Meanwhile, Our Hero eagerly awaits the start of the Eleven o’clock news. A reporter interviewed him while he collected Junior Justice Squad, pledge cards from elementary students after a successful assembly and told Our Hero that the piece would probably run during the eleven o’clock news on Thursday. It occurs to Our Hero that he would like to share the viewing of this broadcast with his family. He contemplates calling his mother. It would be a breach in security, but she would enjoy seeing her son on television, especially since the reason for being on the news is so noble. Thinking about this makes Our Hero momentarily feel bad for the mothers whose sons only appear on television in mug shots or grainy security camera footage. Our Hero has never thought about the families of criminals before. He realizes that this is just one more crime villains commit, upsetting their mothers. Unless of course, the criminals are children of criminals, in which case the criminals have probably made their mothers proud and the real crime was the failure of the city’s child protective services. Our Hero makes a mental note to add, “protect the children of criminals from their villainous parents” to his super hero code and to send the Pager of Justice number to the head of protective services in the morning. Normally, Our Hero would take action immediately, but the eleven o’clock news has begun and Our Hero does not want to miss himself. He has completely forgotten about calling his mother.

Our Hero sits through the top stories. He is not one of them, but Our Hero understands that the building of a new stadium, and the decision to widen a major roadway into the city are both very important issues as they will both create jobs and increase the quality of life for all the city’s citizens. Still, he would have liked to have been the top story. Perhaps if he had had an opportunity to apprehend a purse-snatcher, or a bank robber before the interview, he would have made the top stories. He decides to expand his patrol route to include more banks.

The eleven o’clock anchors continue to deliver the news. From the top stories, they move on to weather, then sports, followed by a recap of the top stories, then a recap of the weather. Finally, the male anchor looks directly into the camera and says, “Did you know that this city has its own superhero? Coming up after the break, we’ll meet Mr. Justice on this week’s weird and wacky news.”
Our Hero turns off the television. He watches his reflection in the now dark screen. His stomach sinks a little before he is able to regain his heroic composure. Surely the reporter merely misunderstood Our Hero’s role in the city’s fight for justice. Why did he not wait until he had apprehended a criminal before talking to the press? He decides to forgive the station for their error, but resolves to give no further interviews, at least not until he’s been awarded some kind of medal for bravery or given the key to the city. Surely that would prevent him from being mentioned on news of the strange.

Content with his new public relations policy, Our Hero rises from his chair and prepares for bed. He has just hung his costume in the back of his closet when here hears the phone ring in his kitchen. He sprints down the hall and reaches the phone just before the end of the third ring.

“Hello,” Our Hero says.

“Donald?” The Caller says. It is Our Hero’s mother. She does not sound pleased. “Donald, why were you on the news parading around in your pajamas?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in attempt to protect his identity.

“You don’t think I’d recognize you behind some silly mask? For the love of God, you’ve got your father’s nose. What do you think you’re doing, running around, telling people you’re a super hero? People will think you’re a crazy person.”

Our Hero remains silent. He has learned never to battle his mother. As far as he can tell, she has no weaknesses.

“It’s like you want me to die of embarrassment. Why can’t you just get go to law school like your brother?”

“It’s not my calling.”

“Just what is your calling?”

“To protect the innocent,” Our Hero says, as he instinctively places his fists on his hips and strikes his hero pose.

“Oh for the love,” Our Hero’s mother continues to berate him for sometime, leaving only space for Our Hero to say, “yes,” “no,” “I understand,” and “of course not.” Eventually, she makes Our Hero promise to give up his duties. “And throw out that ridiculous costume,” she says before hanging up.

“I will first thing in the morning,” Our Hero manages to say before he hears the click of the phone line disconnecting. He places the receiver back in its cradle and exhales. He has lied to his mother, which disturbs Our Hero. In the back of his head he can feel a pulsing knot of guilt. He sits down at the kitchen table with a dull pencil and a scrap of paper and begins sketching designs for new masks since it has become necessary for him to hide more of his face.

In the spirit of National Short Story Month, I’m going to try to recomend at least one collection a week.  First up is Kevin Wilson’s collection Tunneling to the Center of the Earth. I just finished it and am currently unable to form the words required to explain just how much I enjoyed the book. Instead, I’ll just say that you should read it for yourself and provide a link to “The Museum of Whatnot” on 52 stories.

Meanwhile, Our Hero learns of a four-alarm fire downtown. He bursts out of his basement apartment and ascends the stairs two at a time to street level. Once he is outside, he sprints down the block towards the Taurus wagon that serves as his latest Justice Car. As he reaches the end of he block, he discovers with great, full throat tightening, horror that some villain has booted the Justice Car. Once again, his arch nemesis at the municipal parking authority, has attempted to keep Our Hero from his heroic duties, but this attack will fail, for Our Hero has mastered public transportation. He sprints back to his apartment and grabs a handful of change. He pauses as he realizes that his costume has no pockets and he will need to have his hands free in order to save the residents of the burning building. “Pockets!” Our Hero shouts, still clutching the change, “I must have pockets!” An idea pops into Our Hero’s head. He runs to his bedroom, drops to floor and feels around under his bed until he finds a bright green fanny pack Our Hero’s mother gave him as a birthday present. He stows the handful of change in the fanny back before he clips it around his waist.

For the second time tonight, Our Hero bursts out of his apartment and ascends the stairs to the street, but instead of dashing to the justice car, he sprints to the bus stop and waits thirty minutes for the next bus. When it arrives, Our Hero leaps on board, drops change from the fanny pack into the fare collector and tells the bus driver, “You must hurry! I’m needed at the fire!”

The bus driver rolls his eyes and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Your city will be grateful.”

The other passengers do not sit near Our Hero. They glance over their shoulders, but turn away quickly when Our Hero smiles and waves to them. He assumes it is because they are bashful. A mother and her son get on he bus at the 23rd street stop. They sit down in the row in front of Our Hero. After the bus pulls away the boy turns around and asks, “Are you a real superhero?” His mother tells the boy to leave Our Hero alone.

“It’s fine mam,” Our Hero says to the mother, “he’s just curious.” To the boy he says, “Yes, I am a real superhero. I’m Mr. Justice.”

“How come I’ve never heard of you?”

“I’m sure you have. I’m the city’s most famous crime fighter.”

“No,” the boy says, “I would remember that. I remember everything. Are you sure you’re a real super hero?”

“I assure you that I am.”

“If you’re a superhero, why are you riding the bus?”

Our Hero blushes as he tries to think of a response. “That’s enough,” The boys mother says, “leave the man alone.”

The boy turned around and whispered loud enough for Our Hero to hear, “I don’t think he’s a real superhero.”

Our Hero steps off the bus three blocks from the fire and runs the remaining distance. By the time he arrives, the fire fighters have extinguished the blaze and are busy packing up their trucks. No one appears to have been hurt.