Every Friday after work, Alicia Leonard stopped at the same cafe on her way home from work to drown her sorrows in the same soda and Caesar salad. Something about the cafe soothed her when she felt troubled. The pasty pink walls and faded floral patterns had lost much of what kept them playful and vigorous in years past. The servers, clad in limp yellows and browns, smiled as a default, the excitement of at last finding employment nearly eroded to nothing now that the realities of standing on one's feet all day had become painfully apparent. In short, the cafe was a completely ordinary place; which, to a woman of such practiced ordinariness as Alicia, was immensely comforting.
So intent was Alicia on wallowing in the mundanity which surrounded her that she didn't notice the sound of the bell ringing over the entranceway. After all, it was only a bell, meant to attract the attention of those compensated for noticing such things. It had nothing to do with her. Nor, for that matter, did she notice the crashing of dishes to the floor and the surprised gasps of the waitstaff; for, if she had, she might have realized that the gasps came first, as if they had been shocked out of normalcy by the appearance of something majestic, something tremendous, even something far out of the ordinary.
No, what drew Alicia's gaze away from the pale leaf of Iceburg lettuce dripping with shredded Parmesan and mayonnaise was the sound of a voice, which said, in a most unassuming tone that would have sounded surprisingly ordinary to anyone other than Alicia:
"Hello."
At once, Alicia felt her cheeks flush, and her composure slipped for just a moment. But by now her need for ordinariness was so strong that her pulse soon restored itself, her hand soon leveled, and her eyes, which must have popped for just a second, returned to their usual size.
"Won't you sit down?" she said, without turning to face the man who addressed her.
She didn't need to see him, for she knew already what he would look like - stiff and straight as an arrow fired from the bow of Justice. That's what the radio announcers always said. Never mind that Justice was always said to be in possession of scales and a blindfold, and a sword, if there arose a need to be combative. Still, the arrow metaphor was apt - the man was a soldier, through and through. So much so that the simple act of sitting down in front of a woman who had once been his friend - an act which showed, despite his best efforts, more vulnerability than he had ever displayed before any photographer - was unnatural to him. Alicia sensed the moment of indecision, and then the man lowered himself into the seat.
He was dressed in his uniform - something Alicia had hoped never to see again. Unlike most soldiers with their camo greens and grays, here was a man dressed to stand out. A bodysuit painted bold blue, spangled with red and white stars, and a pair of bright yellow gloves. It was a gaudy affair, to be sure, but it immediately and unmistakably identified him as Hero. The press had never had another name for him, and, until five years ago, neither had Alicia.
"You're looking well," she said.
The spangled soldier sat down. "You as well, Lisa."
Instinctively, Alicia ducked her head. "Don't call me that, please."
"Why not?" Hero said. "It's your name. Lisa Lee, intrepid girl reporter. The woman who always ran ahead of everyone else, getting into scraps she should have known she couldn't handle on her own. It's how I always knew you."
"I'm not that girl anymore," Alicia said. "I haven't been that person for a long time."
"You could be again. I can help you."
Alicia was taken aback by the intensity of Hero's voice. She looked briefly into his eyes and saw there the same simple conviction that had captured her imagination so long ago. Her hand trembled. She smiled, but she turned her gaze back to her salad. "It's not that easy. Not even for you. I know who you are, Carl."
"Everyone knows that by now," Hero said, waving his hand dismissively. "Who would have thought that Carl Ellis, lowly clerk, could actually be the same costumed avenger that protected the nation from threats both terrestrial and alien?"
Alicia wanted to say, "That's not what I meant at all." Instead, she said, "If you had told me, I would have believed you."
"I couldn't say anything," Hero said. "It wasn't..."
"Safe?" Alicia felt the bitterness in her voice. It stung Hero, as well. The man with the impenetrable hide, made speechless by a single word. Alicia lowered her voice and tried again. "I had to change my name when I found out."
"But that's my point," Hero said. "We made the announcement on TV. It's over. Everyone knows now. You don't have to be Alicia Leonard anymore. You can come back to your old life now. I can protect you?"
"And my new life? What about it?"
Hero shook his head. "This isn't you."
"You don't know me as well as you think," Alicia said. "You can't understand anyone who doesn't get the chance to understand you in return."
"Nobody came closer than you," Hero said.
"I know. I saw who you really were, even before the announcement." Alicia swallowed a sob that had been slowly building in her throat. Her face became stone. "No one should have found out the way I did."
Alicia had never seen Hero so vulnerable as he was now. She did not, however, expect to see him look so genuinely surprised. "When did you find out?"
Alicia breathed in deeply. The air steadied her trembling lip. "The bomb at the Universal Gazette, when Doc Trauma tried to get his revenge on me for the story I wrote after his trial." She raised her eyes again from the table and fixed Hero with a gaze both accusatory and sorrowful. "The attack that killed you."
Hero nodded. "I remember."
Alicia bit her lip. "Carl," she said, and then she paused, knowing what she wanted to say next but afraid to say it. She gave a long sigh, and then: "I saw you in the blast."
"You couldn't have," the soldier spoke frantically now. "The flames were too big, the smoke too thick."
"But I did. Do you know what I felt in that moment, Carl, when I saw you had survived the bombing?" Alicia smiled. She blinked hard, but a tear still slipped down her cheek. "I was so happy. There you were: your clothes were burning off, but you were all right. That's when I knew who you were, and I thought, 'Hero will save us.'"
"And I did."
"But not everyone."
Carl fell silent, unable to respond. For all the world, despite the sharp jaw and stiff shoulders, he looked like a sullen teenager, balking at parental reprimand.
"No," he said at last, "not everyone."
"Why didn't you? Tom Goldman died because you disappeared after the bomb. Who knows how many others were killed by Trauma's other devices?"
"Twenty-three." Carl straightened up and looked Alicia directly in the eyes. "I read the reports."
Alicia shook her head. "I couldn't bring myself to."
"I had my orders," he said. His voice took on a rigid, formal quality, as if he were reporting to a superior officer. "At the time, the military wanted to keep my civilian identity a secret. When the bomb went off, Carl Ellis had to die. I was ordered to return to base."
"You didn't have to..."
"But I did," the soldier snapped.
A long silence fell between them. Carl spoke first, starting with a nervous laugh. "I love you, you know."
Alicia nodded. "I loved you once, too. How could I not?"
"But you won't come back."
"You have to go and be a Hero again," Alicia said. "I have work of my own."
"You could go back to the Gazette," Carl said. "They need you there."
Alicia gently placed the fork she had eaten with across the rim of the plate with her half-eaten salad. "That's the difference between us, Carl," she said. "You need people to need you. I don't. Not anymore." She stood up and pulled her pocketbook out of her purse. She walked to the register and paid her bill. Then, as she reached for the door to leave the cafe, she stopped and turned again to the table where Carl still sat, his gaze still locked on the plate of salad. Alicia let the door close and walked back to the soldier. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his uniform.
"I don't blame you," she said. "You are still, and always will be, my Hero."
The soldier sat still. Alicia's hand lingered. She feared to admit that liked seeing him like this - not hurt (she could never stand that), but human. At one time, she would have stayed to comfort him, but she couldn't shake the feeling that, now that she no longer needed him, he did not need her. She withdrew her hand and left him to make that realization for himself.
To be honest, I wasn't too thrilled with this piece once I got it down. In my head, it works pretty well, but I'm not sure that starting in medias res was the best idea. Without the necessary context of the backstory (which is all in my head), the story's kind of unsuccessful.
But I am fairly pleased with that introductory paragraph. I've started trying to establish a better sense of place in my prose. I think I got a good diner scene set up here.
The picture, again, is a bit of a rush job, but fairly atmospheric still. I REALLY need to dedicate more time to light studies.
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