Superman's Cape

by Brian Spangler

  He hit his arm again as more movement and itching pulled him from his vampire and ash fantasy.

  “Mom,” he mumbled, and started to cry as all of it, every last bit of it, was eroding his state of being to the point of his wanting to forfeit. Except it wasn’t just about forfeiting five more minutes in bed. He wanted to lie down and go back to sleep and he didn’t care if he ever woke up. His belly grumbled, but he no longer felt the same hunger. It stirred an empty reminder like the tree tops were doing. They rumbled concern over winds that pressed heavy on their branches. The pain in his arm and the fear of what might be living in there grew a web of craziness that was contagious. He couldn’t comprehend all of it. Not with the starved mind of a twelve year old. An hysteria was evolving and it was becoming more the norm from minute to minute and altogether replacing who he was.

  27

  An uncomfortable silence invaded the trailer as Sara sat across from Jacob. He guessed from the stillness that blanketed the room, she was trying to understand what was happening. It was quiet. Too quiet. The tick-tock of the second hand from a wall clock pulled his eyes. The clock didn’t fit. It was beautiful, and he guessed expensive, but it was out of place. He considered the photo on the table. The one that showed him Sara’s family. They stood in front of a large house holding a bright red SOLD sign. Maybe the clock was a leftover from their home in the photo. Maybe it was one of the few pieces they kept from a time that was no longer theirs.

  As he stared into the face of the clock, he had a memory. But it wasn’t his. They bought the clock at a yard sale. It was a month after they’d moved and he remembered wanting to offer more than was asked. “Such a beautiful piece”, he said to the lady with the thinning hair. Cancer treatments, he remembered thinking when he saw that some of her hair was falling out. She told him to please put your money away. She said the clock was a wedding gift from her father. She said the clock aged a lifetime with her and her late husband. And that it was time to go to a nice young couple and start again. She handed it to him with a smile and he remembered smiling back and understanding what she was telling him.

  The outside winds were picking up. It interrupted the memory and the tick-tock of the wall clock. Jacob tried to make sense of the time-piece and the old woman. Where did the memory come from? Maybe his gift was back and it manifested itself in a new form. Maybe it was Sara’s memory. He didn’t think so. On the other hand, his gift might be back and a hint of wellness lifted him. It was a small token, but it was something.

  The young winds of the storm rapped on the metal siding. When Jacob felt the trailer shudder, he was certain Sara would start asking questions. Sara seemed oblivious to the storm. Even when a loose piece of the siding hit against the trailer like a broken bell, she didn’t move. Instead, she pushed her chair back from the table. Jacob watched with regret as she stood to leave. I shouldn’t have reached across to her hands. But it wasn’t his own doing – at least that’s what he told himself.

  She didn’t turn back. She didn’t pause. Sara approached the door. Jacob opened his mouth to say something. Anything. But then didn’t. Sara hesitated before turning around. She held her hand and the ring on her finger. Her eyes darted around until they settled on him. She sighed and said, “I don’t know what is going on here, but … it is something.”

  “Please …” Jacob started, but when she lifted her hand again, he stopped and let her continue.

  Hesitant and uncertain, she started, “I … I don’t know you, and you don’t know us. I think whatever might be happening here, is real. And it isn’t a bad thing. It may even be a good thing. Maybe something that can help me find my son, Kyle,” she explained as though she were trying to convince herself.

  Sara paused and stole a breath before saying, “I do know that whatever brought you here, whatever it is that is in you, or is you, it reminds me of Chris, my husband … ” she continued, but then caught her voice as it began to shake. She raised her chin.

  “… and I want to see more of it,” she finished and raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

  Jacob saw the tears as she swiped one away. He felt both guilt and relief. She did believe that he wasn’t crazy. But at the same time, he was causing her more pain. Jacob dropped his eyes at this last thought. When he went to say something he saw that Sara had already put her hand on the door’s handle and was leaving.

  “Where is my momma going?” a tiny voice asked from behind him. The question startled Jacob. Jacob turned and moved toward the boy. He smiled as Jonnie’s small hands rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Gently, he answered, “She is going to check on your brother.”

  “Are you going to …” Jonnie started as a yawn broke his words, “… stay with us?” he finished.

  “Just until my friends get back --” Jacob replied, and then considered what Sara had asked.

  “-- or, I might stay until we find Kyle.”

  “My brother is missing. He went out the door when he broke the picture and he was crying and my momma was crying and the glass was on the floor and then he was gone,” Jonnie rattled out words as daylight from the window replaced the sleep in his eyes.

  Jacob looked at Jonnie’s green eyes – and like Sara’s, they were familiar to him.

  “You have your momma’s pretty eyes,” Jacob whispered.

  “My eyes are green. My momma’s eyes are green, but they’re my momma’s eyes and these are my eyes,” Jonnie said smiling. The boy’s smile warmed Jacob and he returned his own grin.

  Jacob pressed against the side of his head. A thump pushed more memories that he didn’t recognize. And then he was back at the door where the light bled into the hallway. It was there he saw the shoes breaking the light beneath the door. The door thumped again while he watched Jonnie continue talking about things boys his age rattle on about. The door thumped again. Jacob realized that it might be his decision as to whether or not he should open the door. The door thumped a fourth time and all he could think to do was run. Jacob closed his eyes and ran from the corridor. He ran from that place until the thumping went away.

  “Mister, you gonna spill?”

  “Spill?” Jacob asked and opened his eyes. A sheet of sweat ran from his forehead and around his eyes. It fell down his face, turning cold as it left his chin. The room seemed to turn onto its side but Jacob settled a moment and the room righted itself back up.

  “Ya know, Spill,” as Jonnie talked, he motioned with his hands the signals for throwing up. Amazing at any age – everyone knows what that means, he thought and put on a smile.

  “Oh, Spill -- no, not today.”

  “I miss my dad, miss 'im bad,” Jonnie exclaimed and just like that Jacob realized how innocent and quick the boy’s mind worked. He ran from topic to topic; free to say whatever he thought.

  And like his green eyes, another familiar comfort came to Jacob. It was the boy’s voice. Jonnie reached past Jacob and extended his small arm across the table. He pushed until he was on his toes and put his fingers on the top of the photograph. Jacob followed the photo with his eyes as it passed in front of him. Jonnie picked it up and brought it to his chest and closed his arms around it.

  “This is my dad,” Jonnie whispered and put the photograph back on the table in front of Jacob. Jonnie’s round face offered a reserved smile that revealed dimples which he guessed were hidden most of the time. He turned from Jacob to the photo and then showed him each person.

  “This is my momma and this is my brother Kyle and that is my Dad. Only now there is just me and my momma and Kyle but Kyle is lost in the woods,” he continued and then offered up a broader smile before returning his eyes to the photograph.

  Jacob watched as Jonnie touched his father’s face in the photo and then moved his hand to his older brother and touched his face.

  “Kyle was mad. He got madder, and I think it was me he was mad at the most,” Jonnie explained as his smile disappeared. He replaced his dimples with a lower lip that began to tremble.

  “I just w
anted DQ --” Jonnie said and gave Jacob an embarrassed and shameful look. “ -- time to do the DQ,” he sang out, showing a half smile but pulling it back as he turned his eyes down. “Time to do the DQ,” he mumbled then sniffed back a tear.

  “But why would you say your brother blames you? It was a terrible thing that happened Jonnie. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Jacob tried to offer.

  Jacob shifted in his seat as Jonnie started talking some more, “See, ummm … see, we were at the DQ and my babysitter Eileen was there and then there was this man. And he had a gun. And I think he was going to hurt Eileen with it. He kept screaming and saying the eff word lots, but didn’t hurt Eileen …” Jonnie continued talking as a shade of red lifted up to his chin. Jacob could see the emotions of that day. He could hear them in what Jonnie recited. And he was certain a memory haunted and punished each time it passed across his eyes.

  Jacob wanted to take the memories. He wanted to squash it. Jonnie paused for a moment to catch his breath. Quick and unexpected, it was then that Jacob realized he could feel what Jonnie was telling him – showing him in his own special way.

  “… and then my Dad started talking to the man and I got really ascared and was crying some. But Kyle didn’t look 'fraid, he looked mad, 'cause my Dad was talking to the man …” Jonnie continued, as Jacob leaned further from the edge of his seat. He listened to every word. Letting the story paint a picture show in his mind of what had happened.

  “… There was a loud bang that hurt my ears and we all fell down cause we was behind my Dad. He was protecting us. When we fell down, the floor was hard and I couldn’t hear nothing 'cept some ringing in my ears …” Jonnie paused, he motioned his hands in the same manner as though rehearsing the next part of the play that was showing in his mind.

  Jonnie started to sob but continued motioning with his hands, “… I think – I think Kyle was mad at me 'cause my Superman’s Cape was blue and he said it had to be red and I think that was why it didn’t work. It didn’t help my Dad. I tried to fix the blood with my Superman’s Cape but it didn’t fix it. It didn’t fix my Dad and he died and I think that is why Kyle left 'cause my Superman’s Cape is blue – not red,” Jonnie finished and without warning collapsed against Jacob crying. Jacob felt the sobbing and wondered if it could be the first real tears the boy shed for his father.

  “Jonnie, what happened to your Dad can only be blamed on the bad man that shot him. Neither you, nor Kyle, could have done anything to prevent that. Do you understand?” Jacob asked, hoping Jonnie listened.

  “Uhhh-huhh,” Jonnie replied, looking up at Jacob and wiping the wet on his cheeks and beneath his nose.

  When Jacob realized what Jonnie had said, he asked, “Jonnie, you wore Superman’s Cape? Was it yours?”

  “Yeah. My momma made it for me. It’s my Superman’s Cape,” he said with an eager smile. He said it again while he straightened up and spun on one foot. He spun once more before losing his balance and catching himself on the table with a small laugh. He giggled as a tear fell to Jacob’s hand.

  “It was your Superman’s Cape. Superman’s Cape is real,” he mumbled.

  “You wanna see it?” Jonnie exploded, as kids often do. Jonnie’s eyes were wide with excitement and with tears that were beginning to dry. Surprised by the question, he thought for sure the blanket must be long gone. Jacob jumped when Jonnie did a quick about face and ran to the collection of boxes along the far wall. The boxes separated the kitchen and family area from the bedroom. Jonnie picked through the stack of boxes. His hands managing to handle the size of the boxes as though he were much older. Each box was labeled with a room name of their own.

  Jonnie jumped from one box to the next. With each, he put his hand on the outside. There he paused a moment before moving on to the next one. After a few more boxes, Jonnie stopped and smiled. The box was smaller than the others and was missing a room name from its sides. The only writing Jacob could see was the letters ‘LUL-LUF’ scratched out in a black Sharpie mess. Jacob mouthed the letter ‘LUL-LUF’ and wondered what it meant.

  Jacob started to get up from his seat to help Jonnie but then stopped. Jonnie didn’t wait. He didn’t look at the stack of boxes above him. He didn’t look back at Jacob to ask for help. He didn’t seem to care that a tower of cardboard threatened to tumble onto his small frame if he moved the ‘LUL-LUF’ box. Jonnie snapped the box from the middle of the cardboard tower. The tower dropped straight down in a thud. Jacob sat back down and enjoyed watching Jonnie at work. The boy was on a mission. He was focused on an objective with no plan to rest until satisfied.

  The sound of tape ripping from cardboard bounced off the trailer walls. Jonnie dove his hands into the box and pushed back and forth. Jacob saw him squeeze the dark of the room from his eyes as he pushed and pulled trying to find what it was he was looking for. A grin crossed Jonnie’s lips. He returned his eyes to Jacob’s and pulled a plastic pouch from the ‘LUL-LUF’ box, waving it over his head.

  The pouch was about the size of a shoe box with a white lining along the edges and see-through sides. The zipper’s paddle handle swung like a pendulum back and forth as Jonnie walked over to where Jacob sat.

  “It’s my cape,” he said with an infectious enthusiasm that only kids his age knew. Jacob smiled back at Jonnie and replied, “I can see that …” and before he could continue, Jonnie unzipped the bag and unrolled a blue blanket from inside. A second later Jacob’s smile disappeared as he saw the first of many dark spots. Not spots. Spills. It’s blood … his father’s blood, Jacob thought and realized how much of Jonnie’s story was the truth in his telling of it.

  “You really did try to save your Dad with your Superman’s Cape – didn’t you?” he whispered in a mumble while Jonnie spread out the Blue in a fanned lift then drop. Jonnie didn’t seem to see the blood, or he didn’t care, he just smiled as broad as the blanket was covering the floor.

  Jonnie swung the blanket around his shoulders and his small hands pinched the corners beneath his chin. There he tied a knot of knuckles and fingers, then ran around, circling the room and letting the blue of the cape lift into the air behind him. As the blue rose higher and higher the thumping from Jacob’s head started then strengthened.

  With each pass of the blue in front of him, a brain thump caused Jacob to jump. He pressed his hand back on to the side of his head. He could feel the knock on the door inside his mind through his skull and through his skin and then onto the palm of his hand.

  “Superman’s Cape. I got my Superman’s Cape,” Jonnie yelled and circled around again. Jacob grabbed even harder at the side of his head. He thought one or two more thumps and blood would explode from his temple or push his eyes completely out of their sockets.

  “Jonnie, maybe this isn’t such a good idea --,” Jacob pleaded in a voice he hardly recognized or heard.

  “I got Superman’s Cape,” rang out into the trailer’s thin air. The thumping turned to a loud knock and seemed to compact a massive pressure against the back of his eyes. Jacob pulled his other arm up and cradled both sides of his head. He pressed his hands against his temples to try and counter the ripping and the pain. He pleaded with Jonnie to stop.

  “Please, Jonnie. Maybe you should put that away!” Jacob begged and then jumped almost out of his seat as the screen door in front of them slammed shut. Sara stood at the face of the door and watched while her son ran in circles. She watched as the blue blanket with the blood of her dead husband chased the boy.

  “Jonnie!” she snapped, her voice sounding full of shock and an emotional dread Jacob recognized as grief.

  Jonnie didn’t hear his mother, or chose not to hear her. He turned to circle around once more. The knock in Jacob’s head hammered against the door. Jacob let out a small scream as the wood of the door broke and splintered into his mind. Jacob crumpled in his seat when the pain thundered like lightning. He tried to pull himself back up but then slumped forward again when the voice of another man yelled from inside to let him out.r />
  As Jacob sat back, a tear of blood filled his eye. It stuck to the lip of his lower lid a brief second then spilled over onto his face. It ran slower than a normal tear but finally made its way to his chin before falling off. When Jonnie slowed in his run, Jacob reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His hand lay down onto the blue of the blanket, on the blood of Sara’s husband and Jonnie turned around and wrapped his arms around Jacob.

  When Jacob looked to Sara, he saw a man in black standing in her place, his legs and arms were shaking. Drug sick, he thought and watched as the man pulled a small revolver up from his side so that it was pointed directly at him. He looked at the nose of the barrel. He looked at how the gun rocked back and forth then settled. He looked into the dead one-eye stare that was the end of the gun’s barrel. Jacob dropped his hands to his sides and glancing down he saw that he was standing with Jonnie on his right and Jonnie’s older brother Kyle on his left.

  Without a second thought, he pulled his arms over the boys so that his hands worked them in closer behind him. Jacob looked once more to the man holding the revolver. He saw the mask of nervous sweat on the man’s face. He saw the adrenaline seizing the man’s muscles and then he saw the man mouth the words I’m Sorry as the hammer on the back of the gun squeezed out the little bit of air that stood between him and the bullet aimed at him.

  28

  Kyle opened his eye to the full brightness of the woods. He squinted a little, but after a minute he caught up and could see everything. The smell of salt in the air hurried him out of his sleep. A revelation came to him; he could breathe through his nose again. It pained him some, but he could smell. Another deep breath and he picked up the scent of pine trees. He searched the wet bark on the trees. Large shingles reflected the morning light. But they weren’t drizzled in dew, it was tree sap; sweet and sticky. He was reminded of Christmas and mornings with hot pancakes drenched in maple syrup. When was the last time he ate? When did he remember wanting to eat? It was cruel to get his sense of smell back only to be reminded of such things. He giggled a little, wishing for trees that bled bacon grease to go along with the sap of the pines.