Do you like Don Quixote?
Then check out this story I am writing:
It is a curious thing that man is able to ponder his own existence. This has in some way caused the generation of every religion and philosophy: In turn, it can also be said that all wars, all great thinkers, and even many cities and governments have been spawned because of ideologies rooted in our ability to ponder our origins. Not only this, but when a man ponders his own existence, he must also ponder why he is on this Earth, and in turn perhaps what his path in life is to be. This is a uniquely human trait; for who has seen a squirrel bow in prostration to its deity, or a deer establish a form of forest government?
Rarely has a human been born without this ability; but it has happened. Many things can happen while in the womb, or shortly thereafter. With modern technology, we can now save these souls whom in darker ages might have been cast out to the wolves, or regarded as mad and locked in some hole to be forgotten, even by the sun. Yes, in this good age we not only embrace those with mental deficiencies, but can usually help them to become perfectly capable citizens, to give back to society and live independently.
It is a question, though, to wonder what drives those who, being healthy enough to master their own wits and desires, still seem to be unable to ponder their existence. What drives them, truly? If not religion, is it simply some herd instinct? If not to become rich, is it simply the pride of knowing they can take care of themselves?
For Stanley, the answer was a difficult one on which to theorize. Being only sixteen, one could not enter into question the motivation of being independent. Also, living in a rural area and going to a smaller school, he had never been properly diagnosed with any particular mental illness, although his teachers insisted to Peter, the boy’s father, that he was “slow.” Peter had long remedied this by “helping” Stanley with his homework every night. Trying truthfully to help, his father had only successfully aided in ensuring that Stanley remained a dullard into his late adolescence, though Peter could not fathom this at the time.
Stanley stayed in school because of his homework, but his test grades ensured that he would not be receiving any scholastic awards, invitations to private clubs, and certainly (to Peter’s dismay and Stanley’s apparent ignorance) no scholarship offers of any kind. Though Stanley was an only child, Peter also was the only parent, and he had to work two jobs to keep the family together and to save up for Stanley’s future (whatever that entailed). Poor Stanley could not have known it, but his father was at his wit’s end trying to think of ways to get Stanley out of the house and on his feet when he was eighteen. Stanley’s eyesight was far too terrible for any armed services; besides, he was famously clumsy, and this also ruled out most labor options for the poor boy. Obviously, an office job was out of the question.
At school, Stanley was decidedly unpopular. He couldn’t hold well in conversation, and wasn’t ever sporting the latest in fashion. He raised his hand as little as he could, of course, and no one faulted him for speaking as little as he saw fit. He was a big boy for his age, being over six feet (which helped greatly for the prevention of bullies), and his thick glasses made him quite easy to pick out; yet for all of this, Stanley did a good job at being “invisible.”
None of this helped Peter’s position, as it was almost impossible to get his son interested in after-school activities and clubs. As Peter saw it, the more interested his son got in interscholastic activities, the greater the chance that Stanley would find some hidden talent, or pick up a trade. They got in many small arguments about it, but in the end, unable to reveal to his son his secret worry, Peter usually found himself unable to argue against Stanley’s professed desire to stay out of such pursuits.
Before revealing any more about our young Stanley, we should first return to our original question; what drives a young man like Stanley, who has no egress at school from chiding, and no escape when his father is at home from incessant nagging? What allows Stanley to get up every day and face the music, without just wanting to run away? In this instance, friends, the answer was (to anyone around him) abundantly clear; Stanley got away by daydreaming, and fantasizing, and he did this almost exclusively with comic books.
Since before he could read, Stanley had been tugging at his father’s pant leg in the store, pointing to the bright images on the covers of the comic books that adorned the small shop across the street. In the morning while at breakfast, Peter often found that the classified section was missing; when he tracked it down, there also he found Stanley, engrossed in the comics that were printed on the other side.
It annoyed Peter only at first, until he was able to see many hidden benefits from his son’s passion. For starters, it greatly accelerated Stanley’s desire to learn how to read; indeed, reading seemed to be the only thing Stanley picked up quickly. Also, comic books were notoriously cheap; for $1.89, Peter could ensure that Stanley would leave him alone all day on Sunday, which was the only way that Peter could get anything done (again, him being the only parent). A comic book always kept Stanley out of the baby sitter’s hair, and that was well; Peter couldn’t afford many baby-sitters with the patience to deal with Stanley’s jumping around in costumes when he was not reading. Peter had always wondered if, when Stanley was old enough, he would be able to be left at home on his own. On one dreadfully long evening shift Peter returned home to find that, with a newly purchased comic book, Peter had nothing to fear from Stanley; he had fallen asleep on the couch reading.
Of course, Peter worried about the comic books’ effects on Stanley. Stanley seemed to be perpetually immature, even for his age; and reading quietly in the corner was no quick way to make new friends. However, Peter didn’t have many choices; his son had almost no one to play with, and little other interests. He didn’t even like television; he always complained that the bad guys seemed to win far too much, and the news depressed him with stories of crime and brutality. Besides, for his age, Stanley had an amazing vocabulary due to his avid reading, and Peter never had to buy Stanley a Halloween costume (his comic book craze had also given Stanley the unique ability to craft ridiculous outfits from items found around the house). Of course, there were a few angry calls from teachers who had found a comic book hidden between the pages of school text that Stanley was supposed to be reading; but either Stanley stopped the habit, or had gotten much better at it. The calls ceased altogether when he was twelve.
Peter didn’t have to worry about his son pursuing his passion by amassing hordes of expensive miniatures and movies; the comic book store he took his son to was rather small, and thus Peter was saved a great expense. Also, Stanley did not seem to mind reading and re-reading his entire collection, which grew every year. Stanley used to be able to read his entire collection in a day; it seemed now that that feat would never be possible again.
Peter had a brief moment of hopeful delight when his son joined the junior varsity football team at fifteen. Being rather large and strong for his age, Stanley made quite the impression on opposing teams when he lumbered onto the field. Peter’s hopes were dashed rather quickly, though, as Stanley didn’t seem to have the wits to play any position other than lineman. That was well; he certainly did a great job at pushing the other team about. Unfortunately he did not look up in time to see, on occasion, that he was pushing one of his own players. Also, he apparently got so avid about pushing that he did not hear (or ignored) the whistle, and would push someone clear off the field before stopping to look about himself. The coaches devised ways of working around this issue, but it soon became evident that this wasn’t the only concern. Stanley seemed especially pleased with himself when he knocked an opposing team member down, or made (God forbid) a successful tackle. Too often, this led to heckling of a most unusual type. Stanley would ask the opposing team member how his “justice” felt, or inform them that there position on the ground was the direct result of their “evildoing.” Peter begged with the coaches for a second and third chance, but too many parents complained, and Stanley retreated back to his quiet stack of comic books. In retrospect, Peter found peace; “pushing” was not exactly an eye-raiser on a job application.
As he grew older, Stanley began to enjoy the company of a neighbor, a young girl by the name of Jennifer. At only eight years old (at the time Stanley was sixteen) she retained quite an imagination, and enjoyed it when Stanley read aloud to her. Her parents, Sally and John, thought the world of Stan, who seemed perfectly harmless. Peter was grateful for any companionship provided to Stanley: Hence, the parents on all sides allowed for the unlikely pairing (especially given that it saved Jennifer’s parents the expense of a baby-sitter during the summer months).
Sally worked as a desk clerk for an insurance firm where her husband, John, was a salesman. They were decently well off, but enjoyed living just outside of the nearby city of Prospect where they worked (they had moved from busy London some years earlier). They secretly disapproved of Peter’s odd pairing of working as a mechanic during the day and as a barber at night, but Peter never knew about that. They did know that Peter tried to teach his son both trades; the first occasion (focusing on mechanics) ended up with a small explosion in the garage and a trip to the emergency room. The second trade of cutting hair, in which Peter boldly proffered his own head for Stanley to practice on, led to Peter wearing a hat on his head every day, for over a month. Peter hadn’t asked for these occupations; he was always interested in cars, but had to help take over the barber shop when his father died. As Stanley didn’t take after his father much, neither did Jennifer take after her rather bookish parents.
Jennifer didn’t act like a typical young lady; she was rather tall and skinny, and was especially good at climbing because of this. She was also quick, and could catch and throw with amazing accuracy (more is the pity; they didn’t have enough neighbors to ever get any sort of baseball game together). She was pretty enough, being blonde with light freckles, but her tomboy antics led her to be somewhat ostracized from her peers, as was Stanley. She was also incredibly naïve, and this led to her being the butt of many schoolyard jokes (as if her slight English accent wasn’t enough of a lure). Her tomboy aspirations and her loneliness led her to view Stanley as her best friend, something that was great for his self-esteem.
Jennifer wasn’t into comic books nearly as much as Stanley (indeed, few were or are) but he didn’t seem to mind; this rarely stopped him from regaling her with a tale, either reading aloud or crafting one himself (he was a rather absurd crafter of tales, and thus another hope of Peter’s was brutally dashed). Besides, he was decent enough at storytelling (that is, telling another person’s tale), and this was far more crafted for Jennifer’s pallet than the boorish pictures Stanley pored over.
It was very common for someone to see, during the summer, the pair of them on the grass between their two yards. Often Stanley could be seen reading to Jennifer, who more often than not was listening as she climbed a tree, or road a bike in circles around him. As both of Jennifer’s parents worked, and as Peter was a very busy man, the two young neighbors spent a lot of time together.
It was on one such occasion that our tale begins; Stanley was propped upon a rock reading a comic book to Jennifer, who was perched on a branch above examining a bug on her hand. Suddenly and for no apparent reason, Stanley did something he rarely ever did; he stopped reading in the middle of the story, and seemed to be staring straight ahead looking at nothing. Jennifer stopped her examinations of the bug (and her ponderings of a name for it) and shot a quizzical look at her companion.
“Stan? Are you quite fine down there?” she asked (with genuine concern).
Stanley seemed to be thinking about what that question meant. In reality however, he was pondering something else entirely.
“Stan? Have gone as deaf as you are blind finally?” Jennifer’s second question showed a little more creativity, though perhaps less concern. She did not like being ignored by any audience, and she craved attention from our humble protagonist more than anyone else in the world. She did not know it, but Stanley was actually undergoing a most interesting transformation.
Perhaps it was the hot sun that was beating down upon his brow; perhaps it was his latent, undiagnosed syndrome which, after lying idly by, had decided to present itself in a most untimely fashion. But regardless of the cause, Stanley had finally leapt off the bridge of sanity, and his perception of the world had become instantly and irreversibly intertwined with the thousands of comics he had read.
“I say again, alright there Stan? Perhaps I should fetch us some water?”
“Alright?” blurted Stan loudly; he had suddenly come out of his apparent vex, and seemed in no mood to make light banter (or indeed to have his companion fetch him some water). “How could one be fine with the state of things?”
“Um,” Jennifer started to answer; but she first decided to examine her surroundings (only to make sure her friend had no point). If she was thinking of what to say next, Stanley pardoned her the need.
“There is a horrible amount of crime in the city of Prospect. We live only a few short miles outside of it, and we stand by every day and let it happen!” Stan was standing and pacing now, his face reddening as he seemed to draw to some conclusion that he himself was not sure of.
“I know,” said Jennifer, now as curious as she was excited. “My mum doesn’t let me watch the news, but her and Daddy talk about it at dinner. It’s why we live in the country.”
“Well, that shows how bold your father is, running away like a coward.”
Jennifer seemed puzzled.
“What is he supposed to do” she asked, “the police’s job?”
“It’s every good citizen’s duty to help fight crime. It’s our duty as well, Jen. We have been far too selfish keeping our powers to ourselves.”
“Powers?”
“Indeed,” said Stanley, “for though I’m not exactly sure what they are, I am sure that I have some powers in me, for I am sure right now that I was destined to be a super-hero, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”
“A superhero?” Things were getting more confusing for Jennifer by the minute.
“Of course!” said Stanley with confidence. Jennifer was not used to seeing her companion so riled; indeed, he seemed more resolute now than the time she had hit him square in the face with a water balloon (from a good distance, too, she thought). She alit from the tree to get a good look at her friend’s eyes, and to be less distracted by entomology. His eyes looked just as funny as they ever did behind his thick lenses, although perhaps there was a keen light in them that she had either ignored or never observed before. Stanley was standing in the sun with his arms folded. He had stopped pacing, and seemed to be formulating some plan.
“I think,” he said thickly, to the delight of Jennifer (who was in much suspense, unjustly as she thought) “that the both of us were meant to be superheroes. Here we are, with plenty of time on our hands every day, while nearby the innocent are suffering at the hands of super-villains.
“Super-villains?” asked Jennifer. Even her naivety was beginning to wear thin.
“Yes,” said Stanley. “Think about it… every major city has super villains, and they need heroes to fight them. Have you learned nothing from my readings?”
“But that’s not like the news,” retorted Jennifer. “Those are stories made up to entertain us.”
“Are they? I wonder…” Stanley paused to put together his argument. “Think about it, Jen. The reporters probably don’t know who the villains are. I’m sure that the comic book writers could get in trouble working for a news agency and reporting what they know. The villains would get upset and bomb them, or shoot a radioactive ray at them, or something. So the reporters probably hide out as comic book writers, and make their stories seem outrageous, when really they are as real as you and me!”
“But what about the heroes? Surely the news wouldn’t be afraid to report about them, right?”
“My dear Jen!” Again Stanley paused, this time for emphasis; he seemed to have drawn all conclusions. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? That is precisely my point! The city has no heroes, and thus we are called! It’s just like in the books; fate waited until my body was ready, and then revealed the truth to me. I was meant not to know until now; my body and my mind were not ready. But now, in the midst of a summer where I have the time and the ability, and crime is at its peak, I know the truth. I must set out as soon as I can to help restore the balance in the city to its rightful state of peace.”
“But wait,” insisted Jennifer. “What about the heroes in the other cities? Why don’t we hear about them?”
“The answer is obvious, if you think about it, Jen.” Stanley had acquired a great deal of confidence in his sudden transformation, and Jennifer wasn’t sure how much she liked it, although it made him all the more interesting a friend. “It would be awfully difficult to write a news story so one-sided. The press is known for its need to report only the facts, and all known facts. They would be better off leaving the story to the comic book writers. I’m sure they have some sort of guild, or something. One day I hope to find it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”
“Not much is making sense to me,” Jen confessed with a puzzled squint skyward at her companion’s knowing expression.
“Jen, you must trust me on all of these matters,” Stanley said with great authority. “I have studied the ways of these heroes much longer and more intensely than most, and I am older than you anyhow.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jennifer retorted. Most of what Stanley was talking about sounded fun, but they were always joint partners in their exploits. He seemed determined now to take the helm. “You’ve always been a bit off, and we’ve never had to boss each other around before.”
“Please, Jen, do not mock my superhero weakness,” Stanley shot back, seeming offended. “For do you not know that every super hero must have a weakness? That is how it is possible for them to die as well. Otherwise, they would be too strong. Also, villains have to possess their own weaknesses, or none of them would fall. It is a balance, you see, one created by powers greater than ours. Without my weakness, I could not be a superhero.”
Jen paused to digest all of the information. Stanley seemed content watching her, just making sure she gathered everything. The bit about the comic books made sense; she could see how the news couldn’t rightly report on events, and how a secret comic book writers’ guild would seem to have to exist. It would explain why comics were only sold in certain places, and only certain people seem to purchase them and write them. Selling them as stories would prevent villains from hunting them down more ardently. The writers themselves could even be superheroes, sending out a secret distress call to all who would listen…
“But how come more people don’t read comic books?” Jennifer asked.
“I have thought about that,” Stanley admitted proudly. “You don’t see the other kids reading them, do you? I think, Jen, that we have received a calling to the life of superheroes, and that life is not for everyone. Our interest in comics was rooted in our innate desire to do good before we realized it. Fate has trained us perfectly, unless the Guild intended this very thing to happen.” Stanley had apparently just made the decision that the Comic Book Writers’ Guild did indeed exist.
“But I have no powers, and I am not as into comic books as you are.”
“The Guild is powerful, Jen. Think about it-you were in London not long ago, were you not?”
“A couple of years ago, yes.”
“And why did you move from London?” Stanley was rather pleased with himself, though Jen couldn’t fathom why.
“Because the firm where Daddy and Mummy worked was shut down.”
“Ah!” said Stanley. “And let me guess; there was a perfect, golden opportunity of a job waiting right here in Prospect, wasn’t there? For both of them, no less!”
Jen gasped in astonishment, then furrowed her brows. “Hey,” she said, “that would mean that the Guild ousted my parents from their work in London!”
“Do not accuse the Guild, Jen, until you know all of their motivations. Think before you speak! The Guild also set up jobs here, better jobs, where your parents could live comfortably and you could meet me! That is why you haven’t received the calling, not like I did just today. You were meant to receive it through me, and to live it through me, as my sidekick.”
If Jen had appeared flustered before, she became positively enraged at the word “sidekick.” The ensuing expressions on her face and words out of her mouth would have amused any passers-by; though alas, there were none today.
Stanley cut her short. “Jen, again you must trust me. I am older and stronger, and know much more about this. You will grow with your own powers soon enough.”
“Aye, I will,” Jennifer said obstinately. “And then I’ll go off and form my own superhero organization.”
“Nonsense!” said Stanley, greatly taken aback. “Superhero duos do not split up. Besides, you can grow equally as famous as I. Sidekicks are necessary; two heads are always better than one. I need you, Jen; for if I am to become a superhero, who else could I trust at my side? I have no other friend like you. This is not a competition, Jen. Superheroes fight in league with each other. Besides, there is enough crime in the city for the both of us, and we have a better chance to punish evildoers side by side.”
Jen liked this tone much more. She secretly decided then and there that she had what it took to be his sidekick. In fact, as she saw it, there was only one problem.
“But what are our powers?” she asked.
“Don’t be absurd, Jen,” said Stanley. Jen immediately missed his tone of a couple minutes ago. “Think about what you are saying. Batman and Robin were mere humans, like you and me. All it really takes is the will. Besides, we do have powers, and they will continue to grow as they are fostered with righteousness; or perhaps more super powers will become evident.”
“What powers?” Jennifer asked, about as pessimistic as she could be.
“Why, Jen! Do you not know? The very same skills that have ostracized you from the girls at school are the roots of your powers! How fast do you suppose you could scale that tree?”
“Pretty fast, I suppose,” she said, regaining her confidence.
“Here, take this stone.” Stanley reached down and grabbed a small rock near the base of the tree and handed it to her. “Try to hit that bird over there.”
A rather unfortunate wren was curiously observing the couple from a safe distance. Jennifer looked hesitant, then hefted, squinted, and released.
With a solid thwap and a great deal of squawking, the bird was successfully sent to a safer location to ponder its offense. Stanley looked pleased.
“How do you feel?” Stanley asked with a beaming smile.
“Well, kind of bad for hitting that bird.” Jen looked dismal.
“Dear Jen, do you not see the forest for the trees? You have just uncovered a secret power, or two if you count the climbing of the tree, which my faith has not deemed the need to test. Look on the brighter side! You have discovered that you are indeed to be my sidekick.”
Jen looked a little more pleased, and massaged her throwing arm with care, until another puzzled look came onto her lightly freckled face.
“Wait, Stan-then what is my secret weakness?”
“That you should never reveal,” said Stanley very seriously. “What if I am captured, against all odds, and am tortured by some diabolical brain machine? It could easily not only lead the enemy to you, but uncover your secret weakness; and thus we could both be in very dire peril. I suppose that in the meantime, we will have to say that your weakness is being a girl.”
“Bollocks!” Jen shouted. How many times was she going to be happy, then mad again today, she wondered? She stormed over to the small pile of comics Stanley had placed near the rock. Picking one up, she stomped right back over to where he was standing and held the cover of one up to his face.
“And what is her secret weakness, you insufferable know-it-all?”
“Jen, you are not listening. Your ‘weakness’ is only a cover, a lie to mock the enemy with until we do discover your weakness. Until then, be content with thinking that you have no weakness. Confidence helps even superheroes, Jen. Besides, if I knew any superhero’s secret weakness, I wouldn’t speak it in this public place.”
Glancing around suspiciously, Stanley didn’t notice that yet again, Jen seemed to slip into doubt as she looked at the cover of the comic book she had just held up.
“Um… Stan, do you think that maybe I am missing something else?”
“What? Of course!” Stanley snapped back to the present (with a very sobering look). “We are missing a great many things, Jen, but all will be mended before too long. We are missing a lair of some sort, and costumes, of course, although that word doesn’t seem to do them much justice…”
“No, you twit, listen!” Jen wasn’t used to having to cut off her companion. She was beginning to wonder if this was a habit that would necessitate an introduction into her dialogue with her strange friend. “I mean, look at this girl on the cover… she has… things that I don’t have…”
“Jen, you seem strangely hesitant to discuss the obvious,” said a very misguided Stanley. “Of course, she has a custom belt, which would be very useful indeed, and a cape, although I’ve already told you we will remedy outfits at the soonest possible…”
“Boobs, you incompetent babblemouth!” Jennifer practically screamed.
For the first time in a while, Stanley seemed to be shocked to silence.
“I mean, she’s got, well, curves and such. I don’t feel very, well, super-heroine-esque in an eight year-old’s body.”
“Jen, you know as well as I do that not all superheroes are attractive. Take The Thing from The Fantastic Four, for example. One could almost say that his secret weakness could be a not-so-secret lack of diplomacy.”
“But he is a fellow. Every single woman superhero is attractive. Even the super-villain ladies are.”
Stanley thought deeply on this. “You finally speak some truth on this point, Jen.” Jen didn’t feel complemented. “I can only say,” he went on, “that the calling finds certain heroes and heroines at different times. The calling was meant for me, and it is unfortunate that it found me while you were so young. But think! Better to have received it early, in your case, than never at all. Perhaps you will blossom one day, and then the circle will be complete. Surely Wonder Woman and Batgirl did deeds of justice even in training bras. Until then, we can say that your secret weakness is your lack of the ability that all other heroines have of seduction. Not a very terribly secret weakness, I’m afraid. Much like The Thing, which is a rather unfortunate coincidence. But that weakness will have to serve, until we find another. Or perhaps, we could alter it when we arrange identity-masking outfits for our missions. Don’t worry, my sidekick; your secret is safe with me.”
Jen wasn’t horribly amused. “And what about you?” she asked. “What is your super power?
“Isn’t it obvious? Or did you never see a football game of mine?” Stanley looked around him, and quickly spotted the small boulder that he had been leaning on while reading, which seemed so long ago now. He braced himself, and then charged the rock with his shoulder lowered.
It is unfortunate that the wren which had before suffered a great injustice at the urges of Stanley wasn’t present to observe the following scene: Stanley’s shoulder hit the large stone with incredible force, sending him careening to the side of the stone where he fell in a heap. Jen ran to his side.
“Brilliant super power, that was,” said Jen as she stooped to investigate the damage to Stanley’s shoulder. Luckily, he seemed to have bounced off the rock at a good angle, if such a thing can be called good at all.
“Again, Jen, you speak of what you do not know,” said Stanley, looking hurt and massaging his shoulder. “While I have studied superheroes and their ways for a long time, I am new at being one. Comic books do not teach everything, and I lack a mentor, having to learn everything the hard way. Some of the greatest heroes of all time have had such ill luck; why should my fate be any different? I missed an important step, one that is present in the comic books, but doesn’t always present itself in real life; it depends on the object being pummeled. I shall not make that mistake again.”
Jen looked deeply puzzled. “And what was that?”
“You are wise to ask, for you will learn quickly by asking many questions, Jen,” Stanley said with approval. “I will not begrudge you for your position; unlike me, you have a mentor. You will likely learn a lot from my mistakes, and have less scars to show for them. You should feel honored indeed. As for the answer to your question, it lies in your hands, as answers often do.”
The only thing Jen felt was more puzzled. She examined the scene she had absently flipped to in the comic book she was holding. In it, a superhero was tackling some random thug. Other than the object being smote, the vignette was entertainingly similar to the display she just viewed in real life. “I don’t see anything, really,” she confessed.
“Dear Jen, the learning does start today, doesn’t it! And it what multitude! You shall be wise beyond your years because of your choice to fight crime with me. The answer is right there!”
Stanley pointed directly at something that is all too common in such media. Above the drawing of the thug being thrown down, there was a single word printed largely in a yellow oval with serrated edges.
“SSSmaCK!”
“It must be fun to make up words all day,” said Jen, apparently forgetting that she was in the middle of a very important lesson.
“Please, try to pay attention, Jen. You see, in real life, the sound must actually be made. There was no dramatic sound when I hit the rock-only a soft scuffing-but I would rather not discuss that incident further anyhow. Rather, I will set things right! In the future, perhaps, I will incorporate some noisemaking material into my costume. For now, I must be content with making the noise myself.”
“What noise? Ouch?” Jen asked with no small amount of sass.
“It seems a favorite sport of you to mock me, Jen,” Stan assumed his injured tone once again. “I know that has been a common mutual theme in our discussions in the past; but now our roles have changed. We must be serious; a great calling and charge has been laid on us. While you are learning, you should show me respect.”
“But you are mocking me constantly!”
“That, I’m afraid, is entirely necessary Jen,” Stanley stated with honest sympathy. “Point anywhere in that comic book and tell me if you find any sidekick making fun of his fellow fighter of crime without tasting some come-uppance. Also, tell me if you see any picture of one object striking another without a sound being accounted for. You see, the sound, like the respect, is necessary to fight evil in the proper manner. Also, it is fully allowable for the superhero to make jest with his sidekick for comedic effect. There is no reason that we cannot fight crime without having some fun. You should learn to laugh when I jest at your expense. It will make the whole thing easier for both of us.”
Jen thought that sounded like a great deal of words that her parents had trained her not to say, but given her strange friend’s mood, she decided not to pursue the matter. She did, however, begin speedily glancing through the comic book to see if there was a single instance of a sidekick being sassy and achieving the comedic effect (without tasting some form of wrath, of course). She was interrupted by a triumphant shout.
“Ready thyself, cruel stone!”
“But what did the stone do to you?” Jen looked as her companion appeared ready to charge the stone a second time (with his opposite shoulder, of course).
“Are you blind? Did you not just see the stone tumble me about? Such injury has never been suffered by a superhero.”
“But you attacked it first, and without reason!”
“You shouldn’t attack my motives, Jen.” Stanley got out of his three-point stance and resumed his lecturing pose, one that Jennifer was beginning to increasingly dislike. “For the most part, you should be silent, learning through observation. At the least, you could ask me questions, for I am a very wise, if very new, superhero. Did we not just cover this? Instead of arguing, ask, and I shall tell. As far as this meddlesome boulder is concerned, it did me injury simply by not yielding, for it is obvious that my strength alone should have thrown it about. Besides, Jen, as a superhero I now have the right to deem what I feel is offensive to the brothers of my charge and I, and even to the Guild. I attempted to use this stone to demonstrate my powers to my sidekick; a worthy pursuit. This stone mocked me, for even though the proper sound was not achieved, it could have been at least somewhat yielding, or provided the noise itself. No Jen, do not argue, simply watch! Only when my feats are proved entirely useless may we begin picking at my faults as mere peers.”
Jennifer remained silent, if only to avoid another lecture. It was obvious Stanley felt an incessant need to prove his point, anyway. He dropped low again, readjusted (as he seemed to have momentarily forget that his shoulder was injured) and charged the stone with all of the fury of the Light Brigade of poetic infamy.
“Ready thyself I say again, you sassy slab of stone!”
If the wren would have felt like the score was settled on the first charge, it would have felt deeply indebted to Stanley after observing his most inglorious second attempt to dislodge the stone. At the moment of impact, he let out a noise that sounded like it was going to be a crack!, but the end result was definitely not intended.
“CrrrrOUCH!” Stanley screamed, as the unforgiving boulder seemed perfectly content to tumble its attacker a second time. Stanley flew a small bit farther this time, though the tumbling was intensely more interesting. As he rolled about screaming obscenities, Jen rushed to his side again. The only apparent lasting damage was to Stanley’s pride.
Jen did not help the matter with her next comment. After assuring her comrade had broken no limbs, she inquired:
“Crouch? That was an interesting word choice. Why crouch? I thought for sure you intended to say ‘crack’ or some such nonsense.”
If possible, Stanley looked more injured. He sat up (now massaging both shoulders) and looked Jennifer square in the eyes once again.
“At least, Jen, you are asking questions now,” he said. “That is good; it is inspiring to me, as I am quickly losing my patience and my motivation, as well as much of my health. Of course, unless that evil boulder had loosened even my wits, ‘crouch’ would have been a poor selection indeed, as onomatopoeias go. No, my intention, you see, was to shout something more along the lines of your suggestion, to your merit. I confess, though, that I hadn’t fully chosen the word yet. It occurred to me in the middle of my charge that perhaps the word, like much art, has to appear during the aesthetic of the motion. I failed however, you see. I was weak, and my word became a confession of that weakness. I admitted an ‘ouch,’ Jen; and perhaps now you can see the irony of that unintended melding of words.
“But let us not dally on the minor failures! I hope you observed, Jen, that as I charged I referred to this rock as a ‘sassy slab of stone.’ That is alliteration-the forming of many words with similar sounds-and is encouraged for use when threatening objects about to be struck, even be they inanimate. For it is the duty of a superhero to also inform all those about of his proclamations of what is evil, and to do so in an artful manner, even while practicing. This is much like the comedic chiding of sidekicks; it makes the story more apt to retelling. And the quicker our deeds spread, the more will our enemies fear our justice. And why not also have them envy us for our wit? For envy can undo even the most powerful. Is it not a wonderful feeling to be envied by one you dislike?”
The only feeling Jennifer was experiencing at the moment was an intense desire to laugh as loud as she could, and she was holding it back with all of her strength. Stanley misinterpreted the expression on her face, which was definitely one he had seen rarely before, it ever.
“I see your inner struggle to take in these lessons, Jen,” he said approvingly as they both rose. “It is heartening to know that my injuries are not in vain. Even if you were not here, I would learn from them; but it is better that you see them firsthand. That way, two can learn from the folly of one.”
It is a curious thing that man is able to ponder his own existence. This has in some way caused the generation of every religion and philosophy: In turn, it can also be said that all wars, all great thinkers, and even many cities and governments have been spawned because of ideologies rooted in our ability to ponder our origins. Not only this, but when a man ponders his own existence, he must also ponder why he is on this Earth, and in turn perhaps what his path in life is to be. This is a uniquely human trait; for who has seen a squirrel bow in prostration to its deity, or a deer establish a form of forest government?
Rarely has a human been born without this ability; but it has happened. Many things can happen while in the womb, or shortly thereafter. With modern technology, we can now save these souls whom in darker ages might have been cast out to the wolves, or regarded as mad and locked in some hole to be forgotten, even by the sun. Yes, in this good age we not only embrace those with mental deficiencies, but can usually help them to become perfectly capable citizens, to give back to society and live independently.
It is a question, though, to wonder what drives those who, being healthy enough to master their own wits and desires, still seem to be unable to ponder their existence. What drives them, truly? If not religion, is it simply some herd instinct? If not to become rich, is it simply the pride of knowing they can take care of themselves?
For Stanley, the answer was a difficult one on which to theorize. Being only sixteen, one could not enter into question the motivation of being independent. Also, living in a rural area and going to a smaller school, he had never been properly diagnosed with any particular mental illness, although his teachers insisted to Peter, the boy’s father, that he was “slow.” Peter had long remedied this by “helping” Stanley with his homework every night. Trying truthfully to help, his father had only successfully aided in ensuring that Stanley remained a dullard into his late adolescence, though Peter could not fathom this at the time.
Stanley stayed in school because of his homework, but his test grades ensured that he would not be receiving any scholastic awards, invitations to private clubs, and certainly (to Peter’s dismay and Stanley’s apparent ignorance) no scholarship offers of any kind. Though Stanley was an only child, Peter also was the only parent, and he had to work two jobs to keep the family together and to save up for Stanley’s future (whatever that entailed). Poor Stanley could not have known it, but his father was at his wit’s end trying to think of ways to get Stanley out of the house and on his feet when he was eighteen. Stanley’s eyesight was far too terrible for any armed services; besides, he was famously clumsy, and this also ruled out most labor options for the poor boy. Obviously, an office job was out of the question.
At school, Stanley was decidedly unpopular. He couldn’t hold well in conversation, and wasn’t ever sporting the latest in fashion. He raised his hand as little as he could, of course, and no one faulted him for speaking as little as he saw fit. He was a big boy for his age, being over six feet (which helped greatly for the prevention of bullies), and his thick glasses made him quite easy to pick out; yet for all of this, Stanley did a good job at being “invisible.”
None of this helped Peter’s position, as it was almost impossible to get his son interested in after-school activities and clubs. As Peter saw it, the more interested his son got in interscholastic activities, the greater the chance that Stanley would find some hidden talent, or pick up a trade. They got in many small arguments about it, but in the end, unable to reveal to his son his secret worry, Peter usually found himself unable to argue against Stanley’s professed desire to stay out of such pursuits.
Before revealing any more about our young Stanley, we should first return to our original question; what drives a young man like Stanley, who has no egress at school from chiding, and no escape when his father is at home from incessant nagging? What allows Stanley to get up every day and face the music, without just wanting to run away? In this instance, friends, the answer was (to anyone around him) abundantly clear; Stanley got away by daydreaming, and fantasizing, and he did this almost exclusively with comic books.
Since before he could read, Stanley had been tugging at his father’s pant leg in the store, pointing to the bright images on the covers of the comic books that adorned the small shop across the street. In the morning while at breakfast, Peter often found that the classified section was missing; when he tracked it down, there also he found Stanley, engrossed in the comics that were printed on the other side.
It annoyed Peter only at first, until he was able to see many hidden benefits from his son’s passion. For starters, it greatly accelerated Stanley’s desire to learn how to read; indeed, reading seemed to be the only thing Stanley picked up quickly. Also, comic books were notoriously cheap; for $1.89, Peter could ensure that Stanley would leave him alone all day on Sunday, which was the only way that Peter could get anything done (again, him being the only parent). A comic book always kept Stanley out of the baby sitter’s hair, and that was well; Peter couldn’t afford many baby-sitters with the patience to deal with Stanley’s jumping around in costumes when he was not reading. Peter had always wondered if, when Stanley was old enough, he would be able to be left at home on his own. On one dreadfully long evening shift Peter returned home to find that, with a newly purchased comic book, Peter had nothing to fear from Stanley; he had fallen asleep on the couch reading.
Of course, Peter worried about the comic books’ effects on Stanley. Stanley seemed to be perpetually immature, even for his age; and reading quietly in the corner was no quick way to make new friends. However, Peter didn’t have many choices; his son had almost no one to play with, and little other interests. He didn’t even like television; he always complained that the bad guys seemed to win far too much, and the news depressed him with stories of crime and brutality. Besides, for his age, Stanley had an amazing vocabulary due to his avid reading, and Peter never had to buy Stanley a Halloween costume (his comic book craze had also given Stanley the unique ability to craft ridiculous outfits from items found around the house). Of course, there were a few angry calls from teachers who had found a comic book hidden between the pages of school text that Stanley was supposed to be reading; but either Stanley stopped the habit, or had gotten much better at it. The calls ceased altogether when he was twelve.
Peter didn’t have to worry about his son pursuing his passion by amassing hordes of expensive miniatures and movies; the comic book store he took his son to was rather small, and thus Peter was saved a great expense. Also, Stanley did not seem to mind reading and re-reading his entire collection, which grew every year. Stanley used to be able to read his entire collection in a day; it seemed now that that feat would never be possible again.
Peter had a brief moment of hopeful delight when his son joined the junior varsity football team at fifteen. Being rather large and strong for his age, Stanley made quite the impression on opposing teams when he lumbered onto the field. Peter’s hopes were dashed rather quickly, though, as Stanley didn’t seem to have the wits to play any position other than lineman. That was well; he certainly did a great job at pushing the other team about. Unfortunately he did not look up in time to see, on occasion, that he was pushing one of his own players. Also, he apparently got so avid about pushing that he did not hear (or ignored) the whistle, and would push someone clear off the field before stopping to look about himself. The coaches devised ways of working around this issue, but it soon became evident that this wasn’t the only concern. Stanley seemed especially pleased with himself when he knocked an opposing team member down, or made (God forbid) a successful tackle. Too often, this led to heckling of a most unusual type. Stanley would ask the opposing team member how his “justice” felt, or inform them that there position on the ground was the direct result of their “evildoing.” Peter begged with the coaches for a second and third chance, but too many parents complained, and Stanley retreated back to his quiet stack of comic books. In retrospect, Peter found peace; “pushing” was not exactly an eye-raiser on a job application.
As he grew older, Stanley began to enjoy the company of a neighbor, a young girl by the name of Jennifer. At only eight years old (at the time Stanley was sixteen) she retained quite an imagination, and enjoyed it when Stanley read aloud to her. Her parents, Sally and John, thought the world of Stan, who seemed perfectly harmless. Peter was grateful for any companionship provided to Stanley: Hence, the parents on all sides allowed for the unlikely pairing (especially given that it saved Jennifer’s parents the expense of a baby-sitter during the summer months).
Sally worked as a desk clerk for an insurance firm where her husband, John, was a salesman. They were decently well off, but enjoyed living just outside of the nearby city of Prospect where they worked (they had moved from busy London some years earlier). They secretly disapproved of Peter’s odd pairing of working as a mechanic during the day and as a barber at night, but Peter never knew about that. They did know that Peter tried to teach his son both trades; the first occasion (focusing on mechanics) ended up with a small explosion in the garage and a trip to the emergency room. The second trade of cutting hair, in which Peter boldly proffered his own head for Stanley to practice on, led to Peter wearing a hat on his head every day, for over a month. Peter hadn’t asked for these occupations; he was always interested in cars, but had to help take over the barber shop when his father died. As Stanley didn’t take after his father much, neither did Jennifer take after her rather bookish parents.
Jennifer didn’t act like a typical young lady; she was rather tall and skinny, and was especially good at climbing because of this. She was also quick, and could catch and throw with amazing accuracy (more is the pity; they didn’t have enough neighbors to ever get any sort of baseball game together). She was pretty enough, being blonde with light freckles, but her tomboy antics led her to be somewhat ostracized from her peers, as was Stanley. She was also incredibly naïve, and this led to her being the butt of many schoolyard jokes (as if her slight English accent wasn’t enough of a lure). Her tomboy aspirations and her loneliness led her to view Stanley as her best friend, something that was great for his self-esteem.
Jennifer wasn’t into comic books nearly as much as Stanley (indeed, few were or are) but he didn’t seem to mind; this rarely stopped him from regaling her with a tale, either reading aloud or crafting one himself (he was a rather absurd crafter of tales, and thus another hope of Peter’s was brutally dashed). Besides, he was decent enough at storytelling (that is, telling another person’s tale), and this was far more crafted for Jennifer’s pallet than the boorish pictures Stanley pored over.
It was very common for someone to see, during the summer, the pair of them on the grass between their two yards. Often Stanley could be seen reading to Jennifer, who more often than not was listening as she climbed a tree, or road a bike in circles around him. As both of Jennifer’s parents worked, and as Peter was a very busy man, the two young neighbors spent a lot of time together.
It was on one such occasion that our tale begins; Stanley was propped upon a rock reading a comic book to Jennifer, who was perched on a branch above examining a bug on her hand. Suddenly and for no apparent reason, Stanley did something he rarely ever did; he stopped reading in the middle of the story, and seemed to be staring straight ahead looking at nothing. Jennifer stopped her examinations of the bug (and her ponderings of a name for it) and shot a quizzical look at her companion.
“Stan? Are you quite fine down there?” she asked (with genuine concern).
Stanley seemed to be thinking about what that question meant. In reality however, he was pondering something else entirely.
“Stan? Have gone as deaf as you are blind finally?” Jennifer’s second question showed a little more creativity, though perhaps less concern. She did not like being ignored by any audience, and she craved attention from our humble protagonist more than anyone else in the world. She did not know it, but Stanley was actually undergoing a most interesting transformation.
Perhaps it was the hot sun that was beating down upon his brow; perhaps it was his latent, undiagnosed syndrome which, after lying idly by, had decided to present itself in a most untimely fashion. But regardless of the cause, Stanley had finally leapt off the bridge of sanity, and his perception of the world had become instantly and irreversibly intertwined with the thousands of comics he had read.
“I say again, alright there Stan? Perhaps I should fetch us some water?”
“Alright?” blurted Stan loudly; he had suddenly come out of his apparent vex, and seemed in no mood to make light banter (or indeed to have his companion fetch him some water). “How could one be fine with the state of things?”
“Um,” Jennifer started to answer; but she first decided to examine her surroundings (only to make sure her friend had no point). If she was thinking of what to say next, Stanley pardoned her the need.
“There is a horrible amount of crime in the city of Prospect. We live only a few short miles outside of it, and we stand by every day and let it happen!” Stan was standing and pacing now, his face reddening as he seemed to draw to some conclusion that he himself was not sure of.
“I know,” said Jennifer, now as curious as she was excited. “My mum doesn’t let me watch the news, but her and Daddy talk about it at dinner. It’s why we live in the country.”
“Well, that shows how bold your father is, running away like a coward.”
Jennifer seemed puzzled.
“What is he supposed to do” she asked, “the police’s job?”
“It’s every good citizen’s duty to help fight crime. It’s our duty as well, Jen. We have been far too selfish keeping our powers to ourselves.”
“Powers?”
“Indeed,” said Stanley, “for though I’m not exactly sure what they are, I am sure that I have some powers in me, for I am sure right now that I was destined to be a super-hero, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”
“A superhero?” Things were getting more confusing for Jennifer by the minute.
“Of course!” said Stanley with confidence. Jennifer was not used to seeing her companion so riled; indeed, he seemed more resolute now than the time she had hit him square in the face with a water balloon (from a good distance, too, she thought). She alit from the tree to get a good look at her friend’s eyes, and to be less distracted by entomology. His eyes looked just as funny as they ever did behind his thick lenses, although perhaps there was a keen light in them that she had either ignored or never observed before. Stanley was standing in the sun with his arms folded. He had stopped pacing, and seemed to be formulating some plan.
“I think,” he said thickly, to the delight of Jennifer (who was in much suspense, unjustly as she thought) “that the both of us were meant to be superheroes. Here we are, with plenty of time on our hands every day, while nearby the innocent are suffering at the hands of super-villains.
“Super-villains?” asked Jennifer. Even her naivety was beginning to wear thin.
“Yes,” said Stanley. “Think about it… every major city has super villains, and they need heroes to fight them. Have you learned nothing from my readings?”
“But that’s not like the news,” retorted Jennifer. “Those are stories made up to entertain us.”
“Are they? I wonder…” Stanley paused to put together his argument. “Think about it, Jen. The reporters probably don’t know who the villains are. I’m sure that the comic book writers could get in trouble working for a news agency and reporting what they know. The villains would get upset and bomb them, or shoot a radioactive ray at them, or something. So the reporters probably hide out as comic book writers, and make their stories seem outrageous, when really they are as real as you and me!”
“But what about the heroes? Surely the news wouldn’t be afraid to report about them, right?”
“My dear Jen!” Again Stanley paused, this time for emphasis; he seemed to have drawn all conclusions. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? That is precisely my point! The city has no heroes, and thus we are called! It’s just like in the books; fate waited until my body was ready, and then revealed the truth to me. I was meant not to know until now; my body and my mind were not ready. But now, in the midst of a summer where I have the time and the ability, and crime is at its peak, I know the truth. I must set out as soon as I can to help restore the balance in the city to its rightful state of peace.”
“But wait,” insisted Jennifer. “What about the heroes in the other cities? Why don’t we hear about them?”
“The answer is obvious, if you think about it, Jen.” Stanley had acquired a great deal of confidence in his sudden transformation, and Jennifer wasn’t sure how much she liked it, although it made him all the more interesting a friend. “It would be awfully difficult to write a news story so one-sided. The press is known for its need to report only the facts, and all known facts. They would be better off leaving the story to the comic book writers. I’m sure they have some sort of guild, or something. One day I hope to find it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”
“Not much is making sense to me,” Jen confessed with a puzzled squint skyward at her companion’s knowing expression.
“Jen, you must trust me on all of these matters,” Stanley said with great authority. “I have studied the ways of these heroes much longer and more intensely than most, and I am older than you anyhow.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jennifer retorted. Most of what Stanley was talking about sounded fun, but they were always joint partners in their exploits. He seemed determined now to take the helm. “You’ve always been a bit off, and we’ve never had to boss each other around before.”
“Please, Jen, do not mock my superhero weakness,” Stanley shot back, seeming offended. “For do you not know that every super hero must have a weakness? That is how it is possible for them to die as well. Otherwise, they would be too strong. Also, villains have to possess their own weaknesses, or none of them would fall. It is a balance, you see, one created by powers greater than ours. Without my weakness, I could not be a superhero.”
Jen paused to digest all of the information. Stanley seemed content watching her, just making sure she gathered everything. The bit about the comic books made sense; she could see how the news couldn’t rightly report on events, and how a secret comic book writers’ guild would seem to have to exist. It would explain why comics were only sold in certain places, and only certain people seem to purchase them and write them. Selling them as stories would prevent villains from hunting them down more ardently. The writers themselves could even be superheroes, sending out a secret distress call to all who would listen…
“But how come more people don’t read comic books?” Jennifer asked.
“I have thought about that,” Stanley admitted proudly. “You don’t see the other kids reading them, do you? I think, Jen, that we have received a calling to the life of superheroes, and that life is not for everyone. Our interest in comics was rooted in our innate desire to do good before we realized it. Fate has trained us perfectly, unless the Guild intended this very thing to happen.” Stanley had apparently just made the decision that the Comic Book Writers’ Guild did indeed exist.
“But I have no powers, and I am not as into comic books as you are.”
“The Guild is powerful, Jen. Think about it-you were in London not long ago, were you not?”
“A couple of years ago, yes.”
“And why did you move from London?” Stanley was rather pleased with himself, though Jen couldn’t fathom why.
“Because the firm where Daddy and Mummy worked was shut down.”
“Ah!” said Stanley. “And let me guess; there was a perfect, golden opportunity of a job waiting right here in Prospect, wasn’t there? For both of them, no less!”
Jen gasped in astonishment, then furrowed her brows. “Hey,” she said, “that would mean that the Guild ousted my parents from their work in London!”
“Do not accuse the Guild, Jen, until you know all of their motivations. Think before you speak! The Guild also set up jobs here, better jobs, where your parents could live comfortably and you could meet me! That is why you haven’t received the calling, not like I did just today. You were meant to receive it through me, and to live it through me, as my sidekick.”
If Jen had appeared flustered before, she became positively enraged at the word “sidekick.” The ensuing expressions on her face and words out of her mouth would have amused any passers-by; though alas, there were none today.
Stanley cut her short. “Jen, again you must trust me. I am older and stronger, and know much more about this. You will grow with your own powers soon enough.”
“Aye, I will,” Jennifer said obstinately. “And then I’ll go off and form my own superhero organization.”
“Nonsense!” said Stanley, greatly taken aback. “Superhero duos do not split up. Besides, you can grow equally as famous as I. Sidekicks are necessary; two heads are always better than one. I need you, Jen; for if I am to become a superhero, who else could I trust at my side? I have no other friend like you. This is not a competition, Jen. Superheroes fight in league with each other. Besides, there is enough crime in the city for the both of us, and we have a better chance to punish evildoers side by side.”
Jen liked this tone much more. She secretly decided then and there that she had what it took to be his sidekick. In fact, as she saw it, there was only one problem.
“But what are our powers?” she asked.
“Don’t be absurd, Jen,” said Stanley. Jen immediately missed his tone of a couple minutes ago. “Think about what you are saying. Batman and Robin were mere humans, like you and me. All it really takes is the will. Besides, we do have powers, and they will continue to grow as they are fostered with righteousness; or perhaps more super powers will become evident.”
“What powers?” Jennifer asked, about as pessimistic as she could be.
“Why, Jen! Do you not know? The very same skills that have ostracized you from the girls at school are the roots of your powers! How fast do you suppose you could scale that tree?”
“Pretty fast, I suppose,” she said, regaining her confidence.
“Here, take this stone.” Stanley reached down and grabbed a small rock near the base of the tree and handed it to her. “Try to hit that bird over there.”
A rather unfortunate wren was curiously observing the couple from a safe distance. Jennifer looked hesitant, then hefted, squinted, and released.
With a solid thwap and a great deal of squawking, the bird was successfully sent to a safer location to ponder its offense. Stanley looked pleased.
“How do you feel?” Stanley asked with a beaming smile.
“Well, kind of bad for hitting that bird.” Jen looked dismal.
“Dear Jen, do you not see the forest for the trees? You have just uncovered a secret power, or two if you count the climbing of the tree, which my faith has not deemed the need to test. Look on the brighter side! You have discovered that you are indeed to be my sidekick.”
Jen looked a little more pleased, and massaged her throwing arm with care, until another puzzled look came onto her lightly freckled face.
“Wait, Stan-then what is my secret weakness?”
“That you should never reveal,” said Stanley very seriously. “What if I am captured, against all odds, and am tortured by some diabolical brain machine? It could easily not only lead the enemy to you, but uncover your secret weakness; and thus we could both be in very dire peril. I suppose that in the meantime, we will have to say that your weakness is being a girl.”
“Bollocks!” Jen shouted. How many times was she going to be happy, then mad again today, she wondered? She stormed over to the small pile of comics Stanley had placed near the rock. Picking one up, she stomped right back over to where he was standing and held the cover of one up to his face.
“And what is her secret weakness, you insufferable know-it-all?”
“Jen, you are not listening. Your ‘weakness’ is only a cover, a lie to mock the enemy with until we do discover your weakness. Until then, be content with thinking that you have no weakness. Confidence helps even superheroes, Jen. Besides, if I knew any superhero’s secret weakness, I wouldn’t speak it in this public place.”
Glancing around suspiciously, Stanley didn’t notice that yet again, Jen seemed to slip into doubt as she looked at the cover of the comic book she had just held up.
“Um… Stan, do you think that maybe I am missing something else?”
“What? Of course!” Stanley snapped back to the present (with a very sobering look). “We are missing a great many things, Jen, but all will be mended before too long. We are missing a lair of some sort, and costumes, of course, although that word doesn’t seem to do them much justice…”
“No, you twit, listen!” Jen wasn’t used to having to cut off her companion. She was beginning to wonder if this was a habit that would necessitate an introduction into her dialogue with her strange friend. “I mean, look at this girl on the cover… she has… things that I don’t have…”
“Jen, you seem strangely hesitant to discuss the obvious,” said a very misguided Stanley. “Of course, she has a custom belt, which would be very useful indeed, and a cape, although I’ve already told you we will remedy outfits at the soonest possible…”
“Boobs, you incompetent babblemouth!” Jennifer practically screamed.
For the first time in a while, Stanley seemed to be shocked to silence.
“I mean, she’s got, well, curves and such. I don’t feel very, well, super-heroine-esque in an eight year-old’s body.”
“Jen, you know as well as I do that not all superheroes are attractive. Take The Thing from The Fantastic Four, for example. One could almost say that his secret weakness could be a not-so-secret lack of diplomacy.”
“But he is a fellow. Every single woman superhero is attractive. Even the super-villain ladies are.”
Stanley thought deeply on this. “You finally speak some truth on this point, Jen.” Jen didn’t feel complemented. “I can only say,” he went on, “that the calling finds certain heroes and heroines at different times. The calling was meant for me, and it is unfortunate that it found me while you were so young. But think! Better to have received it early, in your case, than never at all. Perhaps you will blossom one day, and then the circle will be complete. Surely Wonder Woman and Batgirl did deeds of justice even in training bras. Until then, we can say that your secret weakness is your lack of the ability that all other heroines have of seduction. Not a very terribly secret weakness, I’m afraid. Much like The Thing, which is a rather unfortunate coincidence. But that weakness will have to serve, until we find another. Or perhaps, we could alter it when we arrange identity-masking outfits for our missions. Don’t worry, my sidekick; your secret is safe with me.”
Jen wasn’t horribly amused. “And what about you?” she asked. “What is your super power?
“Isn’t it obvious? Or did you never see a football game of mine?” Stanley looked around him, and quickly spotted the small boulder that he had been leaning on while reading, which seemed so long ago now. He braced himself, and then charged the rock with his shoulder lowered.
It is unfortunate that the wren which had before suffered a great injustice at the urges of Stanley wasn’t present to observe the following scene: Stanley’s shoulder hit the large stone with incredible force, sending him careening to the side of the stone where he fell in a heap. Jen ran to his side.
“Brilliant super power, that was,” said Jen as she stooped to investigate the damage to Stanley’s shoulder. Luckily, he seemed to have bounced off the rock at a good angle, if such a thing can be called good at all.
“Again, Jen, you speak of what you do not know,” said Stanley, looking hurt and massaging his shoulder. “While I have studied superheroes and their ways for a long time, I am new at being one. Comic books do not teach everything, and I lack a mentor, having to learn everything the hard way. Some of the greatest heroes of all time have had such ill luck; why should my fate be any different? I missed an important step, one that is present in the comic books, but doesn’t always present itself in real life; it depends on the object being pummeled. I shall not make that mistake again.”
Jen looked deeply puzzled. “And what was that?”
“You are wise to ask, for you will learn quickly by asking many questions, Jen,” Stanley said with approval. “I will not begrudge you for your position; unlike me, you have a mentor. You will likely learn a lot from my mistakes, and have less scars to show for them. You should feel honored indeed. As for the answer to your question, it lies in your hands, as answers often do.”
The only thing Jen felt was more puzzled. She examined the scene she had absently flipped to in the comic book she was holding. In it, a superhero was tackling some random thug. Other than the object being smote, the vignette was entertainingly similar to the display she just viewed in real life. “I don’t see anything, really,” she confessed.
“Dear Jen, the learning does start today, doesn’t it! And it what multitude! You shall be wise beyond your years because of your choice to fight crime with me. The answer is right there!”
Stanley pointed directly at something that is all too common in such media. Above the drawing of the thug being thrown down, there was a single word printed largely in a yellow oval with serrated edges.
“SSSmaCK!”
“It must be fun to make up words all day,” said Jen, apparently forgetting that she was in the middle of a very important lesson.
“Please, try to pay attention, Jen. You see, in real life, the sound must actually be made. There was no dramatic sound when I hit the rock-only a soft scuffing-but I would rather not discuss that incident further anyhow. Rather, I will set things right! In the future, perhaps, I will incorporate some noisemaking material into my costume. For now, I must be content with making the noise myself.”
“What noise? Ouch?” Jen asked with no small amount of sass.
“It seems a favorite sport of you to mock me, Jen,” Stan assumed his injured tone once again. “I know that has been a common mutual theme in our discussions in the past; but now our roles have changed. We must be serious; a great calling and charge has been laid on us. While you are learning, you should show me respect.”
“But you are mocking me constantly!”
“That, I’m afraid, is entirely necessary Jen,” Stanley stated with honest sympathy. “Point anywhere in that comic book and tell me if you find any sidekick making fun of his fellow fighter of crime without tasting some come-uppance. Also, tell me if you see any picture of one object striking another without a sound being accounted for. You see, the sound, like the respect, is necessary to fight evil in the proper manner. Also, it is fully allowable for the superhero to make jest with his sidekick for comedic effect. There is no reason that we cannot fight crime without having some fun. You should learn to laugh when I jest at your expense. It will make the whole thing easier for both of us.”
Jen thought that sounded like a great deal of words that her parents had trained her not to say, but given her strange friend’s mood, she decided not to pursue the matter. She did, however, begin speedily glancing through the comic book to see if there was a single instance of a sidekick being sassy and achieving the comedic effect (without tasting some form of wrath, of course). She was interrupted by a triumphant shout.
“Ready thyself, cruel stone!”
“But what did the stone do to you?” Jen looked as her companion appeared ready to charge the stone a second time (with his opposite shoulder, of course).
“Are you blind? Did you not just see the stone tumble me about? Such injury has never been suffered by a superhero.”
“But you attacked it first, and without reason!”
“You shouldn’t attack my motives, Jen.” Stanley got out of his three-point stance and resumed his lecturing pose, one that Jennifer was beginning to increasingly dislike. “For the most part, you should be silent, learning through observation. At the least, you could ask me questions, for I am a very wise, if very new, superhero. Did we not just cover this? Instead of arguing, ask, and I shall tell. As far as this meddlesome boulder is concerned, it did me injury simply by not yielding, for it is obvious that my strength alone should have thrown it about. Besides, Jen, as a superhero I now have the right to deem what I feel is offensive to the brothers of my charge and I, and even to the Guild. I attempted to use this stone to demonstrate my powers to my sidekick; a worthy pursuit. This stone mocked me, for even though the proper sound was not achieved, it could have been at least somewhat yielding, or provided the noise itself. No Jen, do not argue, simply watch! Only when my feats are proved entirely useless may we begin picking at my faults as mere peers.”
Jennifer remained silent, if only to avoid another lecture. It was obvious Stanley felt an incessant need to prove his point, anyway. He dropped low again, readjusted (as he seemed to have momentarily forget that his shoulder was injured) and charged the stone with all of the fury of the Light Brigade of poetic infamy.
“Ready thyself I say again, you sassy slab of stone!”
If the wren would have felt like the score was settled on the first charge, it would have felt deeply indebted to Stanley after observing his most inglorious second attempt to dislodge the stone. At the moment of impact, he let out a noise that sounded like it was going to be a crack!, but the end result was definitely not intended.
“CrrrrOUCH!” Stanley screamed, as the unforgiving boulder seemed perfectly content to tumble its attacker a second time. Stanley flew a small bit farther this time, though the tumbling was intensely more interesting. As he rolled about screaming obscenities, Jen rushed to his side again. The only apparent lasting damage was to Stanley’s pride.
Jen did not help the matter with her next comment. After assuring her comrade had broken no limbs, she inquired:
“Crouch? That was an interesting word choice. Why crouch? I thought for sure you intended to say ‘crack’ or some such nonsense.”
If possible, Stanley looked more injured. He sat up (now massaging both shoulders) and looked Jennifer square in the eyes once again.
“At least, Jen, you are asking questions now,” he said. “That is good; it is inspiring to me, as I am quickly losing my patience and my motivation, as well as much of my health. Of course, unless that evil boulder had loosened even my wits, ‘crouch’ would have been a poor selection indeed, as onomatopoeias go. No, my intention, you see, was to shout something more along the lines of your suggestion, to your merit. I confess, though, that I hadn’t fully chosen the word yet. It occurred to me in the middle of my charge that perhaps the word, like much art, has to appear during the aesthetic of the motion. I failed however, you see. I was weak, and my word became a confession of that weakness. I admitted an ‘ouch,’ Jen; and perhaps now you can see the irony of that unintended melding of words.
“But let us not dally on the minor failures! I hope you observed, Jen, that as I charged I referred to this rock as a ‘sassy slab of stone.’ That is alliteration-the forming of many words with similar sounds-and is encouraged for use when threatening objects about to be struck, even be they inanimate. For it is the duty of a superhero to also inform all those about of his proclamations of what is evil, and to do so in an artful manner, even while practicing. This is much like the comedic chiding of sidekicks; it makes the story more apt to retelling. And the quicker our deeds spread, the more will our enemies fear our justice. And why not also have them envy us for our wit? For envy can undo even the most powerful. Is it not a wonderful feeling to be envied by one you dislike?”
The only feeling Jennifer was experiencing at the moment was an intense desire to laugh as loud as she could, and she was holding it back with all of her strength. Stanley misinterpreted the expression on her face, which was definitely one he had seen rarely before, it ever.
“I see your inner struggle to take in these lessons, Jen,” he said approvingly as they both rose. “It is heartening to know that my injuries are not in vain. Even if you were not here, I would learn from them; but it is better that you see them firsthand. That way, two can learn from the folly of one.”