dlove_rm's Blog

Superheroes Are Made

I cannot stress enough that this is a work of fiction. The events you are about to read, never took place. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. J

I am not an extraordinary man. There is nothing special about me. Yes I know right from wrong and I know I have done some right in this world and some wrong in this world. I like to think I have done more right than wrong, but I figure if the writings in the good book are true, then there is someone else that will make that decision when the time comes. I just do the best I feel I can and try to make as few mistakes as possible. Perhaps that is what I was thinking that ill-fated night, I really have no idea. I didn’t intend on being a hero. A hero. Wow, I really don’t know that that word really fits. Many say it does, but I just don’t know. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem very fitting. Here, let me tell you about it and you can decide for yourself.

We all heard about the shooting event at that movie theatre in Colorado. Well this was eerily similar. I had just gone to the new movie theatre on its grand opening. I was all set to see the new action thriller, “Highway Robbery” starring Guy Pierce, it was supposed to be non-stop action and a thrill a minute, or so the tabloids raved. I generally like his movies, for the most part. I had bought two tickets but at the last minute my date backed out so I went alone. It wasn’t the first time she had cancelled on me, I think she was trying to find a way to break up with me but she was afraid to hurt my feelings. I will never understand that, there is no “easy” way to break up with a person, so you should just do it and let the healing begin. At any rate, just before the movie was to start, a guy came and sat next to me. The theatre was packed, so I was not surprised the seat got taken by someone else now, in fact I am surprised it took that long to have it taken. I was seated in a very nice location, towards the back the theatre, good view of the entire place and right beside the rear upper exit. I like being close to the bathroom, you know, just in case. That way I don’t have to miss too much of the movie. Nothing like having easy access.

The theatre was dark, the previews and trailers had just finished and the super loud THX Dolby Digital Sound Sequence Tester was just about to play (I love it when the entire theatre vibrates to that rumble – it gives me goosebumps and chills), when suddenly the guy next to me jumps up and into the aisle and lets loose with some big automatic machine gun. People are screaming, running down the aisle, panic is going crazy and yet, here I sit more stunned than anything. I never thought this would happen to me, or anywhere near me for that matter. It looks like this maniac is firing over people’s heads when suddenly the person in front of me falls down bleeding, and the person beside him does too. I have no idea really what happened next, I can only tell you what others have told me. They say I stood up and leapt at the guy in one motion. I find that hard to believe, I mean, I am not a nimble person, nor athletic, but they say I moved like a linebacker after the Quarterback for the tackle to make the highlight reel. And apparently I succeeded. They say I slammed him against the wall, the gun fell from his hands to the floor and someone else pulled it away. Then they say I just started pounding on the guy until he was … on the floor. What I do remember is the cops coming in, I was sitting next to the guy breathing hard and people were telling the cops what happened and I was being asked many questions. I had cops and paramedics slapping me on the back, giving me “at-a-boys” and calling me a hero. It was all just too surreal. Now, if you think this is where you get to decide if I am a hero or not, you are much mistaken. Keep reading, obviously there is more to this story.

Finally the shock of the event was wearing off and I was coming to terms with this new found hero status. Yes, I was a hero. I had given my statement to … the FBI showed up to find out if this was a terrorist event, so I had to talk to them as well. It’s intimidating talking to … the FBI, whoa, that is a whole other level of intimidation. They were very nice, but just knowing they could just throw me into Guantanemo for no apparent reason, that is just plain scary. But anyway, someone let it leak to the press that I was the hero of the event and I was surrounded by news cameras and reporters all wanting statements. I had no idea what to say. I had only ever done a news interview once, and it was for a segment on a weight loss promotion a local YMCA was doing for the city. I wasn’t very good in it. I was living this up though. Someone had thrown out talk about a movie and who would play me (I am thinking Guy Pierce – he was on my mind at the moment) and then a book deal and I had dollar signs going through my brain. I was on an emotional high. Just then a local news reporter asked, “What would you say to the families of those that died tonight?”. How bad is it when you suddenly realize you never once thought about the fact people had just died? I didn’t know what to say. I turned my head away for a moment to contemplate the question, but I turned in the wrong direction. There it was, the medics (or whoever they were) wheeling out 5 gurney’s, well bodybags on gurneys. Four adults and … gunned down, just because they wanted to see a movie. … nine years old. It is chilling to see a body bag that is barely four feet long, to know there is a … of it.

All of a sudden that hero status just fell to the wayside. How could I be a hero? I hesitated. I didn’t move fast enough. Because of my inaction, five people would not be going home to their families and loved ones now. What would I say to those families? What COULD I say to those families? I muttered the words “I’m sorry.” and that turned out to be my quote on the subject. Just like that the interviews were over and I was walking away. Oh they were asking questions, but then again, so was I and I could only hear my own thoughts then. “Why didn’t I react faster?” “What was I waiting for?” And then the questions became even more intense. “Why didn’t I see the gun sooner?” “Did I know he had a gun when he sat down?” “Why didn’t I stop him before he even got up if I saw his gun?” “Did I see his gun?” I was plaguing myself with these questions. I stopped going to work because I couldn’t think of anything but the events of that night. I was convinced that the entire night was my fault. I tried talking to a … but I couldn’t continue. When I lost my job (for lack of attendance – I also lost my insurance benefits so I couldn’t pay for a … Not that seeing a … was really helping. All I wanted was to STOP thinking about that night. But all the … wanted was to make me go over the events of that night, again and again. So I stopped seeing the … Instead, I emptied my savings account and saw a bartender. They listen quite well. And the nice thing about a bar, when you have a hero’s tale to tell, others will buy you booze. So I was able to stay … for the better part of six months with no problem. Rent was a problem though. Bills too. But still, did I know he had a gun? That question was gnawing at me.

Finally one day, I was just unlocking my door, pulling the third and final eviction notice from it, when I was ambushed by the local news reporter that had started this virus running through my head. She wanted a follow up on the hero of the city and to see how I was doing. She was dismayed, to say the least, and my misfortune. She was convinced that the city would help me if they only knew what had happened to me. She asked me many prying questions to try and find out how all this came about. Finally I gave her one bit of information to think about. “How would you feel if, sure you saved many people in a building, but you didn’t save everyone? How would you feel if you let five people, who were depending upon you to save them, down? Would you feel like a hero? Or would you feel like you were the lowest form of nothingness that could possibly exist? I go to bed at night hearing the screams. I wake up in the morning seeing the blood. And all day long I walk around knowing, knowing that if I had reacted just a second or two sooner, those people might not be dead. That a little nine year old girl might still be with her parents today instead of just in her parent’s hearts. How would the rest of this city feel if they had this guilt to live with. The guilt of knowing that perhaps I didn’t do the right thing at the right time. I did the right thing finally when felt the time was best for me to do it. That’s the only explanation I can give for the hesitation; for why it took me so long to tackle the guy down. I have no other explanation at all. There are days I wish I could just relive that nightmare and just do nothing and let it all end differently.” As soon as I said that last sentence I wished I could take it back. The reporter was aghast at my flippant remarks of the day and her news segment on me the next night was far less than flattering, that is for sure. My words were twisted to make it sound like I really meant for the gunman to kill everyone and that I had no remorse for the deceased. That is when my nightmare became a living horror. Families of the victims were trying to sue me. The people of the city saw me as part of the problem rather than part of the solution from that night. I started receiving death threats and harassing phone calls. Even … that once slapped me on the back were looking for any cause to write me a citation or threaten to haul me to jail. I got a ticket for being six inches into the ten feet radius of blocking a fire hydrant. They got the tape measure out and photographed it for evidence even. Now I was against me and the city was against me, I knew I was doomed for sure.

I was being evicted, so I took the last of my money and bought some cheap knockoff Jack Daniels whiskey and then I rummaged my old medicines in the cabinet for anything that looked promising. I knew how to get the thoughts out of my head and the people off my back. Nothing could bother me again if I wasn’t around to be bothered. I didn’t find anything particularly potent in the medicine cabinet but I did find an interesting combination of things to take. I had a full supply of blood pressure medications, some … a few oxycodone tablets left from a dentist visit a while back, and some over the counter sleeping … Oh and a big bottle of Tylenol PM as well. About two-thirds of the way into the fake Jack bottle, all the pill bottles were emptied and I ate a slice of pizza to help keep my stomach at ease, somewhere around then I passed out. That was a Thursday…….I think.

It’s now Wednesday, or so I am told. I just woke up, the room is well lit and clean and sterile and I can now tell, I’m in a hospital. The news reporter is sitting in the corner asleep and a nurse just entered the room and is talking to me about something, I have no idea what she is saying and just like that I am sound asleep again. Perhaps that was some sort of passing over into death, I don’t know. I will try not to think about it. Later that day the same nurse is standing over me, so is the reporter, they both are expressing concern for me. It would be a few more hours (or days maybe) before I really understood what was going on now.

Ok, so it’s Friday and I am in the psych ward of the hospital as they monitor me for suicidal tendencies. The reporter lady has visited me each day, the doctor has monitored my blood and the psychologist has asked me a lot of very pointed questions. I have finally opened up about what all has been going through my mind as of late and the events leading up to this attempt. He has informed me that the reporter came by to do another follow up because she was not convinced that I was really as bad as I made myself out to be, and she found me passed out and when she could not revive me, she called 911 who brought me into the hospital. He then asked me a very strange question I thought. He asked, “How do you feel about being saved?” I wasn’t sure I knew the answer. I mean, yeah I was glad I was still alive I suppose. Although, I had no job or place to live or car or anything of value left in my life so I had no idea what I had to live for. But I was glad I was alive I supposed. I found the question very difficult to answer for some reason. After that he and I spoke regularly about being alive and he asked if the reporter could sit in on a session or two with me. I did ask that it remain “off the record” and he also insisted upon that. He didn’t want his doctor-patient privileges infringed upon either. I learned her name was Carol, ok yes I knew that already. You cant be interviewed by her or reported on the news by her without hearing her name. Carol Reyes. But it was nice to get the formal introduction anyway. Carol explained why she wanted to know more about me. She said she noticed a dramatic change in my demeanor between the night of the event itself, and the evening she caught me at my apartment. She wanted to better understand what caused this shift in my dynamic. So I explained to her, as best I could, with the psychologist’s help, what was going on in my head. The doc had some fancy terminology for it, something called “Psycho-semantic disassociation disorder” or something like that, but basically it was nicknamed “hero fallout”. It is where a hero disassociates him or herself with their actions because they focus on the negative repercussions rather than the positives. It was exactly what I had been doing. I had been looking at the five lives I didn’t save rather than the 50-some lives I did save.

Carol asked if she could do one final piece on me, with some helpful information from the doctor without mentioning the sessions he and I were having. I agreed as did the doctor and a few days later I was headline news on the TV as well as newspapers again. The public was my friend. Oh I still had several court dates in which the doc and Carol both showed up in my defense and in most of them the families themselves showed up only to dismiss the case. The hardest was dealing with the family of the nine year old girl. Her uncle had taken her to the movie and they both had been shot and killed. Her name was Melinda Hall. The family was still grieving, I imagined if I were them I would be grieving for many years to come. She was a beautiful little girl, they had brought photos and videos of her. They wanted me to know just who it was that I “helped rob from their lives”. Those words were still very hard to hear. I knew in my brain that I did not take any lives, but in my heart I still questioned my slow reaction. I still questioned the events of that night. The doc had been helping but I was not “cured”. I don’t know that I am cured even as I am writing this, but I do know I am at terms with it all. That day in the court, the family came to realize a little of my grief as well, and I consumed a large portion of theirs too. I left that courtroom a little more damaged again and the doc and I would have several more sessions just because of that day.

Things started to get better. Carol helped tremendously. She used her influence as a reporter to reach out to my boss and help me get my job back. She worked with the people of the city to help find me a place to live. Yeah it’s not my old apartment but in many ways, it’s better. I am still using public transportation and I have yet to go see another movie (unless it is at home on a DVD player) but small steps first, gotta learn to walk before we run.

So, I did title this story superheroes. So why? Well, in truth I wasn’t even going to write about any of these events, probably ever. But recently I had something happen that changed the way I am seeing things. It is really difficult to explain but let me just tell you what happened and you can try to explain it to yourself. Carol had contacted the Hall family to find out if there was anything she could do to help them with their grief. They just said that they wanted Melinda’s friends to understand why Melinda was not ever coming back to school. So Carol contacted the school and before I knew it, I was being asked to speak at the school. I did not want to do this but both Carol and the doc said they would be there with me and that it would do me good. The school booked a couple of hours assembly in the gym and I was the guest speaker. I basically spelled out exactly what I just told you here. How I tackled the bad guy, how I was a hero, how I was a bad guy, how I was a dead guy, how I was a saved guy, and how I came to be here in front of them today to tell them about Melinda and how I wanted to learn more about Melinda myself. We had some question and answer time back and forth. They would ask me, I would ask them, and we actually ran over our time limit and no one seemed to care. At times I felt like I was losing a section of kids, it did seem like some of them were too young to be involved in these discussions, but then I realized, Melinda was only nine, she was too young to be dead.

Then, at the end of the assembly, when all the questions were asked and answered, I was shaking hands with the staff, Carol and the doc, when a group of … approached and asked if they could speak with me. Well, in all fairness, their teacher approached me and did the asking. … were a bit shy. It was Melinda’s class. Each one just offered me a hug and said thank you for talking with them. Each one but the last one, her name was Sally. Sally was apparently Melinda’s best friend and was supposed to go with Melinda to the movie that night, but she had gotten trouble and was made to stay home. She had no smile for me. She had no hug for me. She had no words for me at all. Instead, she walked up to me, gave me a folded piece of paper and then ran off crying. Other staff members followed after her and her teacher just came up to me and said, “Sally hasn’t said a word or written anything since that awful night. Her parents have been seeking help for her but it doesn’t seem to be doing much.” I suggested the doc might be able to help, he indicated I should look at the paper she handed me. We all looked as I opened it. I think we all came to tears with what we saw. It was folded up like a card. Nothing on the outside but inside she had drawn a picture of Spiderman with his name and the word hero. A picture of Batman with his name and the word hero. And then there was a stick figure and my name. Under the picture of me, it just said “My Superhero”. That is when I knew, superheroes are not in comics and movies, no, they are real life, and they are not born, they are made.