Wiffle

What had been so effortless in little league suddenly became awkward, painfully mechanical. My arm was hungry for eyes cocked my way from under dark hair and a shy smile. Should I be cool, confident? Should I flex my bicep? My hands wrap a little tighter around the plastic bat. Was I making too much of this? Did my best friend, standing like a statue on the "mound" (marked by a paper plate) know or care that I needed a hit?That I needed, like a salmon needs to charge upstream, to make the plastic swiss cheese pill dissapper into the trees? But no. Better to earn it. Better for it to curve through space, defying me to swing hard, my arms betting against the pitcher, against the ball, against her indifference toward me, that my swing wouldn't be in vain.

Could it be as simple as it looked, the way the spinning blur of the ball floats to me like a gift? I'm almost dissappointed. I draw it in, as though controlling it with a beam from my eyes, and gloriously, defiantly, swing.

Handle Time

Miles had just enough time to register that his friend Jill was suddenly on a call in the middle of their conversation before his headset beeped in his ear, telling him that he had a call of his own to handle.

A moment after the beep, in a well-conditioned pavlovian response, he began:

"ThankyouforcallingRiseWirelessmynameisMiles. How can I help you today?"

"I need to go over my bill. It looks like there were some roaming charges that just don't make sense. I was hoping you could help me clear it up," the woman on the other end answered distractedly.

"Certainly. I'll be happy to help you with that today. Can I get your name and the last four digits of your social?"

"Yeah. Lily Haber. Last four is 9046." A few breaths later she said "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. Just one moment."

Miles struggled to reorient himself. He rubbed his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm here. I'm sorry, something just distracted me here. What were those last four digits again?"

She sighed. "9046."

"Right." He swallowed and tried not to shake as he brought up her account information. It was her all right. Right name, right place, right age. He knew quality control could be listening. He knew he was supposed to give this one to a supervisor. But, after all, there was no need to mention how or why he knew this person.

"What can I help you with today Lily? Oh, right, excuse me, the roaming charges. Let me just bring your bill up here."

Five years experience had its advantages. He managed to bring up her latest bill without losing track of what he was doing.

"Do you have your bill out right now?"

"Yes. By the way, you guys have got to do something about the hold times. That was just ridiculous."

"I do apologize, ma'am. We do try to serve you as quickly as possible. Now, uh, can you tell me just where the problem is?"

She walked him through the bill. He followed along. The charge didn't make sense, but it was a problem he had seen once or twice. They had sent out a memo about it last week; a bug in the billing system easily remedied by a credit to the customer. No need to call for a supervisor. No drama. Just a few clicks and he would be done.

"Okay. Ma'am I see what the problem is here," his heart raced as he considered his next words. "Unfortunately it's going to take some time. Can I take a moment to handle this and I'll give you a call right back?"

"Uh, sure. I guess that's fine."

"Should I call your wireless number or do you have another line you'd like me to call?"

"Uh, yeah. I have a dead spot in my apartment, so you better call me back on my landline. It's 503-555-7046."

Miles struggled to keep up with the numbers as he jotted down her home address from the information he was seeing on the screen.

As he closed the call he made a point of skipping the part of the script that dictated that he remind the caller of his name.

"Thanks so much for calling Rise Wireless. You'll be hearing from me soon."

QC would probably not look twice at that since this was an unconventional call. Then again, they would wonder why he didn't simply resolve the issue.

As much as he tried to evade the fact that he was playing roulette with his job, that's precisely what he was doing.

He tucked the small note into his pocket, looking around as though he had just pilfered a candy bar.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of call after call, and he nearly forgot about Lily. But just the presence of her name and number written down and in his pocket brought back the old feelings, good and bad. On this particular night it turned out that he and Jill got off their shifts at the same time. He trailed her out of the building. Her dark hair brought Lily back to his thoughts and suddenly the tiny piece of paper in his breast pocket glowed and warmed up in his mind's eye.

Driving home in the dark his mind stayed hypnotically fixed on her. A familiar cocktail of feelings and thoughts rushed through his brain and his body like a drug he'd been sober from since high school. She was back in his system.

The heady mix was a blend of the thrill activated by her proximity to him and the sick feeling of desperation and fear that had kept him from talking to her before she moved away and it was too late.

He only knew what city she had moved to from eavesdropping. She was still there, in that city. And now he knew precisely where she was.

He thought of getting rid of the paper. After all, it had been a relief when she had left and he had a chance to move on. She had been a terrifying obsession for him since the sixth grade.

And why shouldn't he have been obsessed? Can't fault me for my taste in women, he thought to himself. She was pretty in such a way that he could almost convince himself he was the only one who thought so, but it was more than looks that he had watched. She chose good friends; nice people he was nevertheless terrified to talk to because of their mere proximity to her. She had many developing talents, doodling beautiful landscapes during bored moments that found full flower in the painting class he had cooincidentally taken with her. She liked to wear flowers in her hair, and her smile made him want to weep. She wore white keds that she had personally decorated with stars and stripes.

When he arrived home and his room mate had not yet returned, he flipped on the television to forget her and had a drink. A few more drinks later, and after the room mate had gone to bed, he pulled the paper out and looked at it. Just a collection of numbers scrawled in his own frenzied hand. He thought of calling her, but realized it was too late.

He thought of moving to her city. He thought of putting himself on her street from time to time, hoping for a glimpse. No, he assured himself, she still had her name, so she was unattached. No boyfriends. No children. No exes. Only her waiting for him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she would ask him after he worked up the nerve to talk to her.

He would smile and push back her hair and kiss her softly in reply. And she wowuld yield to him. And he would be happy, and get a new job in the new city and take care of someone.

He fished out a lighter from the spare kitchen drawer and went to the back porch. He simply stood there in the dark cold, holding up the lighter and the tiny note in a long hesitation, like a suicidal man contemplaying a long jump from the side of a bridge.

The flame almost surprised him, leaping from the gas vent and licking at the edge of the note. He dropped the flaming thing and Lily burned on his back porch.

He was half way to work the next day when he realized that he had promised to call her back to resolve her issue. He would not and she would grow frustrated and lose confidence in the service provided by Rise Wireless. She would call again, exasperated, and talk to someone else, another stranger, in another call center far away.

She would threaten to break her contract, cancellation fee be-damned, and they would transfer her to retention where they would bribe her and woo her and butter her up. But she would say no and hang up and that would be that.

He had let a customer down and might lose his job, but nothing could be done.

It was much too late.

Naked Hero (PG)

I had to pick someone to tell. It wasn’t really a tough choice. I’d thought of telling Megan first, my best friend at the time. She had a gossipy streak, though. I needed someone who would keep my secret. I needed Kyle.

My palms were sweating that day as I contemplated my situation. I realized that it could have been much worse. Sweating palms could have turned out to be my power. I could just wipe my palms on the bad guys, greasing their clothes with my repulsive perspiration. I pictured the grizzly no-goodnicks ralfing in some alley after I caught them mugging someone.

I almost smiled at the image. I had just finished junior high school and constant tormenting had exhausted my sense of humor about myself. What would those kids say about me now? When I found out what I could do I felt elated. And it was real, too. My mom’s scream when an empty set of clothes came to the breakfast table served as irrefutable evidence. I could turn invisible. No more problems, right?

But I had seen too many comic book movies, and (I confess) read a few too many actual comics. I couldn’t pretend that this unforeseen left turn in puberty would be simple and fun. Yeah right, I hear you say. The first thing I would do if I found out I could turn invisible is have as much fun as possible. Well, smarty-pants, I did have fun. It was a blast playing around in front of the mirror, giving my dog and my kid brother a scare, but that’s entertaining for only so long. It was day one, after all. I wasn’t too willing to get adventurous with it yet. So I was excited, but that’s not the point.

You see, powers make everything complicated. I could only imagine then how those complications would ripple through my life. The drama with my family had already started. What would happen at school, though? Could I trust my friends anymore? Some of them would surely feel envious. Some just wouldn’t understand. If my secret got out (and I had no doubt in my mind it would have to stay a secret), I had a strong feeling I would have to get used to hearing the word “freak.”

My friends would have to be few and loyal. One comic cliché gave me comfort; y’know, how the hero would have a close-knit posse of one or two compassionate, infinitely understanding non-super friends who closely guarded the secret and helped share the hero’s burden? I knew it was a cliché because it rang true. What else did I have to go on? Anyway, it had to be true if I was going to survive this. I needed a posse, even of just one person. I needed someone who would understand the plight of a pimply fifteen-year-old girl who can turn invisible, and spends her evenings solving mysteries and fighting evil-doers. I would have to rely on the people around me.

I think that scared me more than anything else.

Kyle and I didn’t talk much anymore. Our parents had been friends for years, and we had lived next door to his family before they moved across town. We had last played together at his twelfth birthday party.

The next year he got quiet. That fall when school started I noticed him in the halls. We were friendly with each other --saying hi in the halls, and suchlike-- but we never hung out or anything. I noticed him at lunch eating alone, poring over notebooks, shuffling papers printed off the internet. I basically let him keep to himself, and didn’t intrude. I figured we each had to handle our new adolescent stress in our own ways. He didn’t seem to have too many friends, but at least he had interests. He and I were lab partners one semester, and we worked on a project together at his house one evening. His parents were always nice to me. He was the only boy I felt remotely comfortable being around. If you can’t trust the guy you ran around naked with as a toddler not to betray your secrets in the jungle that is junior high, who can you trust? Besides, he was the quiet type. He always sat in the back of class, and he never seemed to feel like he had to prove anything to anyone: confident, but quiet. He was tall, a little on the chunky side, and cute.

That’s right; I had a crush on him. I wish I could say I didn’t hope me telling him about my power would bring us closer somehow, like MJ and Peter Parker, but I can’t.

So, leave it to me to make a complicated situation absolutely impossible. Not only was I going to have to come up with the guts to tell him about my power, but my fantasies also ran away with me so it felt like I was also about to ask him out.

I rode the bus across town. I remember wishing, for the first of many times, that I could be invisible with clothes on. I didn’t want anyone to see me, look at me, or know that I existed. Anxiety intruded, and rattled my thoughts. Had I gone completely crazy? We hadn’t ever really talked. What if he just called me names, kicked me out, and that was the end of it? What if he exposed me as a circus freak and sold tickets? I tried to calm myself, taking deep breaths, reassuring myself that I could trust Kyle. He’d never betrayed me before, right? Then again, I’d never really given him the opportunity to. Who else did I have, though? Megan blabbed. Kyle had a clean, if short, track record. I was a slave to circumstances. As my mind surrendered itself to complete vulnerability and utter powerlessness, a strange thing happened.

I calmed down. I was fifteen and terminally self-absorbed, so the irony was not lost in me that I should need to discover a super-power to realize just how fragile and powerless I really was. The bus slowed and I checked where we were.

My stop.

I made my way to his street, my heart racing. I tried to will it to slow down. I tried it on my shaking hands, but it didn’t work there either. I wiped my slimy palms on my jeans, swallowed hard, and rang the doorbell. His mom greeted me and asked me in.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

She must have noticed the frantic, constipated look on my face. Apparently the whole “turning invisible” power package didn’t come with the ability to keep my feelings from showing on my face. Superman still had to be Clark Kent. I supposed Invisigirl (or whatever I was going to call myself) still had to be Annie Ludo.

“Can I get you something?”

I politely refused.“Actually, I’m here to talk to Kyle. Is he around?”

“Oh, sure. Let me get him.” She called him down through the house intercom system. A few seconds later he tromped down the stairs. He seemed surprised, but why wouldn’t he be?

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back. He gave his mom a look, and she discreetly left without saying another word. She didn’t even have a twinkle in her eye. Good lady, I thought. I’d always liked her. I wish I could say I didn’t picture her being my mother-in-law in that moment, but I can’t.

He kept his hands in his pockets. His eyes looked suspicious. “What’s up?”

I checked the doorways into their front room. Sound seemed to carry too well. I got closer to him without getting in his bubble, and lowered my voice, which had to be shaking.

“Um . . . can we go talk someplace? With some, y’know,” I swallowed, “privacy?”

He looked surprised, but nodded. He looked me over, and must have seen my distress. Now he looked worried. It was quite sweet of him; he seemed to be genuinely interested in what was wrong. No backing out now. He would be ready to hear it or he wouldn’t. He would betray me or not.

He led me to the back yard. His mother’s prize-winning garden looked immaculate and manicured. Sorta romantic, I thought. I pushed that idea out of my head and tried to silently rehearse what I would say as we walked to a bench in the corner near a babbling fountain. We sat. I took a deep breath, and felt like I finally had it clear what I would say.

He spoke first.

“So what’s goin’ on? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no -I mean- I’m fine. I think. Just,” and I held up my hand, begging his pardon, and asking for patience.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Take it easy.”

I nodded. I felt more confident than ever that Kyle was the right person to talk to here. I used the silent pause to rally my courage.

“I’ve got something to tell you. But maybe it would be better if I just showed you.” Looking back now, I realize how that must have sounded; he probably thought I would kiss him or something.

I concentrated, flipping that subtle, now familiar mental switch my little magic trick requires. My clothing became an empty shell, barrette and contact lenses hovering over the open neck of my empty t-shirt.

He smiled.

“Well?” I asked nervously. His eyes darted towards the house before checking the perimeter of the yard.

“I’ve got something to show you, too,” he said. He sounded elated. “Take my hand.”

I hesitantly reached out with my invisible, sweating hand and he took it. He looked towards the house, intently focusing on a single spot on the wall facing the garden.

Suddenly, I lost my breath. Stars danced over my eyes and I tried to blink them away. I shook my now-visible head to clear it. I looked around, realizing we were sitting in his bedroom. I had the sudden need to go to the little super-girl’s room. It clicked in my mind what had just happened, and I was hugely relieved. A weight was off, and the adrenaline of anticipation raced through my chest and made me feel warm.

“You mean, you can-“

“Teleport. Yeah. I have to see where I’m going though,” he said, gesturing towards the window that looked out on the bench we had been sitting on a moment before. “But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve got something else to show you.” He walked past me and opened his closet door wide. He walked in and sat down at the computer desk inside. It looked like some kind of secret cave with gobs of hanging clothes dangling over his slick, new-looking computer. I looked around, and noticed the large box and over-flowing packing material it must have arrived in.

“Come here.” He opened a browser, and entered some passwords. Several windows opened -- video screens. They were the views from security cameras. Some peered behind store check-out counters; some watched over bank tellers, another showed uniformed workers unloading an armored car.

“Until your uh . . . demonstration I wasn’t sure how I would get past security,” he said, looking at me pointedly. He smirked. “We’ll be richer than we ever imagined.”

The warm feeling left. My stomach hit the floor in disappointment and fear. My thoughts began a caffeinated scramble to determine my next step. I knew what I would have to do. The implications—or complications, if you will—came crashing down on me like shelves of painfully heavy books.

I made up a lame excuse and left. When I got home, I started packing. I packed light, because I realized I wouldn’t be wearing clothes a lot. I left my mom and brother a note and hoped they would understand.

So that’s where it started, and that’s why I’ve spent the better part of my life nude and totally invisible.

I’ve since made some friends like Peter Parker did, but only because I chose them a little more carefully than I did with Kyle. I was right about hearing the word “freak” more often.

I wish I could say that I always managed to stop Kyle from doing terrible things. I tried. I wish I could say that I managed to turn him around. I tried there too. I wish I could say that he and I became friends again.

I wish I could say those things, but I can’t.