MIA
So I tell you all last week or so that I was going to get back to blogging. And then guess what, I don’t go blogging. Horrible. I’m bad at keeping my promises, apparently, but I swear this one has a story to go with it.
I have always had a theory about the world that the reason why we love Heroes (the TV show), movies like The Hulk, Batman, and all those other rock ‘em sock ‘em caped crusaders is because in this world, the very one where we live, we need someone to help us hope. We need someone to step up when we can’t. We need someone who can inspire us to bigger and better heights when the world around us sucks. And admit it, people - it sucks.
After losing my grandmother, this story comes into my radar about a family that is lost somewhere near the middle of nowhere. The world seemed to be stuck in a bad place for a few days then I find myself in a place to hope again.
So I’m at home, work, gym, mind racing over how this dude is going to save the family. They find the family. No pops. Shit. I check website after website. Yes, while there is a war going on in another part of the world, my family is asunder, I want to know: where the hell is James Kim, and await the moment he stumbles out of the woods and says, “Hey fuckers, can I get some help here?”
I feel like the need for some vindication in my world, that he will be The One that saves the family. I have hope in my heart for a moment because I NEED for him to come back. To have a hero means that insurmountable odds are nothing, that the world has a chance even though it’s all wrong, that somewhere, a man with a heart as big as a mountain has a shot.
I won’t get into how moved I was because he basically said, “Honey, Imma find help. Be right back.” He gets mad love for that. But as I thought more and more about it, it was the hero factor that did it for me. The little guy who beats the odds.
When I learned that they found him a few days later, it really made the stop in my tracks. Heroes. Do. Not. Die. I said to myself. It was unbelievable. I found myself mired in loss for two people: grandmother and someone I never met before in my life. It baffled me. I was speechless.
I wandered that day watching hope slip like sand in a sieve, but at that moment understood that heroes don’t need to have capes, masks, or superhuman powers. Heroes are people like you and me who through willpower, faith and even a little grasp of hope can change tides, lives and minds.
I’d have to agree with you. A voice called behind me. I smiled. I haven’t heard from God in awhile. And you know me. When God calls…you sort of have to answer. I turned around in my chair and looked over my shoulder. I small girl sat in my office on what I called my “Harry Potter” chair. It was loud, black, brown and cream colored. Her feet dangled off the edge. Black patent Mary Janes.
You think? I baited God. Horrible to do, I know, but we’re friends like that.
I think it’s not necessarily that heroes don’t die, like you said, because they do. But heroes don’t die metaphorically. That’s what makes them great, their stories. She stared at me with big eyes. Doe eyes. Then smiled.
They don’t. You’re right. But am I right though, that the world needs heroes? I turned around to face not the girl with shiny black patent leather shoes. Her face shimmered into a old woman. She smoothed out her blue cordoroy jacket and looked up at me.
The world has always needed heroes, dear. You know that. Just like the world needs antiheros to show us the other side. Her eyes were watery. It was hard to tell if that was emotion or her age. I often saw my grandmother’s eyes like that. From out of nowhere: She says hi, by the way.
Tell her I said hi too. I almost lost it. You know, those novenas we’re required to do? I hope she didn’t mind that I threw in James’ name. She doesn’t mind. She knows. Grandmothers always know, I thought to myself.
It seemed natural to pray for both of them. I paused after I said that and looked around. My parents said nothing. Mom smiled. They flowed with it too.
A breeze shied past my shoulder. Sometimes I hear my name called at night. I wanted to ask about it, but I already knew what it was. A man’s voice this time. You do, he said. I felt a hand on my shoulder but no one was around.
Voodoo