Flyover City! A Novel (with Superheroes)

11. The First Time I Saw a Superhero

There are volumes of books, piles of newspaper and magazine articles, and endless blog-memes spread across the Internet, all trumpeting the significance of what an individual's favorite hero says about them. I could go on Google right now and find probably five therapists in my area who've built their entire practice using a model of human behavior based on that preference alone. Twice that, in Boulder.

Reductionist bullshit, I say. I mean, the Hispanic community naturally has a lot of enthusiasm for The Lucha Legion, but that doesn't mean the average El Jaguar fan longs to go about his daily routine, hidden behind a decorative gimp mask.

Say somebody answers "Alphamale" - does that automatically mean they're some right-wing talk radio listener who's comforted by the hero's striking Aryan features? Couldn't it just be because of that whole "saved the world from a rouge planetoid" thing back in '99? If they say "Micro Girl": It could be because they think she's a positive role model for young girls, but then again, maybe they're just some creepy fetishist who's into small chicks.

On the other hand, the identity and code-name a particular hero chooses for themselves - see, that's huge. Especially among that select group of individuals who've chosen a career in heroics without the benefit of any powers at all. For example, the mantle of "Darkstreak" no doubt reveals someone whose own sense of justice is just a little twisted, a little dangerous. Or "Joust", with his belief that having a trick-lance and a motorcycle makes crime fighting a viable career option? Clearly reveals a sense of arrogance bordering on the pathological.

Who will I be, then? I have yet to be visited in my dreams by some mythological creature, inspiring me on my quest. And I have to admit, my own personal tragedy doesn't exactly lend itself to the most dynamic theme. At the end of the day, there will no doubt be the naysayers who view me the same way I look at the "Lance of Liberty".

But am I having second thoughts? Not on your life.

I may not have a costume, or a body of taut, perfectly sculpted muscles (yet). But I have something deeper than that. I believe. I'm not waiting for some exploding microwave to shower my body with malphysical radiation. There's no Greyraven Diet book on the shelves to guide me toward my goal (though, for the record, there should totally be a Greyraven Diet book). But - all my airs of cynicism aside - I truly believe that an ordinary man, with nothing more than a dream, and a plan - can accomplish great things.

The first time I ever saw a hero - in person - was my junior year of high school. My dad has this annual insurance adjuster's convention that he goes to every year, the one big to-do in his whole career. That year, it was in New York City, so dad decided to bring me, my mom, and my little brother along for the trip. (Yes, believe it or not, I have been out of Colorado once or twice in my life) He figured we'd visit the Statue of Liberty, maybe get in a Broadway show while we were there.

That book had just come out, detailing The Agency's declassified World War II files, from when they were still called "The Allied Force", with guys like American Eagle and Fighting Yank on their roster. Ultraphenomenon was making an appearance at the Virgin Records in Time Square to sign advance copies. The whole event was a benefit for kids with cancer.

Like everyone else in the lower 48 states at the time, I was a huge fan of Ultraphenomenon, so there was absolutely no way I was going to miss my one chance to meet him in person. Much to my chagrin, my mother refused to let me go down myself, so she and Brent came with me at 5 a.m. to claim a respectable place in a line that would ultimately stretch for a full four city blocks from the front entrance.

Now, even though I've lived my whole life in the twenty-sixth biggest city in America, I've always thought of myself as a fairly urbane guy. Urbane enough, at least, that I'm not going to reveal myself as a complete yokel, when I'm standing within the caverns between immense skyscrapers. But that cold, damp morning totally blew my mind. It was like a rock and roll concert; maybe even a religious pilgrimage: New Yorkers and tourists alike were on their best behavior as we waited. Even Brent, who to this day can be something of a petulant little prick, stood patiently in anticipation for Ultraphenomenon to take the stage. Makes sense, I guess: if you want to keep a couple thousand people in line, let them know there's a guy who can generate solar flares from his fingertips mulling about the neighborhood.