(Old Version) Hopelessly Heroic

two

THREE YEARS LATER

After my mom made the joke that I should have become a firefighter after quitting being a Superhero where I was, essentially, a firefighter, I hung up on her. I could almost hear her laughing even after the line disconnected. She made that joke practically every time I talked to her, and it wasn't funny the first time, either.

Being a Super paid well enough that I didn't have to worry about bills, but not well enough that I didn't have to get a job when I moved to a new city. Especially after deciding to go to college.

I enrolled in a business program with big dreams of opening my own store, but I dropped out after the first year when I realized I hated accounting and would never understand spreadsheets.

I worked instead at a bakery, where I earned a little over minimum wage and had to deal with cranky customers complaining about their pastries being too crisp. But I was often left alone, and got to practice baking different things. I had never been good at baking, but since getting the job, I found it was a great way to take your mind off things. Plus, whenever a recipe called for water, I just used my own.

I noticed myself doing that a lot; using my powers for mediocre things. I would fly a foot in the air if I couldn't reach something on the top shelf instead of climbing on the counter, and I would pour myself drinks from my own body instead of from the tap. I think I was afraid that if I stopped using them completely, they'd disappear. Like a muscle or something.

My manager, Ava, always had the news playing on the TV in the kitchen when I came in, and I always immediately turned it off. I couldn't handle hearing about all the latest fires seemingly sprouting out of nowhere. I was sick of being reminded that Willow was still out there, doing bad things in a different city each month, and that nobody was stopping her. She burned the cops that got too close, and worked alone, and was seemingly always on the news. I couldn't hear about her without it hurting, so I chose not to listen.

After being in the public eye for so long as a Super, I was relieved that I spent most of my time at the bakery in the kitchen in the back, where I didn't have to interact with people very often. When I was first hired, I had no experience cooking and, frankly, I wasn't very good. But after working there for two years, I had gotten the hang of it. Ava usually put me on the baking shifts because she said I was the best at baking bread, which was our main seller. My pastries, however, weren't quite as amazing. Ava disagreed and assured me that they were fine, but that didn't seem good enough for me.

So I spent a lot of time trying to perfect my pastries. Sometimes, though, I was scheduled for a cash shift. I would wake up cranky and put on makeup crankily and then I'd crawl into work and pretend to be happy that I had to serve all the cranky customers.

It was a Thursday afternoon, which meant it was agonizingly slow. Ava was in the kitchen baking and I could faintly hear the news. I tried to distance myself from it by grabbing the broom and pretending to clean near the front door. After a while, the noise stopped and Ava came out, and I knew she'd start talking about the news again. Even though I made it obvious I didn't want to know about it, she always told me anyway. I tried not to get mad at her since she was my boss and could fire me whenever she wanted.

"Another fire," She said, shaking her head, "You'd think they could catch her by now."

She was wearing an apron that was covered with flour, and when she put her hands on her hips, they left white hand prints.

"Yeah," I agreed halfheartedly, "You'd think."

"She's just a kid, too. Can't be older than, what? Twenty?"

"Twenty-three." I said automatically. She looked at me strangely for a moment, so I quickly corrected myself. "That's my guess."

She paused, obviously thinking about something. "You're twenty-three."

I rolled my eyes, seeing where she was going. "I'm also here while they're showing live footage of her on the news right now."

"That's not what I was accusing you of." She told me, hands up in surrender. She backed out of the room before I could decide if I wanted her to elaborate.

The TV turned back on in the kitchen, and I groaned out loud. I didn't get why she was so obsessed. Sure, keeping up with current events was important, but when it was only ever negative stuff, I couldn't see it being entertaining. Why bother doing something if it's just going to make you sad?