Publicly Underrated

   I hate superhero movies. They’re unrealistic. Not in the “Oh, really? Some guy gets bitten by a radioactive spider and now he’s just some magical super stud?” way. But in the “Oh, really? This new super stud has time to worry about love interests, can make a super tight supers suit (much less want to wear that gay ballerina s**t) AND is careless enough to not go back and make sure he didn’t leave any clues behind (isn't he supposed to be smart)? Then to top it all off, some super-villain conveniently makes an entrance so our super stud can become internationally adored by everyone ever” kind of way. Yeah, it’s a mouthful, but I got a lot to say about the subject, okay?

   Look, I’m not some sinister piece of s**t, okay? I am a little hostile, I'll admit to that much, but if you were a real “super stud” then you’d be pretty fed up with Spider-Man and the rest of the Avengers, too.

   Okay, let me introduce myself properly and explain a few things before we move forward. My name’s Christopher Farrel and no one calls me “Chris” or “Topher” because no one really addresses me besides my family and the old lady across the street who always wants me to mow her lawn for two nickels (never just a single dime, always two nickels). Which is fine by me because I guess you could say the comic books were right to give the super studs some degree of angst. My angst levels are pretty high and I would happily blame teenage-hood, but there's no denying the fact that there really is no one out there who can relate to me. Anyway, I’ve always known that I had some sort of God-given gift -- not that I believe there’s a God, because if there were then he wouldn’t give some hooligan like me superpowers, yadda yadda yadda.

   I first realized it when I was a kid because I could hear certain things I don’t think I was meant to hear, like my kindergarten teacher mumbling the words “I f*****g hate parents who don’t know how to teach their dumb kids to piss in the goddamn toilet” under their breath. (I spent the rest of the school year asking all my peers if they had to use the restroom and telling my teacher whenever they said yes.) Plus, there was this one incident where I really wanted to see what was in the safe sitting in the back of my parents’ large closet. Better than discovering my dad's gun collections and my mother's jewels, I found my strength allowed me to tear open the locked door with ease. No code or combination needed.

   So I essentially have super strength and the hearing of a dog, or better, I don’t really know. And I know what you’re thinking, “Super strength, real original.” But hey, at least I can lift a ton more than you. 

   Don’t ask why though, because I have no idea. As far as I know, my little sister is perfectly human with no otherworldly traits whatsoever. And me being found in some metal, foreign capsule isn’t an option because my dad plays the video of our births almost every time he gets wasted. Plus, I am known as his carbon-copy amongst family and neighbors.

   I am nineteen and have been acting as a “superhero” for about three years now. I still have yet to meet some badass rival who nearly ruins the whole universe, much less my life. But when I come across one, I’ll let you know. You'll probably hear about it before I get the chance to, though. The toughest guy I had to catch was so dumb, he made it difficult to track him because he had no real strategy. As far as I could tell, he would get bored and go for a Sunday drive before actually making the decision to rob whichever liquor store he ended up by. You can imagine the frustration of trying to to follow clues that had no pattern.

   And look, there really is no need to dress up like a f*****g prick-a*s dancer, okay? Why would I want to be so easily identified? All I do is catch the guy, tie him up, call the cops, and dip once they arrive. I don’t really leave, though. I kind of have to stay behind and hide somewhere where no one can see me and listen to the police talk to everyone to make sure I’m not given away. They normally ask the witnesses what they saw. Just imagine how the police would react if they heard on several occasions that some skinny dude in tights and a silly mask came to save the day? They’d make it public and everyone would be talking about and everyone would go looking for the guy. It’s way better to just show up in normal clothes. I’ve learned it’s better to just blend in as much as you can so people don’t get curious and try to find you.

   I think what annoys me most is that these people build and maintain relationships so easily. Maybe it is only me, mixed with the aforementioned teenage angst. Maybe if someone else were granted what I have been given, they’d be able to make friends and get a girlfriend and talk to their parents and spend time with their younger sister without an extreme amount of effort and patience. The thing is, it’s not someone else. It’s me, and I have to deal with it.

   My parents always ask me why I lead such a solitary life and it’s hard to just shrug and give some excuse about how you like being alone when really, being alone all the time sucks. I know some people like it, but even they can go to people and talk about their issues and have them be able to relate on some level. Who the f**k is going to relate to a morbid kid who fights crime using his “superpowers”?

   You can’t say I haven’t tried either because, trust me, I have. I’ve seen girls bat their goo covered lashes my way and tried doing that whole dating thing. But the closest to not uncomfortable I got was with this chick named Sloane.

   The thing about Sloane was that she was really different; the way she looked, dressed, thought, and spoke was so compellingly different that I thought maybe this would be the girl that would kick out that lonely feeling in my life. She was always trying to find something to do, though. She couldn’t just stay a night in and relax and breathe and let life just move on without her for a couple of hours. She also had a tendency to assume that just because I wanted to chill whenever we hung out, it meant that I was always chillin' and never doing anything demanding.

   “You’re going to waste away on that goddamn couch,” she told me the last time I saw her.

   “I hope I do. I’m tired of all this running around. What the hell are you trying to catch?” I propped myself on an elbow and turned towards her. Sloane had just gotten to my house so she could take me to a show as a surprise. When I told her I was too tired to go, she slapped her hands on her hips and recited her line.

   “Never mind that. Why are you tired? Why are you so damn tired all the time? You don’t do anything besides go to school and work. Other than that, you just stay home and watch your movies.” Her face softened a couple of moments after she stopped speaking. “Are you okay? You’re not depressed, or anything, right?” Her voice wasn’t hard anymore, but instead it was smooth and soothing as she took a seat next to me on the couch, stroking my face. Her untamed hair and face piercings could be distracting, but her beauty was always present in her regard. She must’ve been the prettiest girl I ever kissed or knew. I considered keeping this fresh sweetness and going along with the suggestion, but I also knew it would mean I would have to divulge into my "depression."

   “I’m not depressed, Sloane. I’m just tired. I told you, I do a lot more than just work and school,” I said calmly, doing my best to maintain this soft side of her.

It didn't work. Her hand fell from my face as her whole body deflated.

   “You see, you keep telling me that, but you never tell me what you do, so how do I even know you’re telling me the truth?” I hate it when girls do this. Like they are so clever and are going to finally get what they want out of you. They just sit there all smug because they know they’ve caused some sort of inner conflict in you. They want you to prove to them that you think they’re special by tricking you into telling them exactly what you’re thinking. They don’t care about comfort, as long as they get the information they need so they can be pained when it's all over. So they can prove that it was really love and act like it's not the bull s**t that it is. And I had thought Sloane was better than that.

   “I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.” The only answer I ever gave when someone questioned or challenged my integrity.

   “It’s getting hard to when everything you are conflicts with the things you say.” Sloane was obviously used to getting the information she wanted as she was smart and pretty and mysterious. Her last comment, however, chipped enough away from the qualities I found in her character to make it so she wasn't enough of anything for me anymore.

   I know for a f*****g fact that I was more than she would ever see. More than anyone would ever see. I keep my secrets because I don’t want people to glorify what I do because I think it is horrible that I have to use these powers to balance out the bad with some of my own good when I could be using it for fun if only people weren’t such shitheads. Plus, people like to glamorize stupid s**t. They romanticize hurt and try to show each other up by spewing out elegant words so they can be labeled wise.

   Well, it’s all bull s**t. No one knows a f*****g thing. That’s the only absolute you can learn. You know what? Who knows? Maybe there is a lot you can know, but it’s not worth it anyways. There’s no rhyme to memorize it once you’re dead and no reason to try when you’re living unless you feel the need to impress everybody. Well, f**k! impressing anyone. F**k having to prove yourself to people who aren’t going to remember you once they stop breathing. I’m glad I know better than to make sure people know I’m a good person and just actually be a good person. No sense in wasting time boasting.

   Instead of explaining myself, I decided to simply tell her, “I’d be offended, but, dear, you don’t know nearly enough to know anything, much less ‘everything I am.' ”

   She left after that. She tried to get me to explain myself, of course, but when I wouldn’t budge. She gave up. I knew Sloane would be telling people that I was a lazy, lying a*s hole and I didn’t care. It took her to realize that I would always be alone unless someone else with otherworldly powers showed up.

   I’m not holding my breath, though. For the most part, I like being on my own. I’m a lot easier to satisfy than anyone else, and I know for sure that I’m the good guy in every equation out there.