Reflections of a Teenage Super

Reflections of a Teenage Super

[Author's Note: This story takes place eight years after the movie. | Spot the cameo!]


"I'm THE DASH!"

I heard this cry come from a small kid, maybe nine or ten years old, who was standing at the corner of the elementary school playground, surrounded by a dozen other children, some of them younger than the one making the proclamation.  He leapt up onto a large rock to strike a pose: one arm ridiculously flexed, the other swinging out in a dramatic fashion. He had on a red teeshirt with a big yellow "D" in puffy paint on the middle, and he had red sweatpants with yellow stripes down the sides that anyone could buy at a local clothing store.  He also had a black strip of fabric tied around his head, eyeholes cut out that didn't quite match up level.  I chuckled and shook my head a little, but it was meant with good nature.

My costume didn't look anything like that.

I'm sure some kids had gotten ideas for more flamboyant costumes from tales their grandparents told them. The 'grandad' crowd still liked us Supers more than the inbetween generation.  Some of those people still liked to toss the word 'lawsuit' around.  Which was truly absurd.  Unfortunately, there are still more lawyers than supers.

"You can't run as fast as The Dash!" a girl was telling the impersonator.

"Could too!"

"Can not!"

Oh dear, I thought, and swerved off my path to the senior's parking lot and turned back toward the kids.  I looked innocuous in a varsity jacket, black sports pants, and my favorite pair of white running shoes, but I suddenly thought I could feel the weight of the costume buried in the bottom of my bookbag. I could zip it out in an instant, but getting it on was slightly more tricky  -- yet as a Super, I had learned a while ago that the time it takes to change into a costume is enough time to think through a situation and how to approach it.  Actually, I think it was that word lawsuit that did the most teaching, sadly enough.

Not that I was careless or anything. I was on the Honor Roll right now, and I'd helped our track team place first in the division -- all the while having to keep close tabs on how much of my special ability I used.  I am proud to say, though, that I had surpassed the point where I didn't even use my power during most of high school.  However, these young kids didn't know much about restraint just yet, unless some of them were Supers in disguise.

The proclaimed 'The Dash' had jumped off the rock and stood ready to take off down a walkway leading to the elementary school baseball field.  He hopped from foot to foot in preparation. I took a quick glance down the path, and sighed.  There is an additional talent I possess that isn't quite as famous, since it is more of a learned habit than a power: I have a precise instinct for marking and avoiding obstacles, which is very handy when you're bookin' it at over a hundred miles an hour.  Some people can't walk and chew gum at the same time, especially little kids.

Just as the impersonator was about to take off, and possibly trip over his untied shoelace, I stepped in front of him. "Well, well! Who have we here? Mr. Dash, may I have your autograph??"  I smiled with a genuine admiration.  Silly as the kid was, I always appreciated a fan.

"Whhooaa..." was the immediate reaction. I was famous for being someone other than a Superhero.

"It's Dashell Parr!" squeaked one of the oldest girls. "He's the senior who's gonna win us a big award!"

I grinned again. I liked my regular persona's fans, too.

The kid pretending to be The Dash yanked off his mask and gaped at me. "You're a fan of The Dash, too?"

Another boy elbowed him in the side. "Of course he is!!  Why do you think he's a star runner! He wants to be like The Dash, too!"

Inside I was cracking up. That was the strangest thing anyone had ever said to me. Well, anyone who wasn't a Supervillain, that is.  "Yup, it's true.  I really like that Dash guy.  But, you know, the real secret of his power is being careful!"

The kids all stared at me like I had a cape stuck up my nose. I cleared my throat. "I'm serious.  He doesn't just go running into things. And I do mean running into things. I can tell you, it hurts.  I've run right smack into hurdles and stuff before while I was practicing."

"You're lying!" jeered one brave soul.

"I wouldn't." I gave him a gentle smile. "Sometimes things don't go as you plan.  I learned you can trip over stuff while trying to be good at something, so I picked myself up and tried again, being more careful not to trip. BUT," I said loudly and clearly, "You should always take things slow when you start. It doesn't matter if you're a Super or a plain old guy like me, Dashell Parr."  I gave my most stunning grin.  It worked. Almost all of them were now gazing at me like I was some brilliant sage. Mom would be proud.

The wanna-be The Dash sat down on the rock, looking thoughtfully at his mask.  I braced myself for an angry outburst. That had happened to me before when doling out Super advice, and it had become something we Supers were cautious with when handling a particularly, let's say, enthusiastic fan.  Supers around the world had been warned by the story of Buddy Pine.

But my fears were allayed when the boy looked up at me, his eyes huge with wonder, and said, "Thank you, Mister Parr. I want your autograph!"  His smile made me exhale aloud a relieved sigh.

~*~

After scribbling my name on a few papers pulled from one of my own notebooks as well as on a certain shirt, I hurried to my beat-up yellow Volkswagon Beetle. It was my turn to pick up my sis and I was already five minutes late, but she'd understand.  I tossed my bag into the passenger side seat then climbed into the car I'd affectionately named Bumblebee in honor of one of my favorite oldies cartoon series.  It wasn't the fastest car on the road, and in that way it presented a break from the rest of my life.  It had taken a couple of my friends and I over a month to get that baby in working order, on record as my slowest project ever, but well worth the wait. I turned on the radio and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in time as I backed out of the space then followed the winding way out to the main street.  Things had been quiet this past month, and I was glad.  Final exams were challenging enough.

About ten minutes later I pulled up in front of the music school where Violet was taking singing lessons. She was waiting on the steps talking to her boyfriend, Tony, who as it happened played piano at the school.  Despite how I used to tease her when we were younger, they made a good couple. I was, admittedly, happy there was someone even my sis as a Super could lean on during trouble.  She hadn't yet told him of her powers.  If they ever got married and had kids, though, she'd have to -- better he find out from her than when the baby did something freaky like our little brother, Jack-Jack.

What our family found most ironic about our lives is that Jack-Jack turned into the troublesome preteen, rather than myself.  I outgrew my childishness shortly after we defeated Syndrome.  There was something about our time on that island which, while exciting for a young kid finally able to cut loose with his special gifts, was also a hard reality check.  On the inside I had been terrified.  Violet was even more frightened, and I'm not just saying that to be a bratty little brother.  But our parents had been the most scared.

"Hey, Vi!" I called out the window. "Sorry I'm late!!" She exchanged a few more words with Tony, then pattered down the rest of the stairs to the car. "Sorry," I repeated as she moved my bag to the floor so she could sit. "I had to stop a kid from trying to be Dash-ing."  She gave me a withering look at the pun then settled back as I merged into traffic. "How'd the audition go?"

"It went great!" she said, beaming. "I have to come back tomorrow to find out which part I got, but I definitely have one."

"Congrats!" I would have grinned at her if I hadn't been busy avoiding the twerp who had pulled out too far into the walkway, making left turns difficult even for my little Bug. "I know you really wanted to get into the musical this year."

"All that practice with Tony paid off." She sighed happily.

"Yeah, it helps to have someone around who can play all the pieces in the show beforehand."  I eased the car onto our street.  Violet had decided she wanted to be a singer after seeing one of the high school plays, but she couldn't get lessons until after she had graduated and could earn some extra money on her own, since mom and dad were paying for her entire college tuition.  I was already looking to that even though I didn't have such ambitions when I graduated, merely keeping an eye on the sports program at some of the colleges I had applied to.  On weekends and through the start of the week I worked in a restaurant part time. I was a whiz in the kitchen. We had the fastest service in town. Wink wink.

I reached up to tap the garage door opener. A large flash of gray tabby fur shot away from the corner and to the doorway leading to the house. As Violet and I stepped out, the cat was calmly grooming his fur as if he'd been sitting on the mat the entire time and hadn't wandered into the garage like he wasn't supposed to. Vi picked him up and petted him despite the transgression. "Now, Jazz, you know you aren't supposed to be in here." The cat merowed innocently.  The name both matched my car and Violet's musical tastes. I had wanted to name him Wheeljack, but that quickly lead to nicknames like "Wheeljackjack", which then lead to me getting kicked in the shin by my little brother. Which was tolerable except when he made his body turn to solid steel.

Dad got him a chameleon for a pet, and it was a great investment and hours of fun for the twerp because he'd change his skin type and the lizard, Hogarth, would change colors to match.  He also had a goldfish he'd named Nemo. Jazz wasn't allowed in Jack-Jack's room, and that was okay with Vi and me.

"We're home, mom!" I chucked my bookbag in the general direction of my room, then continued past the hallway toward the kitchen. Vi let Jazz go at some point, because the cat came racing past me to sit by his bowl and mewl pathetically as I entered.  I ignored him because he'd already been fed and I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter.  Mom was puttering around by the stove. The air smelled like beef pot roast.

"You're just in time. And as much as I appreciate you having a healthy snack, you can put that back and get out the plates instead." She gestured with a spoon and a smile toward the cabinet over the fruit bowl.  I obeyed, and set the table before she could blink.  "Good boy." She passed by with a caserole dish of vegetables and kissed me on the cheek.  I sat down, signaling to Vi that she was welcome to go fetch Jack-Jack.  Mom nudged aside the vase of artificial flowers to layer some potholders to rest the meat dish on. "Your father should be home any second, so you can also go ahead and dish out the food.

There was a yell from the back of the house, then Violet came stomping in, one of her force fields tailored around her as a demonic looking Jack-Jack came tearing after her. "J-J!" Mom scolded. He reverted to normal and made an annoyed face.  Hogarth was sitting on his head, lounging amidst a field of blondish spikes.

"I'm hhhoooommmee!" came Dad's voice from the garage doorway. Jack-Jack quickly took Hogarth off his head and ran him back to his room, returning as a cloud of white smoke shaped like a Jack-Jack.  Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head, but said nothing as she went out to greet Dad.

~*~

Dinner went as usual. My parents discussed Dad's job, then asked about school, and then Jack-Jack did something obnoxious like turn himself into fire and charbroil the broccoli left on his plate to show he didn't want to eat it.  Lucky Jack-Jack, growing up in a new world where he could use his powers without always hiding them.  He didn't have the restraint Violet and I had at that age, but at least he wasn't totally destructive about it.  But Mom did make him sit in the corner for two hours without dessert or TV.

I skipped TV to do homework. Algebra was just so much more exciting than the Wednesday night movie. Not. But I had a test on Friday, so I needed to study. Fortunately, I could put my speed to use reviewing notes and sample problems.  After two hours I was leaning back in my chair, had my feet propped on the desk, and was gazing out the window at the darkening sky.

My door burst open and Jack-Jack bolted in, Jazz on his heels. I turned in the chair slightly and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Jack-Jack glared at me. "Keep your stupid cat away from Hogarth!" The lizard was on his head again, looking rather perturbed.  The cat's eyes were on the scaly tail swishing back and forth by J-J's ear.

I pulled down my feet and wearily stood up. "Maybe you should keep Hoggy in his terrarium, then. I think he'd like the sunlamp better than your hot-head, anyway." That would earn me a shin kick later.

Jack-Jack glared at me, then began to turn red and fangy. I simply gave a deadpan look right back.  Then Jazz leapt for Hogarth, knocking J-J over before he could finish transforming. My hands shot out and instantly I held a squirming lizard in one and the scruff of a tabby neck in the other. Jazz mewled pitifully as usual. Hogarth, also as usual, stayed silent -- but had the good grace to look indignant.  I pushed the chameleon into Jack-Jack's hand. "Out."  With a final raspberry of his tongue, he left, slamming the door behind him. I sighed and sat back down, Jazz in my lap. I absently stroked his ears, not hearing the rumbling purr as I looked at the sky again.  There were stars everywhere.  I vaguely remembered how they looked from Nomanisan Island. A brief snicker escaped me thinking of that name. It was all too true, though. No man is an island. Our family lent proof to that. We worked well as a team, or in twos and threes as the situation called for.

I yawned and looked at my notebook. At some point in class I had been scribbling nonsense in the margin, although one of the spirals had turned into an oval, and it had a distinct "i" shape in the middle. I blinked and carefully tore it out. Ha ha, how sentimental of my subconscious.  The symbol was still on all of our costumes, merely modified as the years passed and with personal taste. Edna Mode had been more than happy to redesign them at our wish.  She had kept busy suiting other Supers who also came back out of retirement, as well as some news ones who had popped up. In this world, there would always be Supers. The rest of the normal public would just have to get used it, and also get used to the fact that there are people out there nosy enough to want to try to save the world.

We want to do a darn good job of it, too.  

Maybe someday it will stay saved. Someday...


End~