Superman's Cape Read online

  As his mother spoke, Kyle played that day back in his head. It was like watching one of the old super-8 mm films his father used to pull down from the attic to show him. His dad would laugh, explaining what ‘videos’ used to look like, a long time ago. But this wasn’t one of his father’s super-8 films; the film in his head was full of sounds and smells and feeling.

  3

  “Time to do the DQ,” Chris Connely told his boys while walking to a favorite ice-cream spot. The April air felt crisp and carried the smell of spring. He pulled his jacket closer around him and was glad he dressed his boys the same. “It’s never too early in the season for the DQ,” he mumbled proudly and listened to the sound of their sneakers following along.

  A shadow bounced on the sidewalk and then vanished. It bounced next to him again – and again, it vanished. Chris laughed as Jonnie jumped up and down trying to copy his steps. Chris looked behind him to see his son hopping and landing his little feet in just the same places as his own size tens. Kyle joined along while talking fast about who poned who on Xbox Live. Chris shook his head trying to understand the language. After sucking down a needed breath, Kyle put on a wide grin and asked whether the money he’d saved was enough for a trip to GameStop. Chris considered this a moment and then looked into his upturned face, “well, do you have a game in mind?” he asked, raising his brow.

  “It’s GameStop,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “There’s always a game I want,” he added, and chuckled.

  Chris nodded. “Fair enough. We’ll talk to Mom when we get home, sound good?” He paused and smiled, “Kyle … guess what – it’s time to do the DQ,” Chris stopped short and abrupt, realizing Jonnie wouldn’t be looking. A step and hop later and the top of his son’s head landed square against Chris’s rear. He watched as the shadow figure parroting his legs went flat and then disappeared. The bounce sent Jonnie back on his bottom with a thump. Kyle giggled once, then burst out laughing, citing more of the Xbox-ese that sounded alien to Chris.

  “Epic Fail dude – Epic!!” Kyle teased.

  Jonnie pulled his arms up and rolled to his side. “Hey, what up?” he said trying to get back to his feet.

  Chris lost his smile in an oops expression. He cleaned off his son then leaned in and lifted him up so that they were face to face.

  “Sorry 'bout that, didn’t know you’d end up on your end,” he consoled with a smile.

  Jonnie pumped his small fingers in the air, “Superman! Superman!” he yelled, reaching both his arms and his legs out in each direction. He was quick to forget the little bumps and ready to jump into the important ones like playing Superman. Not the new Superman, Chris thought or even the old Superman. But the only Superman he let his kids get to know, the one he grew up watching – the Christopher Reeves Superman.

  Chris put his hands under Jonnie’s belly and swung him around in small circles. Jonnie closed his eyes as the air pushed on his face; his smile broadened. He reached behind him and pulled out the sides of a blue blanket. It was his cape. Little giggles erupted into an excited laugh. Chris swung him around a few more times, laughing with him. But Chris slowed when a pass of air turned his nose.

  “Your cape is smelling rough little man, might be in need of some suds.” Chris moved his face close enough to touch his nose to Jonnie’s. Jonnie giggled and squirmed and clutched his cape. “When we get home … how about we trade it up for a clean one,” he said, staggering his words with each nose touch. Jonnie smiled and nodded a yup as Chris put his son down.

  “We should toss it out,” Kyle jumped up on his toes and shouted.

  “I mean seriously, shouldn’t it be in the trash? It stinks!” Kyle cackled and motioned a wave of his hand to his nose.

  “You stink,” Jonnie spat back at his older brother. Jonnie looked up to his Dad, a hint of hurt forming in his small round face.

  “It’s my Superman Cape – mom made it for me,” he followed up with an embrace of the blue.

  “Epic Fail, it’s not even red. It’s blue, ya dope. Superman’s Cape is red!” Kyle’s words howled in a relentless shout, laughing all the while.

  Jonnie took a small step back behind his father’s leg. One hand held the blue cape while his other took hold of Chris’s pant leg as though seeking shelter or a shield in the land of sibling rivalry.

  Chris gave Kyle a look of shallow irritation. “Kyle --” he said, raising his voice, “-- that’s enough. It’s just a blanket, let him have fun with it.”

  Jonnie’s hands held the blue against his chest, his knuckles growing white the harder he pressed as though daring his older brother to take it from him.

  “It’s my Superman’s Cape!” Jonnie said with a new defiance as he stepped out from behind his father.

  Kyle was already looking past the two of them by now – he spied the Dairy Queen sign a few yards ahead and took off for the entrance. For the foreseeable future Kyle forgot about the cape. He forgot about the stink of it. He may have even forgotten about his yet to be named Xbox game waiting for him at the GameStop.

  “Time to do the DQ,” he hollered, shooting a look back at his dad and little brother.

  “Sorry Jonnie,” he added with a smile.

  “Time to do the DQ, let’s go!” he repeated, waving his arms for Jonnie to join in the run.

  And just like that Chris saw the boys put an end to their hiccup. Jonnie looked up to his Dad, seeking approval to run ahead. Chris saw the white of his son’s knuckles returning to their former color and nodded. He watched Jonnie turn, his Superman cape swinging around with lift as he flew off in pursuit of his older brother. Chris smiled as the two of them ran together in a race for the doors of their local Dairy Queen. Time to do the DQ, Chris thought and picked up his feet in a run to join his boys.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Connely,” Chris heard from behind the counter. A girl of about fifteen peered around the side of the cash register and met them with a smile. She wore freckles across her nose that matched the color of her hair. Some of her hair stuck to her forehead while some teased her eyes. Like many of her peers, two rows of braces accompanied her smile which she was quick to cover up. He returned a smile to Eileen who lived on their street and who could whip up some of the best DQ Blizzards in less than five minutes. And who, on occasion, was willing to accept invitations to babysit. Chris found that especially useful for those evenings when he and Sara wanted more from a restaurant than a Waffle House or a Red Robin could offer.

  “Hi Eileen – you working here today,” Kyle asked, jumping in before Chris could reply. Chris watched as Kyle spoke. He watched his son stretch forward on his toes in an attempt to capture an extra half inch of height. Kyle leaned some more and pushed every bit of his skinny frame. Chris heard it in his son’s voice and saw it in his attempt to be 4-foot-something-more than he was. His son had a crush on the babysitter. Older girls will break your heart Kyle, Chris thought smiling.

  They were in luck, no lines at the counter and only a few customers in the diner-style seating that married the walls around them. To one side there were some teens. The girls busy on their phones – their thumbs hammering at the small keyboards. The teen boys opposite of them, the possible subjects of their texts, sat watching a video; the kind teen boys liked to watch. Behind them an old couple was splitting a milkshake and talking in whispers. Chris thought they could be contemplating the ten or more lactose intolerance rules they were breaking in a capture of delights from their younger years. Chris stole a look behind the counter to see if anyone was helping Eileen.

  “Here by yourself?” he asked.

  She shrugged a quick uh-huh, “just for a little while.”

  “At least it’s not too busy.”

  Eileen nodded then leaned over the counter to where Jonnie could see her, “you here for some Blizzards or is this trip just for Dad?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

  Jonnie turned to Eileen and stepped closer, his eyes gleaming. “I’m getting a Blizzard and – and my Dad thinks maybe he should
n’t have one cause on account his middle is bigger than it used to be,” he answered excitedly and with full sincerity.

  “We’ll have the usual three,” Chris answered to Eileen laughing. He pulled his boys together in front of him and rested his hands around their shoulders. Still smiling, Eileen tallied up the treats on the cash register. As she handed him dollars and change, all went silent in the Dairy Queen. The coins in her hand dropped. The sounds of loose change bounced and rolled across the counter pulling Chris’s eyes as some fell to the ground. He watched Eileen back away from them. He watched as she raised her hands as though shielding herself from some unseen forces.

  Chris didn’t so much as hear the first scream but instead saw it coming from Eileen’s mouth while she cowered further. Her eyes were on fire and fixed on a gun that was waving in front of her. It was a surreal moment, and Chris half smiled thinking that maybe this was a joke. A bad joke. The kind that ended up on YouTube or television like one of those flash mobs at the mall. But as fast as the circumstances changed from doing the DQ to realizing their lives were in danger, Chris knew this was the beginning of something bad. He knew it would get worse long before it got better.

  Kyle forgot about the Blizzards. He forgot about the beauty that was Eileen’s long brown hair and eyes and nose and mouth. He forgot about the fantasy playing in his head of a babysitter who had a crush on him. His mind went empty when he saw the large man behind them step up to the counter. A large man with a gun in his hand, raised from his side and pointing at his Eileen. Kyle felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. He felt the slow persuasion of direction it was indicating for him to move. Just a step or two would lead him and Jonnie to the safety behind his dad. As fear grew in him, Kyle was becoming more and more aware of the man in front yelling for money from his Eileen. He scoured the details of the man, his height, his face, his eyes and even his smell. The man was off he thought. Something was wrong. The man looked ill but then didn’t. The man looked desperate. He looked scared.

  Kyle picked up his little brother’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. The gesture was an assurance that he was there. Jonnie looked up at Kyle with words perched on his lips. Kyle gestured a no through short shakes of his head. Both turned back and peeked around their father’s legs to see the man. He wished his mother was with them so she could hold and comfort them and tell them it was going to be all right. But then as Eileen’s voice screamed out, Kyle flinched and pushed the thought out of his head, thankful his mother was home.

  The large man was screaming at Eileen for more money. He was bigger than their Dad but skinny, very skinny maybe even sick skinny. The sweat beads forming on the man’s brow connected and ran down and into his eyes. Kyle thought the wet might be stinging the already blood red eyelids that looked inflated and sore. Large pouches of gray carried the man’s eyes. Unshaven growth complemented what Kyle thought was an attempt to look Goth. Kyle saw Goth at his school, especially with the older kids – this wasn’t Goth. This was someone sick.

  “I know there is more money back there,” the man screamed with a spray of wet. Beads of sweat tip-toed across his lips before jumping with his words.

  “Fuck! I know there is more money. Dig it out – Dig it out or I’ll put ya in the fucking ground!” the man demanded, his voice escalating to a yell.

  “That is all the cash – I swear. Everyone uses bank cards. We don’t have that much cash.” Eileen said pleading with him.

  The man shifted his feet then swung his head around. “How stupid do you think I am? Those kids over there, the old farts back there – no more cash than the twenty-two you gave me?” the man said lifting his gun even further and waving it in connection with his words like a choreographed dance.

  “Here, take the Tip money … take my money. Just please leave.” Eileen said crying and choking back the tears between her words. Pushing away a stray mat of brown hair pasted to her cheek, she started to move the Tip jar forward. For a moment, the sound of the Tip jar sliding across the counter top was the only voice heard. Returning her hands, Eileen struggled to empty her front pockets. The contents were trapped in denim that should have been a size larger than they were. She glanced to Kyle and he thought he’d never seen more terrified eyes.

  An infection of shakes swelled in the man’s hand. The gun waved in the air. How long has it been since this started; seconds, minutes? Kyle thought of the book punishment his mom showed him once. Extend your arms, palms up, she told him. And then she placed a dictionary in each hand. How long did he manage that challenge, a minute, maybe two?

  The infection was spreading. The shakes from the man’s hand spread past his elbow and was entering his shoulder. That gun probably weighs twenty pounds by now, Kyle thought. The man’s legs were infected with tremors too.

  Chris felt the tension rising in the Dairy Queen. It was growing thick with fear sparking like a cold front pushing electricity across the sky. The teens sat mesmerized. Their phones still in hand but the rapid tap tap tap of thumbs silenced by the happenings just ten feet from where they sat. He was hoping one of them had the sense to text out a 9-1-1. But, he couldn’t exactly be sure how to do that. The old couple might as well have grown frozen. Chris caught the old man’s eyes. Without any words, he told him we need to let this thing blow over. No need for heroes. Hold onto your little ones and let this storm travel through. Chris agreed and offered a conservative nod.

  Eileen continued to negotiate. Chris begged in his mind that the man take what she offered and leave. He saw in the man’s stand that his desperation was reaching a boiling point. Chris recognized this was a sick man. An addict in a last resort move you never expect you will be witness to – at least nothing beyond the viewership of an afternoon news item. An addiction needed to be fed. A chemical imbalance that was this man’s brain and body which physically could not be denied. And at the same time a voice deep in this man’s rotting mind was explaining that all this was the right thing to do. There is justification in these actions. Your very soul depends on it.

  Chris tightened his grip on his boys’ shoulders so they knew to stay behind him. Looking down, he saw Jonnie was crying. He didn’t hear a sound, but he could see the tears welling up in Jonnie’s eyes before they ran away down his cheeks and onto the floor. They left teardrop marks in the white and black tiles where a coating of dust from the outside gave way to snowflake shaped droplets. There were a handful or more of Jonnie’s snowflake shaped tears staining the floor – please let this end soon, he thought. Chris collapsed his eyelids and tightened his grip on his sons again when he heard the chilling sound of the gun hammer being pulled back.

  “Last warning bitch – all of the money now,” the man screamed and yelled stomping his foot to the ground.

  Kyle responded to his dad’s hand and the reaffirmation to stay close. He obliged, then moved in so that most of his body was hidden behind his father. He did this for Jonnie as well, pulling him in closer. He thought at this point anyone on the other side might see just one person. Three empty blizzard cups on the counter and just his dad and that was all.

  Kyle watched the defeated look in Eileen’s face erupt. She was done. The crying turned uncontrollable and her breathing shallowed, and then deepened. All she could do in response to the demand was raise her arms, palms forward, and beg. Not beg, but do what sounded more like whimper. Kyle felt the sting of fear and realized a tear in his eye danced while the corner of his mouth juggled a frown.

  “I don’t have anything else.” she whispered in a lost breath.

  The hands that held Kyle and Jonnie were gone. In their place were the fading leftovers of someone’s touch after a hug or a pat on the back. The surprise lifted Kyle’s eyes upward to look at his father. It left him wanting to scream put your hands down, put them back where they were, but as he opened his mouth and reached up with his hand he could already hear his father’s words.

  “Listen buddy, there is nothing else here for you.” Kyle’s father pleaded as he rai
sed his palms forward. Kyle heard the uncertainty in his dad’s words. His dad was scared.

  The man turned toward Kyle’s father – the gun remained fixed on Eileen. The hammer was cocked. The gun barrel’s nose made small figure eights in the air as the tremors increased.

  Eileen had drawn her arms back to shield her face from the room. Hiding behind them, green eyes that could not see the world around her. Kyle’s mind went to images of an ostrich with its head buried in the sand, if I cannot see the world then the world cannot see me. When his father’s words broke the air, he saw Eileen lower one of her arms just enough to peek past her shield. She fixed her gaze on the father of the boys she babysat from time to time.

  “Take what is there and leave. Please. Nobody is going to follow – nobody is going to call the police. We all want this over and have you on your way. You won’t be going empty-handed,” Chris said motioning to the money. For a moment the man turned his eyes down to the money and lowered his gun to his side. At once the air seemed near void or evaporated of all tensions. It was replaced with a relief that seeped from some magical place you’d experience after a good storm. Whether he was drug-sick or in need of a new fix, the man looked to have taken Chris’s words as the best option offered. He seemed resigned to the negotiation and prepared to leave the DQ. After a long wheezing pull of air, and the man turned his head to one side as everyone saw the gun swing up in a short half circle that landed in the direction of Chris Connely and his boys.

  Perhaps the lowering of his gun was just a respite to settle the infection of tremors racing through the muscles of the man’s arm. Regardless of what everyone thought was going to happen, they’d have a different story to tell. And the story wouldn’t be spoken with relief sprinkled across the words from one’s lips to a listener’s ears.