pick up my boyfriend superhero from a middle-schooler’s Karate class. Seen him around?”

              He smiled back and took both of her hands in his. “No such thing, young lady, but I’m glad my mom sent you. I imagine you’re just eye-candy to lure me somewhere though, right?”

              Ignoring his question, Carol stayed focused. “Is it bad when a hero doesn’t believe he’s a hero?”

              He played along. ‘Mother obviously nibbled her ear about helping me decide. Great.’ “You’re only a superhero if you use your powers for good.”

              “As I recall, you’ve used your powers to save one life already.” She leaned in and kissed him—softly, passionately, memorably—before locking their eyes. “And that person is incredibly grateful.” He tried his hardest to keep doubt out of his blue irises but Carol saw right through his mask. “Maybe, one day, you’ll decide to show the whole world how to really save a life, but for now, your mom wants us to meet at the church.”

              He allowed his eyes to soften as she backed away towards the driver’s side door. ‘Things are almost perfect between us to the point where it barely bothers me that Mom used her as bait to drag me to the thing I hate most.’ He finally got in the car. ‘Curse her faith and all of its undying, unfaltering, clairvoyant rituals. I’m tolerant, but seriously she can’t keep expecting me to be forced into a church twice a week. She wants me to pay homage to my creator; she doesn’t see that I do that already every Mother’s Day. She realizes that arguing with me over the grand scheme of the universe is pointless, giving her some right to pass me off to Father Lawrence: her favorite family preacher. The ironic thing is that he is too open minded, and a possessor of an intuitive eyeball for stubborn behavior, to actively change my mind about anything. At least she has company with Carol coming this time. My two little Catholic chicas can gab over wine and crackers all night long together. My beliefs will always be my own, no matter how many times we go through this little charade. Besides, an almighty being shouldn’t care about allegiances; the guy who made pencils can tell by the profits that I appreciate it.’

              Carol’s car hummed to a stop in the church parking lot and switched off with barely a hint. ‘Such a nice car! Better than Mom’s by far; it’s like riding on clouds fueled by the wind itself. Not that she needs my approval, but this may be the best gift to herself from herself she’s ever given…herself. Full-rides to college were never cause for so much celebration as they were for her. It meant so much; it was her wax wings to fly to whatever glowing star she saw fit. The car gave her that much more freedom. She’d taken all the money she’d been saving for college and threw it into the air, and this gorgeous hunk of moving metal popped out of a cloud.’ They exited and met as soon as possible to entwine their fingers and walk towards the illuminated archways. Within one of the side arches stood his mother, the light from inside giving her a long silhouette that stretched to their approaching feet. Their hands stayed clasped as his mother spotted them. “Ah, Carol! I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you. Would you like to join us girls in a little prayer tonight, Caleb?”

              He smiled and resumed a sarcastic tone. “No I think I’ll stick to my heathen ways a little bit longer.”

              They all began to walk into the church, with both the girls stopping to splash a little holy water on their respective foreheads. ‘I know the way out, no worries.’ After squeezing Carol’s hand one last time, he detached and resumed his usual orbit. The few people he passed never looked up from their folded hands or their glazed, oak pews. Up from them were the finely chiseled saints that had stood for over a hundred years now, but showed none of it thanks to a giving community and several restorations. The front of the church had the ceremonially raised platform against a backdrop of short flames in rows of seven and columns of nine. Red satin was covered with wax in some places and the light tread of preacher slippers on others. All added to the illustrious atmosphere and the elaboration of the whispers held by the various stain glass windows and heavy stone. ‘These people are brave. Most admitting they need help in their life and seeking it, a lesser amount just loving what they perceive as God, and varying other interests in what is, at worst, a placebo. I wish I could see it as easily as that. All decisions should be as easy as getting up early on Sundays and holidays. Their whole outlook just seems…convoluted. Something that makes people feel this good has to be a little justified, at least.’

              He reached Father Lawrence’s chamber after passing a few friendly nuns and didn’t bother to knock. “The non-believer returns!”

              The older man smiled wide and set aside the book he was reading. Caleb smiled as he strolled in and sat opposite Father Lawrence. “The walking contradiction is more like it. Breathing, living proof that God leaves us miracles, and he doesn’t even believe in his creator. You should be imprisoned for pure stupidity, my boy.”

              ‘One of a handful of people that can insult me. He’s a funny guy regardless of my reaction to him.’ His only response was to lean back in his chair and wander around the room with his eyes. The oak desk resembled the pews he’d just passed—‘Purposefully, I imagine,’—and held many interesting trinkets, not the least important of which was a lovely family photo: his wife leaning heavily into the shoulder of the older man while their free hands held up a tightly wrapped bundle of joy between them. Two bookshelves lined the wall to his back and were packed with religious mythology and lore while a grandfather clock shaped like a cross ticked away on another wall. He refocused on the clutter of the desk. ‘How much paper work does a priest really have to do?’ One of the objects that stood out was a picture frame holding a closer picture of the small baby, which Caleb lifted off the table for a better look. The bundle was balled up in blue sheets and seemed to be waving at whoever was taking the picture. “Your son?”

              Father Lawrence nodded with pride in his eyes. “Yes. Our little Kain will be the first African-American Pope one day. You just watch.”

              “Assuming your secret doesn’t find its way out.”

              “They couldn’t tear him away if they tried, and you’re the only one nosey enough to pick pictures from my desk.”

              His dark wrinkles gathered under his eyes and around raised corners of his grin as Caleb placed the picture back on the table. The fluorescent lights above gave a glimmer to the short, curled hair of his older friend. ‘Aha, saw something to re-pay him for the earlier quip.’ “Looks like you’re getting a little gray hair on your sideburns. I didn’t think gray-haired people could have kids anymore.”

              His deep laugh filled the room as he leaned back and responded, “When you’re divine, all things are possible. Even an old fossil like me can spawn something as beautiful as him.” He re-focused a little bit and reset his mouth into almost a grim line. “So, what’s with all this dark color I hear you’re dawning now?”

              “Just exterior mirroring the interior. Don’t worry, though, you haven’t lost me any further to the dark side.”

              The attempt at humor didn’t faze him. “People look upon you now and think that you have lost your way—that you don’t believe in yourself, anymore.”

              “It’s not that I have, but before this summer, I had no drive or desire to do anything at all with my life. Now, I’m thinking about it every day, and this,” tugging at his black hair, “just shows that I haven’t made up my mind yet. Not sure why I chose black really, but it just seemed poetic: color flowing into someone who may be the only someone who can see them all anyway. This is just another stone on the path that I have to destroy or go around.”

              “Or the third option.”

              “Eh.”

              “And you’re not afraid of being alone in the dark?”

              Caleb crossed his legs and closed his eyes. “‘Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for though art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.’”

              The man sat forward sharply. “‘A merry heart does good like a medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones.’”

              Caleb laughed quickly. “Did you just call me a smartass in Bible verse?”

              “Good catch.” The older man leaned back and placed his hands in a thinking posture for almost a minute before asking, “What do you think about this gift of yours? How does it fit into your future?”

              Letting his eyes close, he leaned his neck back and answered. “I honestly don’t know. It seems like a waste to leave it inside me, but I don’t know what it can do either. What would you do?”

              “Caleb, there isn’t a single person on Earth that would be able to give you a road map for this. Nobody can demand you take a certain path. That’d be like controlling God.”

              “Sort of like praying?”

              He shook his head and leaned forward again. “No, praying is a request. Demanding is another thing entirely.” He thought for another moment and rubbed at his weary eyes. “Let me try to relate it to what you believe. Tell me what that is again.”

              He took a deep breath and let it flow from his heart. “I believe that every single religion and belief is correct in some way. I believe that all religion is filtered through a human ego that is stupid enough to believe that a ‘God’ has human emotions such as vengeance or judgment in general. Something, obviously, put us here but, if that is the case, they wouldn’t want to interfere in their own experiment to give shortcuts. There’s nothing wrong with giving thanks for being alive but that shouldn’t be an excuse to flock to your local church every Sunday.”

              “Afterlife?”

              “Think of that as more of a break from the tedium of always being alive. Even relaxing here takes some sort of effort. You never take a break from breath or life, which some would call a slight hell because the ability to completely relax just doesn’t seem to be a part of our repertoire. I wouldn’t go that far, but that ensures an afterlife for us all no matter what we do in this particular plane of existence. We’re rats in a maze and all that happens after we find our cheese is we’re placed at the beginning of a brand new maze.”

              Father Lawrence looked down his glasses at the young man and sighed—‘He’s having fun with this,’—and wrapped his ideas together. “A higher power, an afterlife, and even a dash of reincarnationist talk. What makes this truer than any other religion?”

              “Because of what I can see. Not through these eyes, but through my power’s eyes. I can see everything, Father. I can see the sound waves, shockwaves in the air when something is dropped, and, if I concentrate hard enough, I can make out photons as they blast everything in the light. It’s like everyone is fully submerged in water and they’re just dancing in an endless ballet that sends shockwaves throughout the world. Sometimes, I sit in the park and just watch as the different waves create different, colorful rifts that float into and by me. The weird part is the color. Voices are blue, mechanical noises black, vibrant yellow is light, quick movement green, regular shifts give off redish tints or orange, and even still air has white lines running vertically and horizontally like a net throughout; everything is just in a constant connection under constant motion with the little photons dancing and weaving.” He closed his eyes, not noticing Father Lawrence leaning forward in total captivity of the floating imagery, and recounted the last time he treated himself to this. “I guess the weirdest part is that, sometimes, I sit there and stare off, but there’s a part where no waves will go. They just bounce off this area into a billion different directions. It’s a different shape every time I see it. It’s been the silhouette of a man or a woman a few different times, but with all the colors bouncing off the edges, there’s always a bright glow on the silhouette’s outline so I can’t ever make out who it is. First time I saw it, I thought it was Superman by how he was standing with his hands on his hips and chest jutted out, but now it keeps changing and seems just out of reach, yet somehow familiar.”