Superman

"I still can’t believe she told you she hoped that you make someone commit suicide one day," I say in disbelief as we both draw absentmindedly, lines and triangles on a blue paper, beginnings of a Popsicle stick bridge. I draw a car driving on the bridge cheerfully. He draws an army tank chasing my oblivious car, on some sort of angry rampage.

I’m talking about a girl named Michelle who recently started sitting at our lunch table.

Michelle is practical, intelligent, talented in music, and a perfectionist. But, she is very opinionated, the type of person who will speak her mind anytime, anywhere, and as loudly as she can.

Floyd despises her for for it, because he's exactly the same way. The only difference is that their points of view stand on either side of the spectrum. Or Floyd just makes it seem that way to grind her gears. Funny how when you put two people like them together, all hell breaks loose. Well, it's not actually funny, if you catch my drift. Lunch went from a peaceful time of laughter and socializing to a time of tension and arguments. Floyd's one intention is to make Michelle so angry that she switches to a different lunch table. And if anyone's capable of that, it's him.

I hope you make someone commit suicide one day. 

Some may say she took it too far, even too far in Floyd’s terms, and with him, too far is way past the lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

"I know, right? Believe it or not, I’m actually the guy who stops people from killing themselves. I’m the guy who stops people from cutting their wrists," he says to me. I look up from the car and the tank and eye him curiously. Really? I keep watching him as he goes on. "My friends call me up, and they ask me to talk to these people I don't even know, talk them out of it. And I'm just sitting there on the phone, asking them about their lives, finding out what's wrong. That's all I do. I talk to them. I tell them to ask out that girl they think they don't have a chance with. Or whatever. Anything. And it always works."

I was speechless. How do you respond to that?

Is there really such thing as a superhero? Does God put them in the world to save the day? Because here is just another guy, the last person anyone would suspect of being a superhero, sitting beside me in shop class in a white t-shirt and jeans, moving his hands as he talks about saving the day. He's like Superman or something. He could save the whole world if he tried. Anyone could, but who actually would?

And now, today is Wednesday, but it doesn’t feel like a Wednesday. I had bounced around like a mental case from the bathroom to the bedroom and back again, brushing my teeth, applying mascara and hitting the volume button on my laptop. "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down.

If I go crazy, then would you still call me Superman? If I'm alive and well, will you be there, holding my hand? I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might, kryptonite.

Superman. He's my hero.

Later that day, we are at lunch, impatiently waiting for our food. Floyd is making Lucy a playlist on Spotify because her taste in music is absolutely terrible. (Nicki Minaj? Gag me) His playlist is full of the bands he thinks that everyone should like just because he does. Then he says, "And now some 3 Doors Down." I look up and say something about how much I love them, I was just listening to them this morning, their album Away From The Sun is amazing, blah blah blah. He looks up from his computer and says, "'Kryptonite.' Hands down the best 3 Doors Down song." I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning like a freak. It's his song! He's talking about liking it! Why does that make me so happy?

Then, we are at lunch on Monday, digging into the food we had been been impatiently waiting for once more. David skipped school for the day, so our usual triangle of random conversations has dwindled down to only Floyd and I. David’s seat becomes mine and I don’t even miss him as Superman and I talk about music and movies and everything and nothing. Suddenly, two other lunch table occupants are trying to get his attention, and him being pulled from our conversation irks me a little. Their statement even more so.

"Hey Floyd! There’s someone we think you’d be really cute with," Elaine says. Brooke nods and so does Symphony. Matching grins all around, and suddenly, all of their eyes are burning into me. Why are they staring at me? I pick at my buttered noodles, faking nonchalance. Then Brooke, eyes still glued on me, says, "Yeah, really cute." I keep looking down at my tray of food and suck on the straw sticking out of my milk carton. This is kind of mortifying.

"I’m dating someone," Superman says.

Oh. How nice.

I pull a dollar out of my purse for green tea and sugar cookies, leave with my empty tray and pretend that those words meant nothing to me.
Come to think of it, those words did mean nothing to me. Like I give a flying fuck. I’ve seen how long his relationships last. Has he ever made it past two weeks?

Wait... Is this maybe-perfect-comic-book-romance-waiting-to-happen becoming sadly predictable? If Superman were to sweep me off my feet and fly me around the world, would he eventually just drop me into the ocean somewhere and find a new damsel in distress to save? Should I spare myself the pain and just admit I already started drowning a long time ago?

I almost told David about all of this today. Almost. How could I say "I like Floyd" when I don’t even know if that’s true? What does that even mean? "I like him"?

It’s all so confusing.  Do I love Superman, or don’t I?

Superman's disguise is not a man named Clark Kent. Superman's disguise is an anarchist. Superman's disguise wears ripped jeans, Metallica t-shirts, and green Converse sneakers. Superman's disguise plays football. Superman's disguise is a smart-ass. Superman's disguise is not something I fell in love with at first sight. What I fell in love with was Superman.

I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to do. I’m just kind of suffering quietly, terrified to tell anyone my secret in fear he will find out and everything will be ruined. I’m a girl with an internal conflict. I’m a damsel in distress.

Superman, save me.