by Beth Lynne
Interestingly, Tanya was more of the enigma. She was an actual nurse with an actual job in a hospital that she attended every day, but also had a law degree. However, she also worked for some agency in the government via Celia Smith, Simon’s former coworker—a chemistry teacher that was eventually promoted to elementary principal, which turned out to be a poor choice for Celia. She had wanted to lead a high school, not work with little kids. She and Simon had had a conversation before she left the science wing of their school. She was happy to be promoted, but they shared a mutual dislike and lack of patience for small children. Celia was a product of her generation: women did not become scientists back then, but she loved science. Apparently, that paid off for her in later life, as this hookworm idea was doing marvelous things for her. Simon was always happy for a coworker that “made it out.”
But Tanya—beautiful, calm, relaxed-looking. She worked like a dog, all day at the hospital and well into the night at home and serving her country. Simon couldn’t guess when she slept because he knew that she spent a good part of the day seeing to Jordan’s needs as well. He could guess that they would never really care if they had kids or not, or at least right away. They were so wrapped up in each other.
Supposedly, Tanya was the one who felt his “vibe.” She was on duty in the ER, and as soon as she felt it, she took pictures of Simon’s chart and she and Jordan engineered renting the condo next to his. Jordan was already undercover at the elementary school, which supposedly was at-risk for attack by the underworld, a scary thought, but one they weren’t worrying about today. From there, it was easy setting him up to access the simulation chamber. Jordan laughed, clutching his belly when recounting this part of the events that led up to their current circumstances. Apparently, he’d stuck a little serum into Simon’s glass of milk. “And then, and then,” Jordan said, giggling like a maniac, “Simon, you had this look like you just crapped yourself, and then you dissipated into the chair and landed on your frickin’ stomach, and once you heard that growling, oh man!” He was breathless, tears streaming out of his eyes, until Tanya hushed him.
“Jordan, this is serious! Celia was not happy. She almost wanted to abort Simon’s training until she remembered that she knew him and that he was a wonderful source of support to her when she was miserable working in the education field. She knew then she couldn’t…uh… abort, but if Simon can’t get it together, she might change her mind.” Tanya delivered this entreaty as calmly as ever, but Simon felt a little frisson of fear at the use of the word “abort” and Tanya’s little stutter.
“Aw, we’re gonna fix everything. Remember, Simon, this is just a simulation, so whatever you do to fight back is just a fake. And, if you have any doubt and need coaching, Smith has got your back. That kid is the best trainer. You probably will discover your superpower when you get down there today.” Jordan must have thought that this was an enticement, but right now, Simon was longing for his recliner and TV remote, maybe with a nice scotch from the black label bottle.
The serum, Jordan explained, could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the amount, strength, receiver’s body weight, and, most importantly, the energy the receiver used while exerting superpowers and activities to save the world. The dosage given to Simon while “babysitting” Jordan was a small amount compared to what would be injected into his veins. Celia was hoping that, over time, the fighter would build an immunity that would prevent the body from expelling the special qualities or that she could develop such an “inoculation,” but currently, they just had to inject daily once the trainee passed basic training and became a full-fledged operative. Alternatively, she was trying to develop a time-release tablet to ingest daily, but that was still under experimentation. Today, however, Simon could drink a little serum in water, Jordan and Tanya nixing the suggestion that he have it in a little scotch.
He sat in the dining room chair, the one Jordan rigged for his entry to the underworld, the one that Tanya was so annoyed about. He didn’t understand the problem, but Tanya told him it was due to the lack of the chair’s portability, that Simon would have to be home to do any good. “So I’m an old man. I’m always home, or not far away.” Tanya shrugged and gave him a half smile.
“Okay, hang on to your seat, Mr. Berger. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride,” she said, handing him the glass of murky water.
17
Simon took a gulp of the water. He felt instantly nauseated, like he had to throw up. The queasy feeling overtook him, and he got up from the table, ran to the bathroom, knelt to the porcelain god, and emptied his dinner into the toilet. He curled up on the bathroom rug, sweating profusely and breathing quick little breaths.
Jordan had followed him in with Tanya right up behind him. “Man, you look like a pet hamster I had just after my cat—”
“Jordan, move your behind out of my way or you are gonna look like the hamster.” Tanya elbowed him out of the way. She was equipped with a blood pressure monitor and stethoscope. Kneeling down to access Simon, she slipped the blood pressure onto his arm and took his pressure. “A little high. How do you feel?” She grabbed his wrist, feeling for his pulse. “Hmmm, 102.” She pushed the stethoscope under his t-shirt. “Breathe for me. Okay.” She helped Simon to his feet. “Can you get back into the chair, sweetie?”
“No offense, Tanya, but I still feel sick as hell. Can we do this another time or maybe never?”
Tanya and Jordan exchanged concerned looks, which Simon caught.
“Simon, it has to be today,” Tanya informed him gently, leading him out to the small dining area. “Maybe now that your stomach has settled a bit, we can try again. Okay?”
“How do we know I didn’t puke it out?”
“Only one way to find out, Hamburger!” Jordan stated, helping Tanya to pull Simon onto the chair. Once Simon was seated, Jordan flung himself over Simon’s lap. Instantly, Simon faded and disappeared and Jordan found himself alone on the chair.
“Hey, Simon, over here! How ya doing?”
“Where?” This time, Simon had landed on his rear end rather than prone, so he had a clear view of a dank, darkish cave with torches flickering along the walls. Nice special effect, he thought.
“Look to your right.”
Simon looked over and found a blond kid waving at him from behind a partition. He waved back weakly.
“Stand up, dude. Here comes the bad guy…”
Simon rose unsteadily to his feet. He heard growling behind him and spun around swiftly, almost without thinking. There was a certain grace to his movement that had not been present in years, not since his martial arts and dancing days. He felt a surge of…power…as he faced his opponent. He cringed a bit but remained standing his ground. In front of him was some red creature with fiery eyes and horns. The whole thing was glowing. And scary.
“Simon,” the blond kid called. “Turn to your side and give him a kick!”
Simon’s former training, before arthritis and aging, widening hips overtook his body and ability to exercise, kicked in and he delivered a mule-like side kick to the creature. He felt a connect to solid flesh and the thing actually flew across the room, hitting the cave wall and sliding down in cartoon fashion.
“Direct hit!” the kid behind the partition crowed. “Whoa, check your six, Simon!”
Simon whirled. Another beast, twin to the one that was slumped but seeming to recover, appeared, also growling. Again with the growling? Simon thought incongruously. Also, he found his outfit a bit absurd. But no time to think of that now.
“Run, Simon!” the kid called. “Run up the side of the wall and jump on his shoulders!”
Simon didn’t think, because when he did, stupid thoughts came into his head. He acted, running in some asparagus-green sneakers that were comfortable as hell, faster than he could ever remember, up the side of the ten-foot cave wall, and leaping like a hare onto the red thing’s back as the kid yelled, “Watch the horns!” Simon straddled his opponent around the back, using his ha
nds to grasp the horns and yank it backwards. “Oh, hell, Simon, here comes his friend!” Simon braced himself for pain. The first creature, fully recovered, attacked Simon from the back, pulling him off his colleague. Simon, remembering basic self-defense moves, let himself fall deadweight into the one pulling him. They crashed to the floor, Simon elbowing the thing where he hoped there were testicles. The beast howled, clutching himself, and the one who Simon previously had a grip on turned and flung himself onto Simon, who lifted his legs up, knees into his chest, and pushed out, connecting both feet into the creature’s tummy, sending him flying into the ceiling. Gravity did the rest, causing him to crash to the stone floor in a concrete belly-flop.
“Down for the count, three, two, one! Winner, Simon Berger! Woooo hoooo!” the kid screamed. “Good job, my man!”
Simon watched, disbelieving, as the two creatures dissolved, leaving nothing but small black smudges behind them.
“Who are you?” he finally asked the kid. “And what the hell was that?”
“My name’s Smith and I’m going to be training you in the art of defeating enemies of the Earth.” The kid gave him a wide, goofy smile. “Welcome to our organization!”
“What were those things?”
“Aw, that was just a simulation. But, man, you have got some moves! How do you feel?”
“I feel like…like a young man! What is this thing I’m wearing, though?” Simon examined his…uniform, for lack of a better word; a leotard. The material was lightweight and comfortable, in a dove-gray color, and there were shorts of the same asparagus color as the sneakers, thank God, because Simon was not one of those men who felt comfortable with his package clearly outlined. That was for the more brazen superheroes, he thought. There, again, another one of those bizarre thoughts that shouldn’t be at the front of his mind. But then, he started to feel all fade-y again, and he melted away from the cave. The last thing he heard was Smith yelling after him, “No worries, man. See you soon!”
“Oh my God, you were fierce!”
Simon opened his eyes to Jordan’s excited and happy face.
“High five, man!” Simon was slumped back in his dining room chair, but he was able to lift his hand weakly and tap Jordan’s upraised palm in response.
“Great job, Simon,” Tanya congratulated. “Move over, Jordan.” She pushed her way over to Simon to take his blood pressure and pulse. “Mmmm, hmmm, wow, lower than before, Simon. Like a twenty-year-old!”
“That was real?”
“Yes, that was you being a superhero, Simon! What do you think of those powers you have? Speed, agility, super jump, mule kick! You beat the crap out of two simulated monsters, and you took the training cues like a real soldier! That was the most amazing simulation I’ve ever seen!”
“Jordan, we need to submit a codename to Celia. She said by tonight. She wants the video, our summary, and a name for him.”
“Whaddya think, Simon? Got a name for yourself?”
Simon thought of his skills. He moved fast and jumped and kicked like a hare. The costume was gray. “Gray Hare,” he offered, feeling his eyes close in exhaustion.
“Gray Hair?” Tanya and Jordan said in unison.
“No, like a rabbit. H-A-R-E,” Simon grumbled, barely audible.
“Gray Hare,” Jordan repeated, lifting his shoulder in a shrug and recording the new name in the email he was composing on his tablet. “Sounds as good as any, Bugs Bunny.” Tanya fake-swatted her husband.
Gray Hare did not comment; he was fast asleep, head slumped on the table.
18
For time immemorial, gym class and the subsequent locker room experience have been the places in school to both initiate and settle disputes in an arena that is conducive to getting away with initiating and settling disputes. Plenty of witnesses, but none that would ever come forward. There was an unspoken rule, such as “snitches get stitches” and other charming rhymes, that reporting incidences of high school hijinks, otherwise identified in many board of education policies as “bullying,” was simply not how to get along in one’s formative years.
So, finally tired of being picked on, stank-faced, giggled at for existing, having her cell phone snatched or knocked out of her hands, and accidentally jostled at the most inconvenient times, plus having acquired a bunch of self-confidence due to the newfound albeit slowly meted-out superpowers, Sidra decided to have a showdown at the OK Corral, AKA the gymnasium/locker room. She decided, after Venti defiled her Smith notebook by knocking it off of Sidra’s desk and stomping on it with her lethally spiky shoes (Who the hell wore those in high school anyway?), then grabbed Sidra’s cell phone off her desk and held it up high for Sidra to jump at it like a trained monkey, only giving it back when the teacher told her to (which was so embarrassing, to have an adult intervene on her behalf, as if she was a child), that it was time to make a stand. She was going to (attempt to) kick Venti’s ass.
Sidra had seen this in the past in many gym classes, ever since junior high. All she had to do was hit Venti with a ball from whatever game they were playing, be completely unapologetic and even laugh at her, bringing other classmates into the fray. After spending so many years avoiding these confrontations, Sidra felt strangely empowered by her decision to purposely get into a fight. Hopefully, the bulk of the physical action would take place in the locker room; less chance of adult witnesses breaking it up. Sidra wanted to settle this issue once and for all, i.e., pounding Venti’s head into the ground. Figuratively, of course. Maybe.
She told no one of her plan. If she had the element of surprise on her side, maybe she had a chance of winning. But, even if Venti struck first, at least Sidra was expecting it, so she would hit low, charging with her head down and plowing into Venti. Whoever was on top would most likely do the most damage. And Sidra was going to be on top.
The “unit” in gym class this week was volleyball. As luck would have it, Venti was on Sidra’s team and on the third rotation, Sidra was right behind her when it was Sidra’s turn to serve. She pounded the ball with all her power, focusing on the back of Venti’s head. Her aim was absolutely perfect, dead-on, slamming into the other girl’s neck. Pow! Sidra thought.
“Pow!” Hammond Dunfry, fellow geeky student, echoed her thoughts. “Neck slap! Good one, Sidra!”
Awesome, Sidra thought. Hammond was doing some of the work for her, almost like he was in on the plan with her.
“Ow!” Venti whined. “Oh, my neck, ow!” Venti’s girls surrounded her, trying to comfort their wounded comrade. She sniffled pathetically, hand on her injured neck. “I bet that was on purpose, Sidra. Did you plan that with your little boyfriend?”
“That’s not my—” Whoa, wait a minute; why should I protest that? Time to laugh my ass off! “Oh, bahahaha! Did big, bad Venti hurt her widdle necky-wecky?” That was kind of stupid. “Suck it up, bitch. You do more damage to yourself looking in the mirror every day!”
Venti and her girls stared at Sidra and then at each other. “Did she just say that you’re ugly?”
“Did she just call you a bitch?”
“Suck it up? What the hell?”
The gym teacher approached the volleyball players. “A problem, people?”
Venti eyed Sidra up and down and all around. “No problem at all, coach. We are just fine.” The game continued without incident for the remainder of the class period.
Once in the locker room, Sidra began to undress from her gym clothes. She never took all of her clothes off at once and always changed with her back to her locker. That way, if one of her tormentors happened by, she was at least partially dressed and could see them coming. She had her pants changed and her gym shirt on and was about to take it off, when Venti and her friends approached. Sidra was sitting on the locker room bench, rooting around for her deodorant in bookbag.
“Hey, bitch,” Venti greeted her. “Who did you say oughta look in a mirror? Not me, bitch. Maybe you?”
“Yeah, maybe you need to suck it up, Sidra!” put in one
of the friends.
Sidra did not hesitate. Rising from the bench, with her head down like an angry bull, complete with imaginary steam coming out of her nose, Sidra rushed Venti, head-butting her in the belly. Venti fell backwards, just as Sidra wanted, with Sidra on top of her, just as Sidra planned. Sidra sat up quickly, straddling Venti, and punched her in the mouth! The girls in the locker room were already screaming, cheering, and recording on their phones. Venti came to her senses and tried to push Sidra off of her, but Sidra dug her knees into Venti’s sides and slapped her face. “Maybe you won’t mess with me anymore, bitch!” she yelled in Venti’s face. “I’ve had enough of you and your harassment! Keep your thoughts, looks, and opinions to yourself!” At that point, a cheer went up from the crowd, and Sidra was willing to bet that those were some more unfortunate victims of the self-proclaimed princess of the school. Also at that point, the gym teacher entered the locker room and forced her way through the crowd, which was still yelling positive and negative comments and recording the action. She saw what was happening and physically lifted the petite Sidra off the relatively Amazonian Venti.
“Everyone, get to class NOW!” she bellowed, blowing her whistle shrilly for good measure and to make her point. “Anyone I find in here after the count of ten stays after school with me for a month!” Sidra attempted to leave along with the fleeing students, shoving her way past a male student who found his way into the girls’ locker room somehow. “Not you, Allen! Get your scrawny little butt back here now!” The teacher assisted Venti to her feet. Venti had a bloody mouth and somewhat red and swollen cheek. Sidra felt a shiver of satisfaction along with her slight fear of the consequences she knew were to come, both from the school authorities and her parents. And, by the look in Venti’s eyes, Sidra knew there was more to come from that faction. But she was ready.