Origin Story
Chapter 1
The suit.
The man, or woman, always came in a suit to take me away. I wondered, ‘How many years has it been?’
Not long enough since the last time. I thought, ‘Maybe if I hide, he’ll give up and go away?’
That was what I decided to do. I hadn’t heard the doorbell ring, but I knew it had. My hearing disability always prevented me from detecting those high pitched notes.
It was because of the hum. That buzz we all had heard in an instant. It came with the second shock-wave, brought with it so much more change, and had transformed so many lives. But unlike those who had only thought they heard its emergence, I had been exposed too closely to one of its many “faults” and continued to have that hum as a background noise.
So I hadn’t been alerted when the service vehicle arrive, or as the car door was accidentally shut too loudly for the suit’s liking, or that shrill noise of a doorbell being rung.
What I had heard were the footsteps, the quickening heartbeats, and the lowered voices. They were all being quiet because of me.
Unfortunately, I missed the high notes, but silence was easy for me to hear.
While my foster parents greeted the well dressed man at the front door, I slipped out the back. And I immediately ran away from home… Or at least, while this was still considered my home.
As I jumped down from the reddish-brown back porch, I thought about how I was running away to stay. It was funny how the act and goal were a contradiction.
But the excuse wasn’t something I could laugh at.
“Years,” I huffed. It had been years with this family. I liked them, and I was certain they liked me too. Between labored breaths, I asked myself: “Then… then why?”
I worriedly wondered, ‘Did I do something wrong?’ I should’ve been quieter. More compliant and cooperative. No, more than that. If I wanted them to love me, I had to be proactive and go beyond their expectations.
“But… but what… what did I do?” I didn’t know. What I had known was I’d be taken away again. Another town, home, and family.
...Not again.
Beyond the backyard, into the wall of hedges, trespassing onto the neighbors property, and finally following a street that would take me someplace safe. A hideout I always had been given a welcomed hospitality.
The Noland Hotel. Because of the site in which it had been built on top of, it was a grand building project to bring in tourists.
Another hotel had once sat where it now stands. But that was before the Vanishing.
As I saw the great big mansion-like structure on top of the hill, I ignored how much my legs and lungs burned with fatigue to reach it. Until I was inside, I was not safe from being taken.
That might’ve been why I decided to cut across the green vanity of the hotel’s front yard. I wanted to be inside as soon as possible.
There was no sound of it for me to hear, but I knew others could hear it. The stamped clicks that came when I had transitioned from the concrete sidewalk, to the road’s black asphalt leading to the drop off circuit before the hotel’s entrance, and onto that grass --
-- to slip and fall. I’d finished a climb uphill, and the grass was wet, so I had my normal excuses for my trip. And a worse reason: hooves.
I was strong and as healthy as a horse, and with a pair of hooves to go with that. Everything else was still normal… Sorta. A doctor would have to take out the lab equipment for anyone to find the other abnormalities in me.
But it was these animalistic toes I had that bothered me the most. No real shoes for me. And I had no desire to remember the smell of these things being filed -- I would never consider the treatment as a manicure.
I was a freak.
Before I picked myself up, I caught sight of the unfortunate tear I made in the faux turf. The transparent hill could be seen beneath the carpet of grass and dirt.
If I were a normal kid, I wouldn’t have kicked a hole through the reality this town wished still existed. But this reminded me that I wasn’t normal.
“It’s no wonder they don’t want me,” I said softly as I stood back up.
“R’b--a?” At the call of my name, which was Rebecca, I had froze until I could discern who said it.
In both joy and emotional anguish, I had cried out: “Dotty!”
I was greeted by a wrinkly old lady that could be mistaken for the biggest black raisin in the world. That was, a raisin who wore a light blue sundress with white floral designs and a pair of beige fuzzy slippers -- and I believed those slippers used to be white.
She had to shift her rich head of black hair out of her face before taking a wary step toward me. The wind must have been picking up to have caused her treacherous hair to blind her like that. I knew it was a wig, but she took great care to manage it the way she wanted, and it would stay or else she would purchase a new one.
I supposed this meant Dorothy, who I called Dotty, was about to search for heavier threads to wear on her head. But not at the moment.
It was apparent how she tensed up and knitted her brows at me that she was concerned. She saw something was wrong. That I was in trouble.
She even came out here without her walker. In her hurry to see what was the matter with me, she could’ve hurt herself.
Before she took yet another step towards me, I ran to her and reached to tightly hugged her as much as I could around the waist. As if I tried to hide, I buried my face down into her heavy bosom.
A warmth spread behind and around my back before I was pulled further into this welcomed embrace. If I could rely on anyone who liked me, it was Dotty.
We never talked. In a way, not normally. Our discussions were performed through sign language. And how she responded to me was a sign how she felt when seeing me.
Without entirely breaking away from her, we turned to face the hotel’s front doors and I assisted her back inside. Once we entered, I saw the luggage cart being wheeled by one of the hotel’s employees before he stopped and approached us.
I always found it an interesting sight to see the hotel’s service people present themselves respectfully in front of Dotty. But I could never understand what they talked about, their manner of speech coming to me in a staccato.
The walker was offered to Dotty, and I held her until she was comfortable with her set of legs burdening her weight. She smiled down at me and nodded in gesture for us to head towards the pool.
That was a place we both enjoyed.
It was slow walk there, but I didn’t mind it at all. Over the years, I was made aware she had been teaching me to adjust, to take gradual steps, and learn to better balance and obtain a restraint.
When we reached the vast pool, it was our time to rest and relax, and to enjoy getting our “feet” wet. I’d help her remove the fuzzy slippers and to sit down, then we’d scoot to the edge of the pool.
And our legs dangled over that edge to take a dip. That was all we did. I couldn’t swim, never wanted to try. Not with these hooves. As for Dotty taking a splash, I believed her floating days were over.
Now that our hands were free, we signed to each other.
Instead of being questioned about what had happened, or why I was an emotional wreck coming here, I had been asked: “Do you want to spend the night?”
That had taken me by surprise, but I didn’t hesitate for long, and nodded. “Yes, please, thank you.”
She smiled, reached over and around my shoulders, and pulled me in for a great big hug. I knew that was her way of saying she was happy to have me over.
But then, with a startled expression, she had let me go to reach for something above my head.
Looking up, I saw a hand offering her a telephone. I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out who was the caller, but I did wonder what my foster parents were going to say or do.
Dotty would keep me here overnight. The hotel was her fortress and the service acting as its garrison. It would take a siege to take me away from her.
As she took the phone, I watched her lips, but when she smiled at me, I knew she caught me looking. This was obviously a conversation she had intended keep secluded from me.
She didn’t leave me, nor had she turned to face away from me. All she did was gesture at the pool’s television for me to shift my attention on.
And I did. It was the local news, and it covered a regular story we had for years, but this time around was different. There was a reason I had focused on the screen: my superhero, Black Sun had been successfully videoed.
He wasn’t considered a real superhero. No one really was officially declared as such, but I thought of him as one. He was a hero out of the many who tried their hardest to do good for people who couldn’t or wouldn’t.
But I believed not many people saw it that way. That was why I had been excited by this highlighted topic on the news.
It was a rare occasion to capture any footage of this local Emerged superhero. If anyone took a photo of him, all that would appear would be a burned image in the shape of his figure. That had something to do with his power being related to the sun or something like that.
A full black onesie. Maybe for some people that would be strange, but I had a feeling that Black Sun had to improvise. Just grab sleep whenever he could, save any and every person he could, and chose to plop down whenever there was an opportunity.
According to what I’d liked to call “sources,” that dark outfit was meant to absorb as much light from the sun as much as possible. No need for a blankee since he would be nice and toasty with what he wore.
But no one knew why he wore a onesie though. I had my belief, but everyone else needed more details on this fashionable controversy.
For some, they speculated it was because of a requirement for his abilities to work.
His power… Any villain who had been knocked out by him always stated they saw spots. Their vision would be temporarily impaired as if they had stared up into the sun for too long.
Even townsfolk couldn’t look at him for more than a minute. Despite being completely covered in black, and with a face like warm cocoa, it was like he brightly shined.
As for what kind of superhero he was, I couldn’t remember if he refused to join any faction and go solo, or if he was declined for being too much to handle. And it was speculated over the social media he was a class four just a vote shy of being a five.
Well, on the newsfeed, I could read the closed caption stating: “The Life of Black Sun is being brought to you by the sparkling hero himself. No need to remember wearing your sunscreen or sunglasses. Watch it tonight on NLN at nine!”
There was no way I’d miss this, but I would have to ask Dotty to give me permission. It would be considered late at night for her, and in turn, for me too. She’d expect me to be in bed.
It was still an exciting opportunity. Even if I failed to catch the special on tonight's news, I might have a chance to surf it up on the Internet.
Whatever else was on the news hadn’t been as interesting as Black Sun’s highlighted documentary slotted for tonight. So when the anchor lady began reviewing the many villains that had been clobbered by our local superhero, I returned my attention back to Dotty.
...She wasn’t smiling. Her posture was upright, as much as she could, and stiff as if she were a naturally smoothed out boulder on the edge of the water.
Whichever one of my foster parents were speaking with her, the topic wasn’t pleasant news. Now I wondered if it was a good idea to run away.
Not just Dotty, but just about every adult who was on the phone with someone had taught me to never interrupt. Even if it was important, to butt into the conversation would be rude.
Since it appeared she was still going to be a little longer, I went ahead and gave my mushy brain back to the TV. The close caption had a single word in all caps: AVOID.
It took me a second to remember that had been a villain’s name. As if the name was a clue, it kind of proved that criminals were dull light bulbs thought of themselves as brilliant.
There were exceptions. This guy was not one of them.
The reason why this guy was called that was for the yellow cautionary tape he wrapped around his fists, the big red warning label on his chest, a STOP sign over his shoulders to swing like a shield on his back, and many reflectors stuck up and down his limbs.
There was an old footage reel being played on the television of AVOID’s first appearance. This was on Clinton Street, which was a block away from the school I went to. And at this time in the news highlight, that street had a full line of school buses waiting to enter the circle and drop off their students.
Luckily I was not born yet. This happened years and years ago, back when my foster parents were my age. And I bet they were glad to not have been on those buses.
The video that Noland’s News showed was cut and censored, otherwise it would’ve displayed AVOID doing bad things to those on the bus.
The close caption went over the insanity he was quoted saying before being apprehended: “Just a regular school day for regular kids. Now that we have some free seats on the bus, you can start bringing all the right kids back for a proper education.”
This prompted an interview with experts who stated that the public should watch for signs of bullying. That a child can grow up with resentment towards the failings of society and blame everyone.
AVOID… I barely understood what the message he uttered was about, but I remembered that it had been a violent push for us kids being kept apart from the entitled students. I didn’t know what were to be considered ‘entitled’ by his standards, but I wouldn’t be caught surprised if they didn’t exist. He was crazy and appeared to find gratification in his morbid hobby.
Point blank, he was a lunatic to be added to the loony bin.
More of his type had showed up on the screen, like some roster for the most wanted villains. It started with those who committed the top ten atrocities and how often they escaped prison to resume their rampage. But that was enough for me. Shocking news apparently still appealed to the neighborhood audiences for this to be aired.
With the exception of Black Sun’s special, this was exactly why I didn’t enjoy watching the news. And I certainly didn’t want to be reminded of school. It was still being debated whether Emerged children should be placed in the same school program as regular students.
Unlike me, a regular student didn’t require special treatment like Phys. Ed.
No longer being interested in the TV, I looked to see if Dotty was finished with the phone conversation.
She was thankfully off the phone and handing it back to one of the hotel’s employees. As we locked eyes with one another, I was given a smile.
Now came the big question, and I signed: “Do they want me back?”
She offered a confusing response: “Yes, but not tonight.”
...I was happy to know I’d still be staying overnight, but that signed response made my head tilt.
Rather than clarifying what she meant, she asked: “Would you like supper?”
If it was Dotty’s cooking, then the confusion could wait to be cleared later. Especially if it was going to be her cheesy macaroni.
With a smile on my face, I nodded, and we took our time getting our wet “feet” back on solid ground. And off to the kitchens we hungrily went…
Chapter 2
Within an hour or so, we had the kitchen staff acquiesce their kingdom to the queen of soul food. And after she asked if I wanted to help, I immediately accepted with a hug as my answer.
In a way, I had been eager to assist her for more selfish reasons, and I thought, ‘This cheesy recipe shall be mine!’
Once I washed my hands, I practically pranced over to her to help and learn.
She started by taking out a large see-through glass dish. In it, she had laid out in overlapping layers the slices of cheese until the bottom was covered. I had expected her to throw the macaroni in next, but I was wrong.
There was a pot she had placed in front of me. She signed: “Be gentle. Mix and mash them together. Be gentle.”
At first, I was wondering what she intended me to mix and mash. Then I saw the box of macaroni being torn open and its contents deposited into the pot. As a second ingredient for the pot, I watched her plop ricotta onto the noodles.
After flexing my fingers, I got my hands busy getting messy.
When we felt satisfied with my work, she poured the collected macaroni noodles in and smoothed out the mass over the bed of cheese in the bakery dish. As if to give the noodles some structure, she slid a pair of bars of butter in on top of them.
Now that amount of butter might’ve been excessive, and I agreed that I’d become as big as she was if that was all I ate, but I at that moment, I craved for all the indulgence Dotty would offer me.
So after she laid the sticks of butter in, next was that she shook the powdery cheese. Water had been added, and as she watered the dish, I was instructed to lightly stir the surface with a spoon.
As I was busy, she had been underhanded and dropped other ingredients into the dish without my notice of what they were -- just some spices. Of course, she deserved the glare of my pouty face.
Like a busted bubble, she poked my cheek and we laughed.
Just as I could sense and imagine my own voice, I heard my laughter and conjured a deeper variant of Dotty’s guffaw.
Before we stuck the dish in the oven, I quickly picked out of the refrigerator a block of cheese. Dotty knew what to do with that and grabbed a grinder.
She gave me the honors of throwing in the last ingredient, so I began to sprinkle shredded cheese everywhere in the bakeware. Then it was time to toss the cheesiest macaroni dish in the oven.
As things heated up, I honestly tried, but when I smelled the delightful aroma coming out and off of the oven, I couldn’t stop salivating. I may have looked funny while doing this, but I had sucked my lips in to plug myself up and keep from drooling.
A portion of why I loved her macaroni was because of how sweet the cheese would be when done. I’ve had the taste of macaroni when with other foster families, but the closest they came to making Dotty’s macaroni was a dish of bland noodles with cheese.
In comparison, what we were now cooking was sweet buttery cheese with curvy noodles swimming in the appetizing stickiness. Just out of the oven and on the stovetop, we had our first glimpse of tonight's supper. And as I assisted with handling the transfer, I noticed the cheese was getting really sticky, but I didn’t mind that at all.
While she wasn’t looking, I just snuck a finger or two in my mouth to clean these cheesy fingers off. But that came to a giggling stop when she caught me with her maternal sixth sense.
After washing my hands again, I helped her to the chairs for a seat so we could comfortably wait on the dishes to settle and cool.
The dishes were full of Dotty’s golden delicious macaroni! I could barely keep my antsy butt still in my seat. I wondered, ‘Who honestly can endure this tasty tease?’
And I haven't included the ideas I've had. 
