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Did You Break My Superhero Already?

11/26/2023

Carol was shivering. There were not enough layers to protect her from the late autumn chill this morning.

“Are you next?” Sarah asked.

“Next for what?”

“They’re dropping like flies. Even Paul couldn’t make it today.”

“Jeb said they’d bring him over after church. He can only stay a while, but he felt bad about missing the sing-along. He wants to be here for the Chorale this afternoon.”

Mayor Maggie Mercer was finishing a cinnamon bun when she strolled up. “Did you break my superhero already? Where is he?”

“Can’t blame a guy for wanting to go to church.” Carol said, wishing for a thermos full of hot cocoa.

“Explains why he’s got manners. I’ll permit it. He’s coming later?”

“Word has it, he’s excited for the Chorale.” Sarah said, knocking on her clipboard.

“Stands to reason.” Maggie licked her fingers. “I’m the lead alto. Great. As you were.”

Ryan sat toward the back of the church. He noticed Paul a few pews in front of him. Didn’t look as big as he had yesterday. He looked like he had on Monday at the bakery.

‘Dude uses his powers to look 6’2’ for public appearances.’

He looked smaller, but not just because he hadn’t puffed himself up. He seemed to have shrunken. In another time, another place, Ryan would have seen this as the sign of an easy mark. Today, he felt a genuine swell of compassion.

‘Maybe Greg is right. Is that possible?’

The music started. Everyone stood and joined in the hymn.

Well, not Ryan.

He was scanning the crowd. There were some familiar faces. Some he could recall having seen once or twice. Those two weird girls. The one with the dark hair was also scanning the crowd.

‘Probably looking for me.’

He held the hymnal up in front of his face. The song ended, and the congregation sat. As the service went on, it became clear that the subject of today’s readings was about a new world. Between Isaiah 65:17-25, Psalm 149 and 1 Thessalonians 5:1–11, a theme of renewal and celebration came through to him.

‘I’m sitting here in church and I actually like it? Talk about a strange new world…’

The Gospel Reading, Matthew 25:1–13, struck him oddly. Did Jesus actually mean that half the people in the world would be straight out of luck?

‘There’s something to be said for being prepared, but that’s pretty tough meat to chew.’

It occurred to him that, until recently, he’d have been part of the crowd that was locked out. At least now, he had an even chance. It wasn’t particularly reassuring.

He felt something.

He knew that feeling. It was usually a sign of danger, but not this time. Somebody had a bead on him, but it wasn’t going to be followed by a lead slug. It wasn’t a laser scope or an iron sight. It was a pair of dark eyes.

‘Carol?’

What made him think of her? That was years in the past. There was nothing there anymore. He had put that fire out forever. Hadn’t he?

The dark eyes weren’t Carol’s. They were darker and so was the hair.

‘Come on, already. I can’t get into this right now. Leave me alone.’

He was so caught up in his thoughts; he missed the sermon. Everyone rose to recite the Apostles’ Creed and sat to echo the Prayers of the People.

The collection plate passed him by. He had spent his last five bucks on cinnamon buns yesterday. Ryan kicked himself for that.

A musical interlude played as the collection was gathered on the altar and blessed before the distribution of the bread and wine for the Eucharist. Now he felt worse.

‘Taking without giving? Not too much new about that.’

He knew Greg would understand, but he felt like a failure anyway. He held his little crouton and the tiny cup of wine, waiting for the congregation to make their move. He might have missed it. He was hanging his head in shame, but he felt it again.

‘Girl, please.’

He looked in her direction again. Their eyes met and the hint of a smile stole onto her face before she turned away.

His heart shattered into a million pieces.

Devastated and distracted, he nearly missed the congregation taking communion. He ate and drank. The guy next to him offered to take his tiny cup. Ryan nodded and handed it over.

So much the better. He had a free hand to wipe a tear from his eye now.

Music played. People stood. Greg and his acolytes departed amidst the song. He closed the hymnal and slid it into the pew rack before dropping back to his seat.

People filed out with an anthem of quiet organ music to maintain a contemplative environment.

‘Now what?’

He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t smile. He couldn’t weep. He was somewhere between joy and despair, but the waves were washing him from one shoal to another. Maybe Greg would come get him after everyone left.

He clenched his hands in his lap, screwed his eyes tight and waited for the world to end. The music did, at least. It made him feel sad and alone until he heard someone sit down in the next pew.

“Greg?”

“Guess again.”

He opened his eyes to find those dark eyes waiting for him.

“Hi, Ryan. I’m Marta.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Her smile was simultaneously demure and devilish. “My reputation precedes me, as usual.”

“It’s my reputation that I’m worried about.”

“Afraid I’m going to sully your good name, sir?”

“What? No. I meant you don’t really know who I am.”

“From what I hear, you’re Ryan Doyle. I’ll let you fill in the blanks as the spirit moves you.”

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

She crossed her arms on the back of the pew and rested her chin. “You should probably say that you’re fascinated by my forwardness and agree to have dinner with me sometime.”