Act Of A Superhero

1.1 I'm Not Happy I'm Feeling Glad

It was grey. Grey as a beginning of Moby Dick. Grey as in rather dull and uninteresting rather than uniform in color. Barely noticeable was the boy making his way up the sidewalk. He was dressed with all the drama and aesthetic care of a grey over shirt over a t-shirt and shorts, plus a pair of inexpensive sunglasses and floppy brown hair.

Call him Aaron. His parents had, and it had stuck ever since they had directed it to be written on a particular piece of paper the day Aaron emerged into this world. Nearly 18 years had passed since that day and the piece of paper had been filed away to be retrieved on the rare occasion in which it was necessary to prove that Aaron had been born in that particular slot of space and time.

He had used it when he’d taken his drivers test, and achieved a license, Now he was searching for a job to earn money to purchase a car to fulfill that licenses. He had vague urge to drive, though he had nowhere to drive to. Life was complicated like that. Aaron turned from the sidewalk into a building.

The building was the small and dusty Fifth street Employment Office where Aaron was finishing up verification for a job they’d offered him. The job was cleaning house for a couple of uptight businessmen who lived in a nearby neighborhood. He’d met them both and received his instructions which were to was dishes, vacuum, make beds, rake leaves and there such household chores.

Aaron had made the mistake of asking why they hadn’t offered the job to a girl. There were enough young woman with children hanging around the unemployment office to clean a few blocks daily. He’d received an annoyed look but the employment councilor, she was a rather short woman with dusty blondish hair and thick glasses through which she gazed at him. For a moment it looked like she wouldn’t dignify him with a response.

“With as little as we know about these two men who are offering employment, it didn’t seem the safest place to send a young woman.” She said finally. “If you don’t want it there are others in line for it.”

Who would have thought she gave a damn about the safety of another pregnant teenager? Maybe she didn’t, maybe it was government policy or something. Don’t send young woman to work in the homes of sketchy single men lest the parents who they ran away form sue for endangerment or something.

Aaron had ended up with the job, which for all it’s threat to masculinity was probably worth the $6.50 an hour, it was the same kind of things he’d try to pin off on his siblings at home. The employers, a Mr. Thomas and a Mr. Still, partners—business partners, Mr. Still had been clear to distinguish— lived in a single story house with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a dinning room, and a study, plus a patio and a garage. Hadn’t really looked like the kind of place someone would rent if they could afford to pay someone to clean house three times a week. Aaron wasn’t complaining about they paying part though. Maybe they were renting together so they could afford to higher some kid to clean up for them. A prestige thing or something.

Aaron’s own home was slightly bigger, though in worse shape. Two stories four bedrooms, it looked like it belonged in suburbia. As a mater of fact that’s where it did belong, as the story went a suburb had been planned to here, they’d built a sample house to get all the prospective buyers interested, and then gone bankrupt or something.

It was to this home that Aaron returned to letting his body adjust into it’s loose relaxed states as soon as he stepped into the doorway.

Ellen, the kid sister, was seated on the couch with one foot tucked under her, watching King of The Hill. There was an acoustic guitar leaned against the couch arm, that was Even’s. The rest of the house was quiet, the parents still at work.

Aaron passed behind the couch and headed up to his room. His room was small with yellow painted walls and no cover on the ceiling light. There was a calendar with pictures by various famous artist on the wall, a Christmas gift from an aunt (this month was a Picasso painting), and a poster of a nebulae, aside from these, and some scuff marks the walls were blank. The floor on the other hand was heaped with various belongings largely clothes and miscellaneous papers. There was a bed with the faded leopard patterned comforter twisted, and a desk piled with textbooks and school papers perhaps a few novels buried underneath, clamped onto the edge of the desk so that it hung over the head of the bed was a clamp light, Above the clamp light, on the edge of the desk was a small black alarm clock that offered the time in green numerals.

It was this alarm clock that woke Aaron up at seven fifteen the next morning, a Saturday, for his first day of work.

Aaron’s dad was in the kitchen when Aaron stumbled in, sipping coffee and gazing at a folded newspaper on the table before him.

“’morning.” He said. Aaron yawned and nodded vaguely. He went to the fridge to find something to eat quickly. He was supposed to be at work at eight o’clock, and he had to walk there. He figured he should leave a bit before seven-thirty. Aaron chose a strawberry Yoplait that probably belonged to Ellen. He grabbed a spoon, and sat down in the chair across from his dad.

“Breakfast of champions you got there.” Dad commented

“It’s too early in the morning for real food.” Aaron responded, peeling off the foil covering.

Aaron arrived in front of the building. The tenets had clearly done no work yet to restore the drying weedy yard, or even sweep the patio. He rang the doorbell.

Mr. Thomas, the taller one, appeared momentarily. He was dressed in a neat grey suit.

“If you’ll follow me please.” He said without introduction. Aaron followed him through the doorway and into the kitchen.

“The dishwasher’s broken I’m afraid, so These dishes will have to be washed by hand.” The Sink was surprisingly full of dirty dishes for eight o’clock in the morning.

“Alright.” Aaron said. There was an slightly awkward silence now.

“I trust you remember everything from our last meeting?” Mr. Thomas asked.

“I think I’ve got it.”

Mr. Still appeared in the doorway joining the kitchen to the hall.

“Everything in order?”

“Yes.” Mr. Thomas replied.

“Good. I can’t afford to be any later.” He breezed through the room and out the door, leaving a coffee cup by the sink without slowing his stride.

The work was pretty easy, Mr. Thomas stayed lurking in a bedroom as soon as Aaron hand finished neatening it, and was unobtrusive. The bedroom at the end of the hall was locked, presumably to protect whatever valuables these two had. The rest of the house was rather flat and dull, Aaron supposed he wasn’t trusted with whatever it was that might’ve meant something. There wasn’t much around the house, so the cleaning went fast. He was glad to be finished in four and a half hours. He was of course paid more the longer he worked, but he didn’t like it. As soon as he set foot in the building he felt like someone’s servant. Technically, he was.

Aaron the Employed, swaggered down the sidewalk. He reached his home and slouched up to his bedroom.

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