They say I’m a hero. I’m not so sure what a hero even is.
Is it someone superhuman, of just an ordinary person in extraordinary circumstances?
It started like every Friday starts- standing in line at the First National Bank of Metropolis. The sounds of gunfire and the shouts to drop to the ground were an unpleasant delay in an already hectic schedule. Everyone had Christmas shopping and lives to attend to, and between the gunmen and the police, this was going to take hours.
The gunmen were wearing ski masks, as though that would save them, and carrying double barreled shotguns.
No one was particularly worried. The gunmen had to be idiots, trying to hold up a bank in the shadow of the Daily Planet globe. It had been apparent to everyone for a long time that Superman had certain neighborhoods that he patrolled more frequently, and this was one of them.
Everyone had become a little blasé, in fact, certain that the city’s protector would be there for them, would keep them from harm as he always did.
His arrival was expected, and he came as he always did, larger than life. At least this time he came through the door. The banks had been complaining about the expense of repairing concrete cinderblock walls after he crashed through them, and after a few years on the job he was starting to listen.
The three gunmen should have panicked, blustered, tried to take a hostage. Instead, one of them pulled something from his pocket and threw it at the Man of Steel.
None of us expected him to stumble, then collapse, staring at the glowing green rock at his feet. By now, everyone knew what it was, and it explained a lot.
He was five feet from me, and I was crouched behind a counter. One of the gunmen shouted at a teller to start loading up the money, while another watched over the crowd.
The third walked slowly up to the man of steel, cautious lest he still have some of his strength left. The longer he was exposed the weaker he’d get.
My mother was beside me, and she tugged on my leg to keep my head down. The situation had turned from something annoying to something serious. Without Superman, people might actually die.
The gunman nudged the rock with his foot, pushing it a little closer to Superman, who looked like he was having a horrific cramp. The tendons in his neck were tense, and he was straining to even catch a breath.
A flash of memory. I’d stared up at death before, had the sudden realization that everything was going to end at a very young age.
I knew I had to do something.
Being a cheerleader had to be worth something. As the man brought the gun down towards Superman I was already moving. A moment more and we were struggling with the shotgun.
I wasn’t the only one. Seeing that the others were distracted, both of them were mobbed by bystanders who wrestled them to the ground.
My own mother grabbed the kryptonite and ran outside, throwing it in the sewer.
I was the one who failed. By the time the others had gotten to me, the man had already gotten control of his shotgun, and there was the thundering sound of a shot.
I felt something trickling down my leg.
The pain was more than I would have expected. The world went black.
****************
They call me a hero, but really everyone there could be called that. Everyday people doing extraordinary things. I’m just the one who got shot in the hip.
The docs say it won’t scar much. I’ll be able to wear bathing suits in a couple of years- less if I avoid thongs.
The story made national news of course. I’m a blonde white woman, somewhat pretty, and a cheerleader. For some reason news outlets love telling stories about girls like me. Usually because we got kidnapped while drinking in a foreign country, or maybe just while out shopping, so an act of “heroism” ought to be an improvement.
****************
This pair of reporters were a lot like the last, but at least they asked better questions. Clark Kent and Lois Lane-Kent…I’d never thought to be interviewed by anyone of their stature.
“So why?” Mr. Kent had to be in his forties by now, but he looked at least ten years younger. If I’d been feeling better, and he hadn’t been married, I might even have flirted a little.
“Something happened that changed my life when I was five years old, Mr. Kent.” I stared down at the bed. “I had a teddy bear once that almost got me killed. I remember grabbing it, then looking up and seeing a billboard falling straight toward my head.”
For some reason Mr. Kent looked startled, as though he knew what I was going to say next.
“He saved me. In a way, he’s been responsible for every good thing I’ve done in my life since then. When it came down to it, I had to save him.”
“You were one of the first people he rescued,” Mr. Kent said.
I nodded. I’d had some celebrity for it back then too, in Kindergarten. Had my picture in the paper and everything.
“A long time ago I made a promise to myself that I was going to make my life mean something.”
Not that I was joining the peace corps or giving up on boys. There were limits to what a teenage girl could endure.
The reporters seemed satisfied and left.
*************
I woke from a sound sleep. It was nighttime and someone was standing over my bed. He offered his hand to me and he smiled.
Superman smiled at me.
Wait till my friends find out…I’ll rub it in for months.
Being a hero is one thing. Being a teenage girl is something else entirely.
Luckily, I get to be both.
