by C. C. Ekeke
It was four on four: Greyson and his team of three teenagers versus fellow counselor Jinn Park and his trio. The hour-long game was tied. One last shot won the game.
“Attack me if you dare,” Greyson warned, hazel eyes narrowing. “Survive…if I let you.”
The teenager between him and the hoop, a tall dark-skinned sixteen-year old named Cairo, openly laughed. “I swear, Mr. Hirsch, you so corny sometimes.”
Greyson smirked at this sweet summer child. “Are my words really corny, Cairo?” He glanced at the rush of movement behind the gigantic boy. “Or weapons of mass distraction?”
Greyson feinted left. Cairo laughed, easily matching his dash.
He lunged for the ball as Greyson juked right and passed to Lennox rushing behind Cairo. The scrawny boy caught the ball, racing toward the hoop. As Greyson whirled and tore toward the other side of the hoop, he heard Cairo swear at his misstep and thunder after him. The counselor smirked. He might’ve been twice Cairo’s age, but Greyson knew tricks the boy hadn't learned.
The court burst back into movement, Jinn’s team converging on Lennox. Greyson’s team moved to run interference.
Jinn, spiky-haired with a jovial face, looked demented as he barked at Cairo to guard Greyson.
As the massive teen came bearing down on him, Greyson knew he had little time to end this game.
Lennox was surrounded by two of Jinn’s players, unable to shoot or approach the hoops.
He locked eyes with Greyson. “Mr. Hirsch!” The lanky kid with budding dreadlocks ducked and rocketed the ball under Jinn’s waving arms.
Greyson maneuvered around Cairo’s aggressive swats, snatching the ball.
He zigzagged around Jinn, then Brad on the opposing team. A third of the way down the court, Greyson crouched low. His muscles coiled and ready, Greyson concentrated on the gravity aura tethering him to Earth.
Then he leaped, untethering himself from the concrete, from gravity itself. Greyson soared over other players like MJ in his prime, tongue out, roaring like Tarzan. Every player gaped as he twisted 360-degrees before slam-dunking that basketball into the hoop and hanging there. The court exploded in exclamations. Greyson basked in the adulation before letting go of the hoop and landing on his feet.
The game was over, his team victorious. Seven other players swarmed him in awe.
“Some crazy hang time, Mr. Hirsch!” Cairo high-fived him.
Greyson smiled and wiped the sweat from his lank brown hair. “Thanks, C.”
Lennox ran up, brimming with energy despite the grueling game. “Like Jewish Jordan and shit.”
Greyson frowned and held out his hand. “JAR.”
Lennox realized his error and cringed. “Shi--! Fine.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket and slapped a crinkled dollar bill into Greyson’s hand. That was part of the St. Andrews Center’s discipline during this summer program. Curse words cost you a dollar. That rule cleaned plenty of mouths so far. Counseling wasn’t Greyson’s job, but it fulfilled him more than crunching numbers at his investment firm. He was grateful his company provided an avenue to help St. Louis’s underprivileged youth.
“How do you do that?” Jinn asked once the kids headed inside the community center to shower. The two co-workers walked slowly back indoors. Jinn never ceased to be amazed by Greyson’s basketball prowess. “Are you secretly a super?
Greyson slapped the Korean man's back as if he’d spun a sidesplitting yarn. “I’m totally a super.” He guffawed and gestured at his five-foot-nine-inch frame. “C’mon, seriously?” The guffaw wasn’t genuine.
To Jinn and the at-risk teens they mentored a few times a week, he performed an incredible but “physical” feat. Greyson kept the truth to himself.
Jinn didn’t look fully gratified by that answer.
Cairo’s exclamation outside the community center entrance came at the perfect time. “Guys! Watch this video.”
Greyson and Jinn ran over. Cairo’s cellphone revealed a video of a superhuman battle. Those were happening more frequently across America, Greyson mused ruefully. Cairo, obsessed with superheroes and vigilantes, actually believed Geist was real.
This vicious back-and-forth brawl took place in a suburb of San Miguel aka “Superhero City”. Greyson couldn’t name the two colorful “supervillains”, interchangeable in his view. But one would have to be blind not to recognize the Central Coast Saint and the Glorious Glamazon. “Oh look, Titan and Lady Liberty save the day. Again,” Greyson snarked. “And water is wet.”
Cairo gave him a reproachful glare. “They’re both bomb AF. Wish we had them protecting our city.”
“Don’t be so hard on them,” Jinn said later on. He and Greyson headed through the building with their gym bags. “Superheroes give these kids great role models.”
The air-conditioned coolness was welcome on Greyson’s sweat-soaked skin. He didn’t let that distract from his point. “I like Titan as much as the next guy. And who doesn’t love Lady Liberty?”
Jinn snorted. “No straight man or gay woman.”
Greyson shouldered the entrance door open. Oppressive humidity blasted him in the face. “But you think normal humans should constantly rely on superheroes?” he asked. “We’re slowly disabling ourselves. Do we need them to rescue cats from trees? Climb the damn tree yourself.” Greyson had learned these lessons since childhood, mostly through cruel and unyielding truth.
Jinn rolled his eyes at the familiar sermon. “You wouldn’t say that if Titan was St. Louis’s patron hero.”
“Maybe.” Greyson wanted to say more. But watching Jinn’s face, he knew it would get tuned out. Greyson scanned the street and spotted a familiar Lexus sedan waiting for him. “At least we got Hurricane. Anyway, my beautiful ride is here. See you Monday.”
Jinn smiled. “Later.” The co-workers fist bumped before Greyson powerwalked to his ride.
“Hey, wonderful!” he greeted after opening the door and plopping into the passenger’s seat.
Lauren Gerard had a twinkle in her hazel eyes as a grin played across her lips. “Afternoon, Grey.” She wore her white button-down blouse and red pencil skirt from work. Sleek ash-blonde locks spilled just past her shoulders. “How was today?”
Greyson tossed his bag in the backseats. “Good before. Better now.” He leaned in for a kiss.
“Eww!” Lauren wrinkled her aquiline nose and swatted him away. “You stink!”
Greyson smirked devilishly and pressed in again. This time Laurie gave in, her mouth parting for his as she melted into him. His driver, his partner, his lover, his forever.
Greyson’s body tingled from head to toe.
“Alright.” Lauren finally pulled away. “We gotta get home to shower and change.”
Greyson’s mood soured, knowing why. Friday dinners with his parents. “If you insist.”
Lauren studied him with sympathetic eyes. “Look.” She touched his jaw, guiding Greyson’s face to hers. “We can stop going if you hate this so much.”
Greyson shook his head, refusing his wonderful girlfriend’s offer. “I keep going to see Mother and Sara.” That was the lie he'd told himself for years.
Lauren’s side-eye was telling. “So, you’re not after the forgiveness of someone you never wronged?”
Greyson bristled. “Lauren—”
She raised both hands disarmingly. “Just saying. You deserve better.”
Greyson looked away but stared at nothing. “Do I?” Many had told him what happened twenty-five years ago wasn’t his fault. Regardless, Greyson’s selfish decision alone had fractured his family.
Lauren shrugged. “You landed me.”
That made Greyson smile, elevating his spirits. “Fair point.” Sneaking in another kiss made Lauren giggle. “Let’s do this.” Lauren shifted the car out of park and drove them away from the community center.
A little later, Greyson and Lauren arrived dressed up at his parents’ in the affluent suburb Chesterfield...aka Suburbia, USA.
The front doo
r opened soon after Greyson rang the doorbell. Facing them was an older, graceful woman, her silvery hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Dorit Hirsch wore sweats and an apron stained from recent cooking. Her lean and lined face brightened as she ushered the couple inside.
Greyson smiled as she drew him into a hug. “Hey, Mom,” he greeted.
“Hello, young’n,” his mother greeted and kissed him on the cheek.
He flinched away with mock exasperation. “I’m in my mid-thirties, Mom.”
Mother took Greyson’s face in her hands with such love. “You’ll always be my little boy.”
Greyson blushed at his mother's affection. It had kept him whole and sane after the incident.
Mother turned her attention on Lauren. “Laurie,” she said. The two women hugged fiercely. That made Greyson smile more.
“Dorit,” Lauren murmured. When they stepped past the foyer, her demeanor cooled as she greeted the living room's lone occupant. “Good evening, Aaron.”
Aaron Hirsch sat in his lounge chair, eyes glued to the 60-inch TV that Greyson had gifted them last Hanukah. Beneath his sweater and slacks was a withered and frail physique. Despite being a year shy of sixty, he looked ten years older and sickly. Wrinkles and permanent scowl notwithstanding, the father and son resemblance was unmistakable. When Greyson was nine years old, this had brought Father pride. No longer.
Aaron scowled at Greyson and Lauren as if smelling bad cheese. “You’re early,” he grunted rudely.
Greyson saw Mother’s pleading eyes. “No traffic from Creve Coeur,” he said in his friendliest voice.
Father bristled. “Should’ve waited, like Sara. Your mother hasn’t finished dinner. Now we’ll wait longer since she’s distracted by you.”
Greyson’s eyes narrowed, familiar anger churning inside. Father never complained when his younger sister Sara arrived early. Then again, Father didn’t hate Sara. Mother interjected to prevent further escalation. “Shush, Aaron,” she chided with practiced endurance. “Almost done.”
Father’s wrinkled features contorted. “Sure…” he grumbled and continued watching the Rams game.
Lauren rolled her eyes, gripping Greyson’s hand tighter.
“Sorry, Mother,” Greyson apologized. “We didn’t know this would cause an issue.”
Dorit waved off the apology. “Ignore him.” She shot an irate look at Father.
“Gladly,” Lauren murmured as they followed Mother into the kitchen.
Mother finished dinner right as Sara arrived. That brought Father to his feet, cane and all, with a booming reception. Greyson had grown used to his father’s neglect. Watching Dad embrace his daughter so heartily, though, never grew easier to swallow.
He hardened his heart and set the table.
Dinner commenced without issue. Mom’s roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and corn always delivered. Conversations overlapped, covering news and world events. Sara was changing professions for the tenth time. Or thirteenth. Greyson had lost track.
Within minutes, Greyson wished they’d kept talking about Sara’s profession of the moment. Little sister made the error of mentioning Hurricane’s battle against Major Calamity and the Death Sirens.” (God, what stupid ass names).
One kind word about supers sent Father into an explosive superhuman-hating tangent. “I don’t care how many puff pieces they write,” he fumed, hushing the table. “Nothing’s gonna change the fact that Hurricane endangers everything around him.” The family had gotten used to Father’s blind superphobia. Greyson had inured himself to the insults. But the sting never lessened.
That should have ended it. But to Greyson’s chagrin, Lauren decided to speak. “Mr. Hirsch, Hurricane risks his life daily to save others. He’s a hero.”
Father glared with disbelieving eyes.
Greyson stared at her with similar disbelief. “Lauren…” he warned.
Sara covered her eyes. “Uh-oh.” Mother stared silently at the ground as the onslaught renewed.
“Really?” Father leaned back, wincing at his body’s stiffness. “Then how much property has been destroyed since he became active, missy?”
Greyson placed a hand on Lauren’s forearm to stop.
She ignored him. “The property damage would’ve been more if not for Hurricane.”
Greyson recognized burning anger from years past filling Father’s eyes. “And yet more superpowered yahoos, or should I say Hurricane’s rogues’ gallery, keep appearing.” His voice rose, the muscles in his frail body tensed. “What has he done except invite more of his kind to cause more damage and cost more lives!” He slammed a fist on the table. Everyone jumped.
Greyson was done listening. “We get it. You hate supers and want them gone.” He looked at his father with pleading eyes. “Let’s move on.”
Father looked upon his son with the same love he’d show a rodent. “You don’t get it. Despite what happened to us.” He paused, jabbing at his own chest. “Correction, what happened to me since you didn’t get sick. You still worship Titan and those other freaks.” Already, the elder Hirsch was back to the fateful day that had stripped him of his former robustness.
Greyson looked away, slight pressure building in his chest. “Dad…”
Mr. Hirsch steamrolled over him. “You can’t get it through your skull why they are toxic to our society!” Father roared. “Does Lauren have to get radiation poisoning for you to finally understand?”
As Father’s rage intensified, Mother stepped in. “Aaron, you’ve made your case,” she snapped.
Father shook his balding head. “No, Dorit. I have not.” His stare pinned Greyson to his seat. Suddenly, he felt completely alone at the table. “As long as our idiot son thinks these heroes are agents of good. Or has everyone forgotten when Paragon leveled half of downtown Chicago?”
Greyson squeezed his eyes shut, anger and helplessness growing. Pressure amplified, taking every drop of willpower not to erupt. Around Father’s verbal abuse, it was so hard not to give in.
Father leaned in close to make sure his words landed harder. “Are you still too stupid to see that, boy?”
Lauren exploded from her seat, startling everyone. “Enough, Mr. Hirsch!”
Father eyed her with unmasked contempt. “Show some respect in my house, little girl. Or leave.”
Greyson couldn’t take any more. If he stayed any longer, the detonation would be very messy. Greyson stood up beside Lauren. “Then we’ll leave.” He turned to Mother. “Thank you for the meal.”
Sara looked dismayed. “Greyson, no!”
Lauren watched her boyfriend with worried eyes. She already knew what was wrong. Greyson shoved his seat back in place with undo aggression. He could barely stand, feeling like several hundred pounds sat on his chest. “I won’t have my girlfriend disrespected,” he stated stiffly. “Not by him.” Saying any more would only make the pressure worsen.
Father shooed his son off. “Good riddance.” He fell into a fit of coughs, struggling to keep from spitting venom. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, boy!”
Mother said nothing, studying Greyson and his body language. Comprehension flooded her face. She exchanged looks with Lauren and nodded sadly.
Greyson stumbled for the door, hand in hand with Lauren. “Good night, Mom. Bye, Sara.”
Half an hour passed with Lauren at the wheel.
Greyson sat curled in a wounded ball. “Sorry,” he gasped. The pain was now unbearable, bleeding into his bones. “I shouldn’t have let him say that.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lauren countered, fixated on the dark roads ahead as her speeds blew past 80 mph. They headed deeper into gloomy farmlands, far from any St. Louis suburb. “We’re close, baby.”
Ten more minutes and they reached the middle of nowhere, the moon a large white sphere in the sky. Lauren swerved off the main road, racing a mile into ruined and abandoned pastures. “We’re here.”
Greyson shoved open the car door and tumbled out onto his knee
s. “Stay…inside. Reverse as far…back as possible.” Lauren knew the routine, but he wanted to ensure her worry didn’t overcome sense.
Greyson heard her Lexus vroom in reverse, the headlights widening and dimming with distance. He waited, groaning in agony a few moments more until assured she was far enough. Then, Greyson let go.
The bright glow from his whole body now overpowered the headlights and moonlight. Greyson straightened in kneeling posture, energy flowing from him. He spread his arms out wide. A tractor, a dilapidated farmhouse and a rusty Crown Vick car floated off the ground, several feet and counting. Anything not nailed down around Greyson levitated upward, untethered by gravity. Like his slam-dunks, but much more powerful.
Greyson Hirsch, an unregistered superhuman since preadolescence.
But his control was meager at best. This gravitational power controlled him at worst, radiating out like a bursting dam. These flare-ups occurred because of Father, who often made Greyson feel helpless anger. At first, Mother helped him with these outbursts, covered for him. Now it was Lauren, who never criticized or shamed him for this…curse.
Then, the flood shrank to a trickle. The pressure on his chest lessened, and his body’s radiance faded.
The tractor, Crown Vick, the farmhouse and anything he'd levitated crashed to the earth. The cacophonous roar echoed for miles in all directions. Greyson winced, breathing hard. It was over…for now.
The rumble of Lauren driving up, headlights washing over him snapped Greyson out of his daze. She knelt beside him, draping her arms around his neck. “Feeling better?”
Greyson smiled, grasping her forearm. “Much better.”
Lauren grinned. “I told you to go before we left.” Greyson burst out laughing. She could make lemonade out of rotted limes. Her mirth faded. Greyson knew what she was going to say. “You have to stand up to him, Grey.”
Greyson’s eyes fell in shame. “I’ve tried.”
“Don’t try. Do,” Lauren said in disgust, but not for Greyson. “Him still blaming you is B.S.”