The SuperheroA Story by thewritingbanana
A superhero tries to manage his life and his crime fighting
Robert Pressman was slumped comfortably into his couch, with one arm wrapped around his girlfriend, on Sunday morning in October. They were watching football, and he was relaxing. Goodness knows Robert deserved a little relaxation, yesterday had been a very trying day; for starters he’d gone into work on a Saturday and spilled coffee all over his boss, lost his wallet somewhere on the subway-Robert hoped some honest citizen would turn it in to the police station, but he knew it wasn’t likely-and suffered an excruciatingly painful kick to the jaw, which he sustained while preventing a bank robbery just before midnight in the guise of his superhero alias “The Hooded Metropolitan”, who just happened to be “number one” on the city’s list of most wanted fugitives.
It’s true, Robert was wanted for dealing out vigilante justice, but he was just a good guy who knew he could help out. He dared not tell his girlfriend, Sarah Ward, daughter of City Police Chief Frank Ward, that he was secretly a nighttime vigilante crime fighter whom her father was trying very hard to arrest. Occasionally, he would come home with bruises or cuts; he’d tell her he got them at the fighting gym.
Saturday night Robert came across a particularly rough crew trying to rob a bank. There were three of them, so he approached from above; Robert dropped down from the rafters and landed on top of one of the men, incapacitating him instantly, and then hopped to his feet to engage the other two. One of them rushed him and was easily dispatched by a powerful thrust of Robert’s knee; the other smashed his heel into Robert’s chin, knocking him down. The man jumped on top of him and fought hard, but Robert eventually overpowered him and tied him to his accomplices to be discovered by the police. Robert’s jaw was swollen and pounding when he left the bank-sprinting out the back into an alley, and losing a shoe, just before the police arrived-and headed home for the night. He was worried that the police might find his shoe and trace it back to him, but he eventually fell asleep; it had been an exhausting day.
Now though, he was seated comfortably on his couch, watching his Giants rout the Cowboys on a nice Sunday morning, and eating a stack of pancakes Sarah just made for him. He was having an excellent day, and hadn’t given a thought to last night’s fiasco, or his lost shoe. He was relishing his luck as Sarah brought him a glass of milk, putting it on the table next to him, and saying “I know you had a rough time at the gym last, nobody likes getting beat up.”
“Thanks.” Robert said laughing, and then his cell phone rang. He was far too lazy today for any conversation, so Robert let his cell phone ring; it buzzed, indicating a voice mail was left, and then fell silent again. The Giants kicked a field goal when his home phone rang, which was rare these days. Robert listened to the phone ring persistently until the answering machine answered it: “Please leave a message,” the machine said, followed by a beep.
“This message is for Robert Pressman.” A gruff voice said, “This is Sergeant Kane down at the Station, we’ve got an item down here that we just want to confirm is yours, and maybe speak to you about, so just get back to me as soon as possible.”
Robert sat up; it was a very bad thing that the police were calling him.
“Hey sweetie,” Sarah called from the bedroom, “my dad just called asking about you? He asked why you aren’t answering your phone. Is everything okay? I told him you were napping.”
Now Chief Ward was looking for him. He hadn’t told Sarah anything, so he must have wanted to keep it from her. His phone buzzed again, he checked the phone number; it was Sarah’s father. Robert ignored the call and rushed into the garage to hide his hood and mask, which he eventually decided to stuff into a burlap sack and slide under his washing machine, which he could lift with one arm. After hiding his costume he went into his closet and put on a long-sleeved shirt to conceal the cuts and bruises on his body that Sarah hadn’t noticed without her glasses.
Finally, Robert felt secure; he’d hidden the evidence of his actions, his phones had all stopped ringing, and the Giants were scoring another touchdown instead of kicking a field goal. He sank back into the couch and sat around drowsily watching commercials about light beer and motor oil, and then he looked outside. It was a beautiful Sunday, the sun was shining and the sky was blue…and a man was breaking into his neighbor’s house! Robert felt the urge to act, he didn’t need a mask for this particular situation, so he laced up his shoes, and just when he’d come bursting through the door, the police arrived.
The driver parked the cop car and ran off after the burglar. A second officer, who looked older from a distance, exited on the passenger side and began walking in his direction. Robert was standing on his porch when he noticed the officer was Chief Ward.
“Robert,” the chief barked, “Hey, hold on there. I want to talk to you.”
Robert turned and stood in the doorway, facing the chief, waiting to meet his demise.
“Robert, what were you thinking?” the chief shaking his head and reaching into his pocket.
“Well, sir…” Robert began.
“Well nothing.” The chief retorted, taking Robert’s wallet from his pocket and slapping it on top of his head, “You lost your wallet blockhead. How are you supposed to take care of my daughter, if you can’t take care of your wallet?”
“Um,” Robert stammered.“Ease up, son,” the chief interjected, laughing, “I’m just giving you a hard time. You need to lighten up; you act like you’re some kind of superhero.”
© 2012 thewritingbanana
Added on May 10, 2012
Last Updated on May 11, 2012
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