Hero No. 25

With great power, comes greater misery...

I loved heroes. My bedroom was papered in posters, stickers, and stat sheets I'd collected from cereals, magazines, and blind boxes. Birthdays and holidays brought me themed clothing and action figures. And you better believe I was practically glued to The Academy's Hero Broadcast Network: 24-hour heroism, guaranteed!

I was just like everyone else my age: obsessed.

Until we all moved to the first grade and the Academy came to visit.

The representative was female. Perhaps they thought that'd make the whole situation less intimidating. They should've thought a bit longer. She towered over the class in height, mass, and presence. The seams of her gold uniform strained to contain her muscles. Her hair was slicked back so severely her face seemed to be stretched over her skull. And her voice was like a barking rottweiler.

"The Academy is always looking for new recruits."

Everyone in the classroom shifted forward.

"It's not just about power. Grades. Sports. Acts of compassion. We are looking for all the signs of the next great hero."

Whispers broke out around me.

"From this point forward, your teachers will be on the lookout. It's their job, not just to teach, but to report...I mean keep The Academy updated." She gulped like a fish out of water. Her eyes widening at something.

No. Someone.

I turned in time to catch the back of someone's shoe and a glimpse of a suit in a similar shade of gold as they exited our class.

Was it someone else from The Academy?

Why would they make the woman so nervous?

Something wasn't right.

The woman cleared her throat. "So, remember: Stand out and we will come for you."

The class's excitement burst forward.

"Can I be a hero?"

"What about me?"

"Me! Me! I want to be a hero!"

I decided then and there that I would do everything in my power not to stand out. That I would never become a hero.

#

I avoid anyone who might recognize me. Of course, I'm not talking about those who knew me before...If any of them are still around, memory loss and their own tragedies will keep them from searching too hard for me.

No. I keep my eyes out for the hero keen. The ones still streaming from The Academy's channel. The fans.

The hard thing about that is that they don't all fit a certain profile.

In fact, in their day-to-day lives, outside of conventions, they're completely innocuous. They're the businessman on his daily commute. The barista swirling foam into a cup. The parent watching their child play in the park. They hide their true selves behind the mask of reality.

Which means that the only way to discern the fans from the sane is when there is a crisis.

Or when they stare at your face for a second too long.

But by then it's too late.

Their obsession is like a disease, and I've learned quick, it's better to assume everyone is a potential carrier. I avoid crowded areas. Keep my head down to avoid accidentally making eye contact. Don sunglasses, a cap, or a hood; sometimes all three. And the most important rule, always keep on the move.

People tend to avoid strange, disheveled men they've never seen before. But there is a line. I haven't quite figured out how many sightings it takes. Once you cross it, curiosity takes over aversion. They start with not-so-subtle glances before working up the courage to approach you and by that point, recognition is inevitable.

So, I move from motel to motel.

The less reputable the better.

It isn't the life I envisioned for myself but it's better than the alternative.

#

Despite my classmates' best efforts, no one was singled out for recruitment, and we finished elementary school without incident. Of course, everyone still talked about heroes. It was impossible not to. But The Academy's representative faded to the back of everyone's mind and the dream of being chosen was soon forgotten.

I didn't forget.

I rode the line of mediocrity: averaging B's and C's in all my classes; finishing in the middle of the pack during track; keeping my hair in an unremarkable but clean cut; and only wearing black, white, navy and grey.

My teachers overlooked me. My classmates forgot we'd grown up together. I even seemed to startle my parents when I showed up for breakfast. I rendered myself completely and utterly forgettable. Unremarkable. Invisible. Just as I'd intended.

It happened in our second year of high school. His name was Jacob. He wasn't the brightest. He was all arms and legs, and he had a tendency to talk a little too much.

One day one of the popular kids dared him to race across a busy highway.

He shouldn't have agreed.

They shouldn't have dared him.

Everyone called him Frogger when he survived.

The next day, a pair of men in gold were spotted in the hall, and that afternoon our teacher told us the good news. Frogger had been recruited. And The Academy had sent pizzas to celebrate.

Everyone cheered.

They crowded Jacob. Bringing him more and more plates of pizza slices and plastic cups of cola. They put their phone numbers in his phone. They made him promise not to forget them.

I'm sure most of them didn't even know his real name.

The next day he was gone.

I never heard or saw him again.