Superheroes

Norman Andrew Jayden was born in a lower-middle class neighborhood to pair of struggling parents on the southern side of Boston. His parents loved him dearly, but didn't have a lot of time to spare for him. His father worked two jobs to help make ends meet while his mother worked hard for her associates degree at a nearby college, and also worked nights at a store near their home. When Norman's mother was home, she would read to him, play with him, try her best to raise a son that would have a better life than she was able to provide, better than what she had become. When they weren't, little Norman became independent quickly, usually passing the time playing with action figures or reading comic books about superheroes that his dad would bring home. He enjoyed the superhero cartoons on TV (especially Superman) and his biggest, greatest wish in the whole world was that one day - one day - he could be a superhero, too. Norman told his father about this dream when he was approaching his sixth birthday. His father told him, "Son, those freaks aren't real. Superheroes don't exist. No one has powers, no one can lift cars, or fly, or take someone out in a single punch. There are heroes in this world, but they aren't super. They're the normal people - just like you, or me, or mom - who work as hard as they can to make life as good as possible for as many people as possible. People like cops, and firemen, and doctors, they save people sometimes, they're especially heroic. But it's just as important that they do their best everyday. That's what matters. That is what makes people into heroes."

When Norman was ten, his mother was diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer. He didn't know what any of it meant. Terminal? Cancer? He was terribly confused. All the hospital trips wore him out, and he rarely got to see either of his parents any more, his dad was too busy working, and his mom was too busy doing… Whatever it was they did in the cold, bright hospital. No one would answer his questions or tell him what was going on. He began to get frustrated - lashing out in school, getting sent home, lashing out there. His dad didn't care, and his mom wasn't around enough to notice. Even when she was home, she would just lay in her bed, watch TV and cry. They never played superheroes together anymore. Norman found her one day, laying in her bed with the curtains drawn, the lights and TV off, bawling into her pillow. He carefully approached her.

"Mommy?" Her sniffles were the only response he got. He tried again, a little louder, "Mommy, are you alright?"

"Oh, sweetie, come here." She extended her frail, pale arms toward the doorway. He padded softly over to her bed in his pajamas, climbing up onto her bed as she beckoned. He laid down facing her, and she took him into her arms. They laid there for a while, her looking at him, stroking his soft brown hair, while he watched her sad blue eyes fill with tears.

"Are you ok, Mommy?" He asked again.

"No, honey. Mommy's not alright, she's very, very sick, do you understand?"

"Like when I get those really bad tummy aches and I can't eat or sleep?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Worse than that. It's a thing called Cancer. It makes you very tired, and every muscle hurts, like after you play a really, really good game of soccer."

"Just like that time where I scored three goals on Johnny Newson's team?"

"Just like it! Johnny's team had no idea what had hit them!"

"They never even saw me! That's what Sam said! The whole team calls me Flash now. Am I as fast as the real Flash, Mommy?"

"Even faster!" Norman laughed his little child's laugh, so pure and full of innocence. His mother watched, smiling, hoping that whatever happened, wherever humans go after they die, that there would always be laughter like that - the laughter of pure happiness. "Normie, can you answer a question for me?"

"Is it math? Cause I'm no good at math…"

"No, it's not math." She chuckled lightly at him, but it was short lived. "Will you take care of Daddy if Mommy goes away?"

"If you go where?" Norman was confused, again.

"A really, really far way away. It'd be a beautiful place, with a beach, and palm trees, and sun. There's birds that sing all the time, and no one ever yells. It's gonna be a great place, and I may not come back for a long time. But you can take care of Daddy for me, right? Can you protect him like Superman protects Metropolis?"

"Better! I promise."

"Alright, I believe you. You'll do a great job. Now, you wanna bring your toys in here, and we can play superheroes!"

"Yeah!"

Norman's mother died a few days later. She went to sleep in the hospital and just never woke up - she had set everything in place for when she was gone and gave up fighting. The family came and went in a blur to Norman, it all happened so fast. The aunts and uncles all commented on how well he was taking it for a boy his age. The grandparents shook their heads sadly, saying he was "repressing." His father was too busy for him anymore. Norman played with his action figures alone, he went to bed alone, and after a while, he cried alone. He cried for his playmate, his best friend, his mother. He begged Batman to fly her back to him from that far away place, but she never came. He begged Superman to save her from what was trapping her there, but she never came. He cried for his lost superhero.

When he was done crying, he got angry. Where were the heroes to save his mother? Why didn't they stop the Cancer from taking her away from him? Why didn't they help? Norman was reminded of what his dad said that day before his sixth birthday: superheroes don't exist.

Close to a week after his mother died, Norman Andrew Jayden gave up on heroes.