The conversation played out in my head. As though I were watching a movie. The movie was of 2 people...me and someone else...having a conversation about the creation of an overweight super hero.
But it wasn't as though I was talking about having a movie, it was as though I were scripting a comic book. Only the comic book was my life and the conversation I was having was me trying to talk this person out of recruiting me.
To be a super hero.
I don't know what prompted it, to be quite honest. One minute I was doing the dishes..gathering trash and walking out to the dumpster. The alley is dark. I guess that prompted thoughts of nefarious ne'er do wells ruling the night...only to be shot down by a force for good.
Probably didn't help that we were talking about Agents of SHIELD at work today or that I had just watched the new series, Sleepy Hollow. Mix magic and super heroes and you tap in to something in me that just resonates. I'm sure there's a reason for that.
At 42, my only explanation is one that isn't what a normal 42 (or almost 42) year old man should really entertain. But I entertain a lot of things I really shouldn't. More so lately it seems.
"But...it just doesn't happen. There aren't any fat super heroes."
"So? You have the heart and you have the training."
"You're trained in the martial arts. And the ways of the Warrior Poet."
"A year of kick boxing and Hap Ki Do?! That's what you're calling 'training in the martial arts? Dude. I got one stripe. That's hardly a progeny. And what's this warrior poet shit?"
"It counts. Your heart takes you further than the rest."
"Ok...whatever subject change. Point is...I'm fat. Granted, I'm not as fat as I used to be...but dude...super heroes are buff. There aren't any chunky heroes. And don't dare bring up Thing or Hulk, because I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that gamma radiation would fuck up my day in a heartbeat":
And that's about how it played out in my head. It's not really much...but I think it could be a labor of love in the form of a graphic novel. The next stage in my catharsis, as it were. No...I don't actually think my drawing chops are up to it, exactly. But what the hell...I've never let a thing like lack of skill hold me back before. I used to storyboard with stick figures bitches. Don't think I won't do it again if I'm backed in to a corner.
Of course I'm not backed in to a corner...I'm just having one of those life moments where I have (and see and view from at least 3 different view points), entire conversations in my head play out with people I don't ever recall meeting, but I'm sure I will recognize them as long lost friends when next we meet in this lifetime.
Thing is...I'm realizing that I've still got a lot of shit floating around in my head. A lot of unresolved shit with this dissolution.
I think that maybe that scene played in my head because on some level, I need to believe that I could be a super hero. If only on paper.
And my mysterious conversant?
Nothing would surprise me less than to find out it's Future Todd, coming back to let me know that despite the shit I'm wading through right now, there's a happy ending someone.
I just need to get off my ass and write it.