My Cardboard Balcony

To The Rescue by Belinda Roddie I've never wanted to be a hero, she said over an ashtray and a Moscow mule. Don't think I could pull it off, anyway. Capes get in the way, and my face ain't the right shape for a mask. And I can't grow adamantium claws from my knuckles or wield katanas like some of those costumed crusaders can. You know, I was driving home when a lady passing on the other side mouthed an apology, because I guess she didn't let me turn left, even though it was definitely her right of way. I don't know if that makes her a good person, just like I don't know if guiding a student through essays and stressful exams makes me heroic. Who knows, she concluded, as she let the vodka accompany the lime in its burning voyage down her esophagus. Maybe one day, even if I can't change the world, I'll be powerful enough to slow down its spin when we're having good days, and speed up its rotation when everything's going

You told me all my life that I was a lightweight. A pushover. That if I ever got the chance to throw a punch, I wouldn't leave a mark. Well, after all that, with you sprawled out on your ass, sporting contusions like pink tattoos and bleeding out of the corner of your mouth...well, that says a lot about your assumptions about me, don't it? So tell me, Baxter, before I take my fist and shove it so hard in your face that your nose bursts like a miniature supernova - am I a lightweight now? Or did I just claim the heavyweight title from you, you goddamn punk?