The lights were positioned to get the best angle on Ms. Kelly Cornwallis as Wally glanced around the stage, exhaling a shaky breath. Setting powder was dabbed on their noses by the makeup artists. The corners of Wally’s vision began to cloud each time he made eye contact with the live studio audience sitting behind the blinding studio lights.
If he wasn’t on the chopping block right now, Wally would absolutely ask for her autograph (or her phone number…whichever came first). Kelly Cornwallis is a star, the sweetheart of Tablo City, but it’s one thing to be watching her from the comfort of headquarters in his sweatpants versus actually being on set.
Kelly perfected her blonde curls, adjusted her pink tailored blazer and jewelry, then turned to Camera 1 with a smile.
“Good morning and thank you for joining us on this special edition of Free Talk with me, Kelly Cornwallis. My guest has been in the headlines for quite some time now, but instead of praise, recently it’s out of concern. My guest tonight is the face of the Guild of Superhuman Justice-Seekers – Wally Taylor, also known as the Blue Fist.”
Ms. Cornwallis turned to greet Wally, who was in the middle of taking a large gulp of coffee and wiping the excess off the scruff of his five o’clock shadow. A drop of it fell past his blazer and tie, landing on his pressed pants.
“Thank you for being our guest, Mr. Taylor. You’ve seen the news, I assume?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, I have, Kelly.”
“Then you know why the people of Tablo City are worried?”
“Yes, I do. Thanks for having me on here, Kelly.”
“Of course.”
They sat in silence until Wally answered the question more thoroughly. He fiddled with his signature cobalt blue gloves.
“…Last Tuesday, I let the Dastard Devils – our archnemeses – get away from a fight. But this is not on the Guild; I take full responsibility. I let them win. I mean, it wasn’t on purpose, you know.” The folks at home couldn’t see his leg bouncing ever so slightly.
“Tell us more about that night. How does an escape like this even happen? How does the Blue Fist let this happen?”
…
The stirring shouts of attack, the iron smell of bloodied lips, the blunt thumping sound of a punch – the Blue Fist was at home. When he was in the middle of a fight, he wouldn’t even respond to the name “Wally”. It was a fact he knew his colleagues made whispering snide remarks about under their breath, but he didn’t care. Something, something Jekyll and Hyde, yada yada yada. Nothing made him feel in his element quite like these brawls did, though there were only a few trusted people he would disclose that with. He was the unspoken leader of the Guild of Superhuman Justice-Seekers and the new face of Trusting Insurance for promo on their crossfire insurance policy plan, after all; he had to act more responsibly and less like a… well, it was Mr. Artillery’s favorite insult and Blue didn’t like saying it, thinking it far too off-base: a thirty-four-year-old man-child.
Disrupting his thoughts was a third-rate villain wearing a green unitard, running at him wildly, clearly trying to score some points for taking down a first string like the Blue Fist; he took a breath and removed his gloves, first the left, then the right, allowing his hands to grow to nearly quadruple their natural size – and WHAM! The punch knocked the foe to the ground easily. This was fine, he always took pleasure in being the hero, but where was he? He had to be around here somewhere, that little sneak. It was a wonder how anyone could be hidden in Tablo City’s, nearly completed football stadium with the massive stadium lights shining down on the field, striped only to the halfway point.
“Sorrow-Mon!” he shouted. “I know you’re hiding!”
“Oh, do you?” came a foul voice over the stadium loudspeakers. All heads turned to the west side of the structure, where a platform shrouded in the dark was slowly lowering, using the construction crew’s boom lift. A figure clad in a dramatic black cape with a stiffened collar stood in the shadows. “Well, it may come as a surprise to you, but there are things that I know, too. Can you guess what that is?”
Blue stood as stoically as possible as Sorrow-Mon leaped off the platform when it got close enough to the ground to safely do so, his flowing cape breaking the air and making the landing go smoothly. Sorrow-Mon rose slowly and deliberately, the stadium lights cutting streaks across his face until he was out of the darkness, his hot pink skin aglow. He raised one hand holding a rectangular remote to the sky and with the other pressed its big red button.
“The best seats in town!”
Immediately, a banana-yellow mobile construction crane came alive from a darkened corner of the stadium, stout and menacing. Blue was 70% sure it wore a gold nose ring and bellowed. What was certain, however, was that it was headed straight down the middle of the field. Sorrow-Mon faked left, faked right, and left once more for good measure to get past his enemy, but Blue’s foot sticking out and tripping Sorrow was enough to hold him back until Blue could think up a good plan. From the ground, Sorrow latched onto Blue’s like a toddler. During the attempt to shake him off, Sorrow managed to bite one.
“AIIEEE!” Blue howled in pain, holding back stinging tears in his eyes, picking Sorrow up by the cape with his massive hands and punching him ten feet away.
There was another fight happening a short distance away between a colleague of Sorrow Mon and a new guy in the Guild whose name Blue had never bothered learning. The obvious bad guy got his lights punched out by the obvious good guy. The good guy (Jim, maybe?) glanced around for a new fight to stir up. Blue paid him no mind as he took long strides over to his archenemy, who was trembling on the ground.
Except, he didn’t stay down. But he didn’t fight either. Sorrow-Mon stumbled over his own feet trying to stand, and he ran… He ran to Jim. He winded back and punched Jim… Not the Blue Fist.
It was as bad as infidelity. Blue couldn’t believe his eyes; for six years it had been The Blue Fist vs. Sorrow-Mon, and no one had ever questioned it because it was perfect the way it was! Everyone in the Guild had their own favored foe, and Sorrow was his – what was different now? Did he do something wrong? Was Sorrow afraid of him? There had always been an obvious power imbalance, but that had never made him step down from a fight before. But yes, that might be it; Blue had been hitting the gym a lot harder lately, hadn’t been pulling punches ever since noticing his signature black hair was inching toward salt-and-pepper. To Blue, it was like death itself crawling its way closer to him, one follicle at a time. Nobody knew he’d been dyeing his hair ever since. Wait… he thought, what was I talking about?
With all this internal monologuing, Blue completely missed how Sorrow was able to get past Jim and up to the passenger seat of the crane.
Blue took off at a sprint, but it was no use – the large vehicle was already speeding away, and with one deafening, earth-shaking CRASH, the north wall of the stadium collapsed, unable to support the massive crane-sized hole caused by the machinery, leaving bricks, dust and rubble scattered everywhere. Blue was at a loss for everything; all he could do was drop to the ground on his knees in a display of desperation. He had but one thought consuming any others: How much more can I lose tonight?
…
Wally sat in silence as Ms. Cornwallis read from her notecard. The audience members shook their heads as the list went on.
“Crime levels by the Dastard Devils are the highest they’ve been since before the Guild was formed, Mr. Taylor.”
“Yes, Kelly.”
“A stolen construction crane vehicle – $450,000. Damages to the new Tablo Stadium – $1.2 million. And that’s not the end of it. After that disaster, there’s also been the robbery of a family-owned record store, orcas – actual killer whales – being dropped into the lazy river at the Tablo City Water Park, not to mention the Dastard Devils buying every local copy of international boyband sensation 2WAY’s cover of Rolling Stone magazine to enforce price gauging. The list goes on. You personally have had encounters with the Dastard Devils on these occasions, to the same disastrous results. Mr. Taylor, as a citizen of Tablo City, I think I speak for many of us when I say we’re extremely concerned for our safety.” Many in the audience nodded their heads.
“Kelly,” Wally began, “the Guild has been hard at work since the stadium incident. I want it to be known that even though there have been some mistakes made lately, we’ve prevented much more crime than we’ve allowed. I take responsibility for our shortcomings.”
“Can you elaborate? Why is this happening?”
Wally released a great sigh. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling the way he did, but his head was telling him the emotion he felt was…betrayal.
“If I knew what was wrong, I would try to fix it. There’s been some miscommunication…a misunderstanding between Sorrow-Mon and me.”
The audience gasped at the despicable name.
“We’re not on good terms right now. I was distracted from the construction crane because I was confused and, quite frankly, abandoned. We were in the middle of a fight. And he just left.”
Kelly nodded. “You mean he got away too fast?”
“No. He left to fight someone else.”
The crowd murmured a few unimpressed “Oh’s” and Kelly kept her trademark unbothered expression. She directed her attention to the cameras.
“Let’s take a moment to watch a clip from my personal interview with Mr. Roger Artillery, a founding member of the GSJS and one of Mr. Taylor’s colleagues. You can watch the whole interview plus more at http://www.FreeTalk.com.”
…
Mr. Artillery leaned back in his armchair, scratching his buzzed scalp. His body language, manspreading, the toothpick in his mouth, and the casual camouflage he wore made it clear that this was a man’s man.
“Ya know, back in Sydney, when I first heard of this team being put together, I joined because there’s too much crime here in Tablo City and I had too many grenades – ha!”
He laughed, ending with a wheeze and cough, brought on by a premature case of smoker’s lungs.
“Not really – I’m not allowed to use my grenades. My brass knuckles and nightsticks, yeah. But seriously, I joined because I used to be a criminal. I was in prison a few years out of school, had a therapist, turned around, and I finally got why crime should be policed and stopped. Bad guys killed, you know – ha! Kidding, just kidding.”
“Do you believe the GSJS has upheld that mission since then, as of recent?”
“Nah,” Mr. Artillery wiped away a tear from laughter, winding down the energy to try to better match Kelly’s intimidating nature. “Nah. Wally’s been really down and it’s bringing everyone down with him. He calls me his best friend every bloomin’ hour of the day, so it’s not easy to see him like this. For two weeks, he hasn’t shaved, he walks around wearing that stupid Port Aransas t-shirt he got on spring break in college, and when he’s not listening to Paul Simon’s One-Trick Pony for the thousandth time, he just sits around the TV at HQ like a bum… He’s just lost it. He used to have it when he first got his powers. Ha. Back when he was ‘Gee Willikers’ Wally.”
“Has he talked to anyone about how he feels, or what’s going on with him? Friends, family, a partner, maybe?”
“No, ma’am. A weird one, he is: he’s clingy and whiney, like a kid, but at the same time he wants to be this big man. It’s like he wants someone to ask what’s wrong with him, but he doesn’t wanna seem like he cares. Yeah, he complains a lot, but he doesn’t tell me nothin’. If I ever wanna know anything going on with him, I usually have to ask whichever girl he’s been seeing… Those poor gals.”
“Why do you feel bad for them?”
“All he does is talk about himself, doesn’t ask them one thing. He doesn’t listen either, so I’m told. I’m no Deuce Bigalow, but even I know that’s bad. You’ve at least gotta nod and tell ‘em they’re pretty – right, Kelly?”
Kelly gave a tight-lipped smile as Mr. Artillery laughed at his own slightly misogynistic, possibly well-intentioned joke.
…
There was a few minutes left of commercial break, and Wally was in the middle of telling his superhero origin story to Kelly – hey, she asked him. Maybe a bit deceivingly so, but still.
“Go on; I’ve always wondered how you became the leader of such a respected organization.” If that was said with even the slightest hint of irony, it went over Wally’s head.
“Well, I just want to interject by saying I’m not the leader, per se. We’ve never had that discussion; I just sort of represent everyone’s best interests through my own words and actions. It’s an easy mistake, I can certainly understand the confusion. But anyway, yes, that’s right. My uncle taught advanced chemistry at Upton University in Mississippi, where I went to school. I would help him out in his lab quite a bit – I always have loved science, you know. Well, one day he was working on this strange formula, this concoction, in a beaker, and it was blue. I think it was something he was developing for malnourished chimps at a research facility in Zimbabwe. Anyway, he asks me to hold it for a moment, as he grabs something – I don’t remember what. It’s normally very quiet in the lab, but out of nowhere I just hear the loudest car horn HONKKK outside the window. I jump two feet off the ground, the beaker goes in the air, it comes back down and gets all over my hands and arms. They start growing and growing until they’re four times bigger. I was just losing it, but Professor Uncle somehow managed to calm me down. And he invented these special gloves just a week later! These are how I keep my powers under control.”
“I see,” said Kelly. “That must have been scary to go through as a teenager.”
She addressed the cameras. “When we come back, we’ll also be joined by Mr. Artillery of the GSJS.”
As soon as they were clear on the air, everyone immediately went to work preparing for the return. As Kelly was being bombarded from her plush armchair with script advisors and her assistant, Mr. Artillery was being escorted by a crew member to his seat beside Wally on the guest couch. Wally had never seen Roger so dressed up; in addition to the teal French Cuff dress shirt he sported, he was also definitely flexing the silver Rolex and diamond band on his hands. Regardless of his dress choice, Roger looked tired and irritated.
“Hey man, thanks for coming on here with me,” tried Wally.
Roger waved him off. “Have they offered you a therapist yet? It’d really be like Dr. Phil, huh?”
“I just hope some good comes from this,” Wally muttered. “The whole point of today is getting everyone to trust us again, meanwhile I feel like I’m talking to Sigmund Freud… Hey, what’s an ‘Oedipus’?”
Roger narrowed his eyes, chewing on the pinch of tobacco in his mouth.
“What’d’ya mean? Sounded like she’s just asking questions.”
“Well maybe it’s none of her business,” Wally whispered, scooting closer. “I’m a very private person, you know that! I don’t like drawing attention to myself.”
“… Uh-huh.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to, but he brought it on himself. Or whatever. Sorrow Mon can avoid me as much as he wants, see if I care.”
Roger’s expression was blank. Wally could feel himself getting more frustrated by the minute. It was nothing personal against his friend, but no one understood what was so wrong with this whole fiasco. Roger rubbed his face, deepening a stress wrinkle or two.
“Look, Way,” he began, using the nickname that only he had for Wally, “I’ve been going to some of them council meetings to see what they’re sayin’ about us – it’s not good, mate. Yeah, we still have support, but some people are wanting to do away with the whole Guild. After today when they hear it’s because you and your play pal are having trouble at the Dreamhouse, it’ll only get worse for us.”
“What are you saying?” “Take it down. You’re being a drama queen.”
Wally’s stomach dropped. Before he could object, the “APPLAUSE” sign for the studio audience lit up and the crowd obeyed.
“Welcome back to Real Talk with me, Kelly Cornwallis. We’ve been speaking with Mr. Wally Taylor of the GSJS and are now joined by his colleague Mr. Artillery.”
“Please, call me Roger.” In contrast to his friend’s nonchalant attitude, Wally was crossing his arms and practically throwing a silent tantrum next to him. Who was Roger to undermine him in his time of hurt? He had no idea the history behind him and Sorrow-Mon – to see the two fight each other just made sense. Wally would argue that it was a comfort to the people of Tablo City to see them against each other for all these 6 years, as opposed to, say, Jim? Jim who? Jim’s not even a real name!
“Roger,” Kelly began, “how would you describe the nature of Mr. Taylor’s relationship with Mr. Mon?”
“Woah, woah, okay, there is no ‘nature’ to talk about here, okay?!” Wally shook his head firmly.
“Wally, please, I believe Kelly was asking me. To answer your question, Kelly: Stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, c’mon, Way, you know it is. I know you call me your friend, so I’m gonna be honest with you: it’s dumb. People are worried, property has been damaged, orcas have been unleashed, all because you’re acting like a child. So he decked someone else in the face – it’s just business. What is the big deal?”
Wally groaned, holding his face in his hands. “Ugghhh, it’s not. Did I ever say it was?”
Kelly and Roger shared a knowing look.
“Look, if you want to air out my dirty laundry and all my personal business for all of Tablo City and the universe to see, that’s fine…But Sorrow-Mon means nothing to me.”
The audience reacted with scattered gasps and headshaking.
“But you said – “
“I don’t care! I don’t know what’s happening – maybe I’m just depressed! Did anyone ever consider that? No! I’m thirty-four years old, Ms. Cornwallis – I think I’m entitled to a mental breakdown every now and then!”
Kelly sat still as she always did, legs crossed, brows furrowed, and eyes piercing Wally in a way that was listening, that was apathetic, but still wanted the scoop. Wally had to respect her drive, but right now it was just a smidgen irritating.
“Alright, now might be a good time to go to commercial,” said Kelly in a rational manner to the camera crew, signaling to them. As soon as they were off the air, she leaned forward in her seat to keep her voice at a lower volume.
“Mr. Taylor, if you feel my questions are too personal, I apologize. I would understand if you wanted to cancel the rest of your time.”
“That might be best, Way. You’re digging yourself a hole here,” came Roger out of the corner of Wally’s vision. Roger was looking at him with concern – actual concern. Ha! Like there was anything wrong with Wally to be concerned about.
Wally shook his head, feeling a headache start to form. “The whole reason I came here today was to take responsibility for the Guild and clear our names. Be honest, Kelly – did I do that?”
Kelly thought against it, but decided that evading a simple yes or no response was best, as was her general rule. “Wally, there may be something deeper to get at here. If viewers can understand the why a little better, it might work in you and the Guild’s favor.”
“Okay,” said Wally, drawing out his words. “How do we do that?”
“Tell me, when did Sorrow-Mon first come into your life?”
“Well,” he weakly chuckled, “that’s a story…”
…
Unbeknownst to Wally, instead of going to a commercial break, the viewers at home watched Kelly Cornwallis introduce her secret guest from a pre-recorded segment: Fear and Suffering of a Most Dispiriting Nature.
“Please, Kelly, only my home-world relatives and chiropractor call me by my birthname; you can call me Sorrow-Mon.”
“Sorrow-Mon, is there anything you would you like the viewers at home to know about you?”
“Just that I’m in the presence of true radiance – Kelly, you are even more lovely in person. Oh, I suppose we could begin quite young. Terrifyant-10 was just like any of the pink planets in our galaxy; we were a happy, well-fed, sociable colony with inherent nefariousness. We were such tricksters with one another and the beings who visited from other systems. I suppose the other systems had a different sense of humor than ours, however, because one day during the season of the eastern equinox, Terrifyant-10 was invaded. We were pushed out of our homes and onto the nearest shuttles, forced to evacuate or die… It was my tenth birthday.”
Sorrow-Mon became very morose upon recounting his experience with exile. Kelly couldn’t help but feel – for lack of a better or more humorous word – sorrowful. He continued.
“Yes, thank you. I was relocated to Earth without my parents and was taken in by an adoption agency. Graciously when I turned of age, I was allowed to enroll in the Dalton School for Extra-Abilitied Youngsters, for my trickery and superior mind, of course. At the time, it was one of the only schools of its kind. Most of the children were taught to hone their abilities, while I was taught to control mine, to keep it at a distance. Did I get into shenanigans and tomfoolery? Absolutely. What young boy doesn’t?”
“After graduating, it was quite challenging to find work, as the country was in the middle of a recession due to a crisis in the field of real estate. Not only that, I began experiencing prejudice from others over my Monger skin – as you can see, we are a deep, vibrant pink. I became what’s known as a ‘temp,’ completing odd jobs wherever I saw fit. I eventually obtained a job as a telemarketer for a line of women’s cosmetics. I sat at a desk and made telephone calls all day… I was not particularly talented at it. The Monger prejudice I felt against me at this job was so much that I would purchase large quantities of flesh-toned cream foundation often, so that I might cover myself with it for the approval of my peers.”
Kelly sincerely shook her head.
“I was not happy with this line of work. It got quite frustrating at times. One day in particular, I was late on my rent payment, had spilled coffee on my briefcase, and could not un stick the printer. I was speaking to a very arrogant and mean individual on the telephone. I even bargained about the cream foundation, but she was so nasty – and not in the clever, endearing way a Monger is. I had enough, and so I threw my phone out the window along with everything at my cubicle, including the desk. All those years at the academy, hiding everything about me that made me a Monger… in that moment, I realized what my calling was.
The Dastard Devils were already established as a small-crime committers organization when I applied at their office, but not nearly to the magnitude it is today. There were only eight of us when I got my first assignment to rob the zoo. I was warned about the Guild of Superhuman Justice Seekers, but paid them no thought. We stole the snakes, owls, and tarantulas just fine, but when we got to the orangutans, we knew we were had. There was The Blue Fist – truly a worthy foe. The whole time in jail that first night I was arrested, all I could do was think of ways to outsmart him, to beat him in battle, and the rest is history.”
“That is quite a story, Sorrow-Mon. How do you view Mr. Wally Taylor, your archenemy?”
“With utmost respect, until recently. Maybe in another life I might consider him an old friend.”
“What have you been doing since the stadium incident? We already know about the crime, but I’m sure most people will agree with me when I say that what you’ve been accomplishing lately is…”
“Masterful?”
“…Low-hanging fruit. Are you aware that there’s been footage circulating of you – instead of taking over the city, you’ve often been spotted in your kitchen, baking rose tartlets?”
Sorrow-Mon’s blush was undeniable, even against his pink complexion.
…
“Oh. My. Gosh. I can’t watch this anymore.”
There wasn’t an empty seat in the lounge of the Guild’s headquarters as the team locked their eyes onto the TV set. They were so worried about Wally and Roger’s performance that they opened every one of the large windows in order to let a breeze in, both giving them a little bit of a distraction and acting as a fan for one of Nelly’s, a telekinetic intern, nervous spells. How she was even able to speak right now was beyond any of them.
Two seats over, sitting uncomfortably and feeling unwelcome on the futon and chairs, were the Dastard Devils. Invited over on the basis of a temporary truce, both leagues came together to watch their respective leaders on live television.
“You can’t watch? What about us?” asked the same man in the green unitary that had tried taking down Fist before. “It’s our guy, for crying out loud!”
“Well, that’s very one-sided of you. What, can I not be nervous for someone without any selfish purposes just because their beliefs don’t align with mine? You’re just as bad as straight ticket voters!”
“People, please.” Jim dragged the words out, strolling into the lounge with a bottle of root beer and sweats over his gold spandex costume. “Let’s not have a freak-flip in the lounge, please.”
The weird, acrobatically-inclined twin sisters in matching circus gear belonging to the Devils shared a confused look: “Freak-flip?”
“Guys! I wanna hear this!” came Nelly.
A young Devil raised his hand and spoke in a sarcastic tone. “Um, Superhuman Justice Seekers?” Does this truce limit us to just the lounge, or is the bathroom included too?”
“I really don’t wanna lose my job!” A Guild member burst into tears, her friend consoling her through sobs.
“Nelly,” waved Jim, tapping the side of his skull to indicate his mind, “would you mind hitting the volume?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re telekinetic.”
“And you’re standing two feet away.”
“Oh.”
Jim stood to raise the volume on the large TV, feeling a bit of guilty pleasure as he took his seat back next to Nelly on the couch. Yeah, maybe it sucked that they were all getting bad press lately, but wasn’t there a saying about that? Jim was only 22 years old, enjoying an ice cold root beer, and got decked by the Sorrow-Mon. He was on top of the world.
The consequences of Wally getting fired or quitting (at this point, one or the other had to be coming soon, right?) would admittedly be devastating to Tablo City. For starters, what kid in Jim’s old elementary school didn’t own a Blue Fist lunchbox or backpack? The kids, Jim included, believed in their shining, almost mythic superhero.
That news lady with the big blonde hair was right, though: crime had been rising in the city, especially in downtown Tablo, near the GSJS HQ – it was like the Devils were taunting them. And Wally was the face of the Guild. Sure, his powers were a bit… less threatening, and his name was more ridiculous than the others (and the source of a multitude of X-rated jokes), but Jim couldn’t deny the way the Devils would cower whenever he came around. It made Jim’s job a lot easier. The mayor, the governor, even the President never dealt with the whole GSJS – they only spoke directly to Wally. For some reason, they trusted him to keep things running smoothly.
At that moment, the HQ phone rang on the adjacent wall. Everyone hushed and looked at each other, Guild and Devils alike. The GSJS were probably one of the last remaining landline owners on earth, but the phone was mostly there for decoration, kept out of courtesy for any older folks calling about getting their cat down from a tree. Unless…
Nelly cleared her throat as she stood, inching toward the phone. She put it to her ear, squeaking out a little “Hello?”
“WHADDYAMEANBY…OURLAWYERS…NEVERSEEN SUCH…VIOLATION OF…!”
Nelly nearly dropped the phone out of her hand due to the man on the other end’s yelling. There was some commotion, a scuffle, silence, and finally a much calmer man saying “Hello? Is this the Guild of Superhuman Justice-Seekers?”
“…Yes?”
“I apologize for our new intern. He minored in theater. Likes to use his voice.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Brett Robbins of Trusting Insurance. Our lines have been ringing off the hook with clients concerned about our new spokesperson making a fool of himself on national television; our new crossfire policy is about to end before it even takes off.”
“What are you saying?”
“Next time you see Wally Taylor, tell him to give us a call. The Blue Fist will no longer be representing our company.”
CLICK. Nelly put a hand over her mouth, turning around slowly to meet the questioning gazes of the crowd before her.
“What’s up?’ Jim asked lazily with a mouthful of root beer.
…
“Welcome back to Free Talk with Kelly Cornwallis and my guests today, Wally Taylor and Roger Artillery, members of Guild of Superhuman Justice Seekers. For the last forty-five minutes they have shared their story regarding the recent spike in crime and their commitment to the citizens of Tablo City. I have just one last question for Mr. Taylor…If you could say one thing to Sorrow-Mon right now, what would it be?”
Wally thought of his father and mother back in Mississippi and a tear almost came to his eye. One of the biggest lessons they taught their only child, besides the tricks and know-hows of proper showmanship in a crowd of classmates willing to give ten bucks to watch someone demonstrate their newfound powers (but to charge double for folks who took up two seats) was forgiveness. Did he want to forgive Sorrow, or did he want Sorrow to forgive him? He wasn’t entirely sure, but something along the lines of empathy and heartstrings was for sure speaking to him. He gripped the crumpled tissue in his left palm, the thick blue of his latex gloves making a slight squeak.
“I would say…Look, uh… I understand the position we’re…”
Sigh… Fine. No more camera shenanigans, no more polished and pristine appearances, carefully planned next words. His archenemy – his favorite enemy – deserved sincerity. Not looking up from his lap for fear of crying, Wally let his heart guide him on what to say.
“Sorrow, look…I’m sorry, man. For whatever I did to upset you, I never intended to. If you’re happier with your new enemy, that’s fine. As long as you’re happy, I can find someone else. But if I’m being honest, there’s no one else I’d rather fight than you. But, you know. Or whatever. Do your own thing, I don’t care.”
Kelly pretended to scratch the side of her face to hide the disbelieving look she wore. After today, she definitely would be arguing for a pay raise.
“Well, Wally, what if I told you that we have Sorrow-Mon backstage with us right now? Would you like to talk to him?”
The room was closing in on Wally. His skin suddenly feeling too hot, he threw off his gloves and stood straight up from the couch, prompting the two security guards near the exit to rush onstage and grab Wally’s growing arms to restrain him. Gasps and a few shrieks erupted from the audience.
He was about to push the guards off him passively when, from the corner of his eye, it was him – Sorrow-Mon walking onto the stage, his cape swishing around him over his yellow polo, pressed khakis, and boat shoes. Was he…smirking? That smug little punk, he thought, is he laughing at me? I pour my heart out and possibly kill my career and he laughs at me?? WHO does he think he is??“
“You,” Wally hissed, “you smug, conniving snake – was this whole thing a joke? Is this a setup?” he questioned Kelly, gesturing to the whole set. The guards grabbed him once more and put a hand on his chest to stabilize him.
“For the love of – get off of me!” He broke away from them, regaining his composure. “I’m not gonna kill him.”
“Aren’t you?” asked Sorrow-Mon, his arms still held up to shield his face.
“No!! Did you not listen to a word I said earlier?”
“Oh, I heard it, alright. You said ‘as long as I’m happy’ – but you never knew I wasn’t! You never once considered my feelings! For six years it’s been me outsmarting you, you punching me with your bizarrely engorged meat hooks, me going to jail. You winning everything, every time. I know your combat choreography by heart – I programmed it into our fighting simulator at the Destructo Dome! And guess what – I still lose!” Something changed in his eyes; Wally recognized it as a quick flash of sadness. “I was tired. I needed a change… I needed to feel like I could win.”
Wally couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“So, what, is this some sort of mid-life crisis? Is that why you gave up on the people of Tablo by destroying what we have here? I mean, we have a pretty good thing going on, don’t you think?”
“Wally, I’m a Monger. Do I actively seek out destruction? Sometimes. But the only one here who’s given up on Tablo City is you.”
The audience were divided between a few boos and a majority of claps. Wally’s heart ached as he heard what the city, his city, felt about this.
“I’m…I’m sorry for going through my own thing too! Is it so bad if I have a crisis once in a while too? We can’t all express ourselves by releasing killer whales into the public or robbing record stores, you know! I’m sorry I’m not Jim!”
Sorrow-Mon’s face softened with sadness. “Is… Is that what you think? Is that how you feel?” Sorrow-Mon scoffed, taking a single step closer. “Jim is Jim. I punched him, he punched me. It felt wrong, but I had to make a change, at least once…Jim is not you, Wally.”
A wave of “Aww’s” erupted from the studio audience.
He continued. “And just for the record…”
The audience, Kelly included, gave groans of disapproval at the awful pun.
“…The only reason I stole from the record store was to get your attention!”
“Are you crazy??” shrieked Wally in a higher pitch, brows furrowed.
Sorrow-Mon stood straight, holding back a tear, disappointment in his foe lacing his features. “One Trick-Pony,” he all but whispered.
Wally clapped a hand over his mouth, his face scrunching up in a way indicating that he was in fact about to cry. “Oh, my… But how? I’ve been so stupid… 1980. Warner Bros. Records… Paul Simon’s greatest album.”
“I also obtained a Simon & Garfunkel or two. And then I threw them down the garbage chute after wiping my feet on the record sleeves and setting them on fire.”
Wally’s eyes were welling up at the sentiment. He’d been so blind… Sorrow-Mon didn’t not care! He wasn’t indifferent to Wally! He still cared for Wally enough to hate him, and never had Wally been so happy to be regarded with such spite and malice.
“And you are not the father!” exclaimed Roger, cutting in the middle of the emotional standoff, to everyone’s confusion. “Aheh. Sorry. You were saying.”
Wally and Sorrow-Mon looked at each other – really looked at each other, and they saw all of the good times: The lost teeth, the misaligned jaws, the black eyes, the bruised knuckles, and each looking at their foe, maybe – just maybe – there was a glimpse of friendship as well.
