Filler
“Dude, are you serious?” Tom stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
“What do you mean?” I looked up at him from the couch.
I hadn’t noticed him standing there, too engrossed in the game I was playing. Most of my evenings still ended the same now as they had before—on the couch in front of the TV.
I sighed at his disapproving frown.
“Look man, we’ve been over this.” And we had, quite a few times since the diner, but he refused to let it drop. “They told me to keep everything under wraps until my appointment this Friday. In fact, you’re not even supposed to know about any of this, so no, I’m not going to run out and do anything crazy.” I backed out of the game I was currently in so he could join.
“I know, I know,” he said as he plopped onto the couch and grabbed another controller. “Trust me, I’m giving up on that front, for now,” he said, but a wicked smile flickered across his face.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t just go somewhere and see what you can do, you know?”
“Not only does that sound like the most clichéd thing that we could do, but it also seems like the exact thing they wouldn’t want me to do,” I answered in a level tone.
The real problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it’s that I did. But there was one issue with that.
“It’s that doctor, isn’t it?” Tom gave me a sidelong look.
I had told him a little about her. I thought I had been fairly neutral in my retelling of the story of my cure, but apparently I was rather tactless. Tom said I was practically swooning over this doctor, Holly. He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m waiting for her to tell me exactly what they did to me,” I stated.
“You mean you’re waiting till you can try to impress her with what you’ve become,” he accused.
“I assume they have answers for everything, and thus this,” I gestured to myself, “outcome was not entirely unforeseen.”
“Right, but why waste your time playing video games?” he grumbled.
“Waste? Actually I’m thinking I could go pro!” I answered.
“Seriously?” He shot me an incredulous look.
“Yeah! Think about it. Any time someone got superpowers in a comic and took up a sport, it became a question of ethics. Like, was it wrong for someone with such advantages to be able to play a sport against normal people? Especially if they could accidentally hurt someone. But video games don’t hurt anyone! My physical advantages don’t matter!” I explained.
“Right. So you haven’t noticed any advantages, physical or otherwise, that you now have versus before?” he asked.
“Well, my reaction times seem better, and maybe my prediction skills, and always pressing the right button instead of panicking,” I admitted.
“Aren’t those unfair advantages?”
“Not the same as being physically stronger or faster in a sport,” I said, slightly less convinced than I had been before.
“No? They seem just as unfair given their medium,” he pointed out.
I shook my head, undeterred. People made a lot of money doing E-sports nowadays. I figured it was the one area no one would be able to discover I was different. Though, perhaps the fact that I was more concerned about getting caught rather than being unethical was a red flag. Dammit Tom.
“Show me,” Tom quit the game and brought up a Mortal Kombat.
“What?” I was snapped out of my internal conflict with no conclusion.
“Show me that you’re better than me, that you actually think you are good enough to be pro,” he said.
“Ok.”
Ok. I could do this. Maybe.
That was the thing about Tom. He never played video games before rooming with me. But he was the type of guy to at least give your hobbies a chance. So when we first met, and I spent most of my time playing games instead of going out to parties with him, he was the one to bridge the gap. He gave games a shot. The only problem was that he was amazing at everything he did. So once I’d shown him the ropes and he got used to the controls, I never won again. He used to make bets against me at any game of my choosing: If I won, I could stay in, if he won, I’d have to go out and party with him. This was how he originally got me out of my shell—by using my interests to infiltrate and draw me out. But eventually even I could see it was for the best.
I’d gotten used to losing, but this time would be different. And it was, sort of. He didn’t beat me as badly as he usually did. I held my own, but still lost anyways.
“Let me know when you want to go test out those other abilities!” Tom said with a laugh as he got up and tossed the controller on the couch.
Dream killer.
While I wasn’t adventure seeking or otherwise exploring the bounds of my newfound “superpowers,” I was taking advantage of them in other ways.
Classes were a breeze. For the first few days, I spent my lectures exploring my own mind. I conjured up memories, images from the depths I could have never recalled before. Lessons from days gone, even back to high school. Pages from textbooks sprang to the forefront of my mind when professors said certain words. I couldn’t read the pages, per se, but the information I needed stuck out. This was a fun new skill for the first week, but quickly the classes themselves became boring. After all, I had apparently already learned all this!
The exception was my English class which proved just as difficult now as before. My opinions always seemed wrong and my writing was imitative rather than creative. Apparently, the lessons were too subjective for my mind to simply untangle, as it could with math and science. This meant English quickly became my favorite course, the only one that presented any challenge.
Despite all these other advantages, my favorite part about post-virus life was that I was growing stronger and faster without having to workout. My body was ripped, and I was eating whatever I wanted. It was glorious. As far as I was concerned, that was the real superpower.
For the first week, I had been eating almost twenty thousand calories a day. More than six times what a normal human diet should contain. At least three to four times what giant body builders used to bulk. But I looked almost the same. I weighed in at a hundred and ninety-five pounds. Only fifteen more pounds than I had been before the procedure. I looked a little bulkier, but not like I had gone through some transformation. Definitely not like I was eating thirty big macs a day. Unfortunately, my wallet was feeling it.
Luckily, after the first few days my metabolism seemed to slow down a little. I started eating less and less, until I leveled off at what seemed to be a normal diet—at least compared to what I had been eating. It was still more than double what would be considered normal for someone my height and weight, but it did give me hope that this particular symptom was a temporary effect.
Finally, my first week with these new found abilities came to a close. It was Friday. My day for answers. I finished up my morning classes and immediately headed to the clinic. The last time I’d felt this anxious was when I’d been laying in the hospital about to be treated.
I checked in like normal. Jane was there to greet me, as always. The wait in the lobby seemed to take forever.
I sat and observed the other patients. Only a handful today. Two were heavyset individuals. Another was wearing a facemask breathing raspy breaths. All were much older than me. But that’s how it usually went.
“Ryan?” A nurse stood in the hall leading to the patient rooms.
I hopped up and followed them. They led me to one of the examination rooms I was all too familiar with. The posters in this particular room were all about the digestive system. They never failed to make me squeamish.
The nurse took my blood pressure and temperature, checked my eyes, nose, ears… It all felt the same as before. Apparently there wasn’t anything too different in the appearance of my physical faculties.
After an extremely routine checkup, the nurse left with the promise of a doctor coming soon. I sat on my hands on the parchment paper. I felt nervous and small, like a child waiting for the adults to come tell me what was going on. My hearing picked up sets of footsteps crossing back and forth. Someone entered the room next to me. The words were muffled, but I could almost pick out what they were saying.
Finally, a set of footsteps stopped at my door. A hand on the handle. In walked Dr. Jones. I breathed out heavily, unaware I’d been holding my breath. I hoped my face wasn’t showing my utter disappointment.
“Ryan!” Dr. Jones exclaimed, beaming at me.
“Dr. Jones,” I smiled weakly.
“You are not going to believe this!” he said as he waved the chart and handful of papers in front of me.
At least he seemed too pre occupied to notice my mood.
“Or maybe you will! I’m not sure how much they told you…” He shook his head. “But this is amazing! Groundbreaking! You, my man, are on the cutting edge!”
“Oh?” I attempted to sound excited.
“You are cured! Completely! Cancer free! Isn’t that amazing?” He looked over the chart and papers in his hands. “All separate tests, all clean. There’s nothing left!”
I felt bad I couldn’t match his exuberance. This was everything I should have ever wanted. I was given a second chance at life. I had been sentenced to death but pardoned at the last second. But the one who’d overseen my trial wasn’t here. Holly, the one with the answers.
“That’s great, Doctor,” I said.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Jones asked me.
His expression changed from excitement to concern.
“I know this type of transition can actually be quite difficult. Believe it or not, many people have trouble when they’ve accepted their own mortality but continue living. We have counselors if you need to talk to someone about this sudden turn of events.”
“No, it’s not that. This is great.” I attempted a more convincing smile. “I was just wondering if the doctor from the trial was here. I had some questions for her. Dr. Stone, was it?”
“Ah,” He gave me a knowing smile. “She has actually been highly requested. Quite a few government types coming in and looking for her. So unfortunately she was not able to be here. She said she had to travel and probably won’t make it back anytime soon. She assured me that Dr. Lester covered the most important parts of the procedure with you and said that they will be keeping an eye on you.”
His words hit me like a blow to the chest, and I could barely keep myself from physically slumping in my chair. She was gone? Just like that? What about all my questions? What about everything that was happening to me? Was I supposed to keep this all a secret? Was it permanent?
“Did she say anything about… side effects?” I tentatively asked.
“Hmmm?” Dr. Jones looked down at all the charts. “No… I don’t see anything here about side effects. Though, I’m sure you already know, but this exact procedure is supposed to be kept under wraps. I guess they don’t want everyone in the nation clamoring for it, at least not before further testing. But you are free to let people know you have been treated and are in remission. Have you told your parents yet?”
Had I told my parents yet? I winced. I knew it was self-serving, but I still hadn’t spoken to them about any of this. That was supposed to change after today. After talking to Holly.
“No, not yet. Not everything, that is,” I confessed.
Dr. Jones almost looked like he wanted me to make the call right there in his office, preferably with the phone on speaker.
“But I’m going home for Thanksgiving soon. I think this is news better shared in person, don’t you?” I answered more fully, justifying it to myself as much as him.
“Yes, I suppose that is true.” He sighed, looking almost disappointed.
“Well, I must say, you have been very brave in all this. I don’t recall ever seeing someone your age face what you have faced so stoically. And at the end of the day, you came through.”
He held out his hand, and I shook it.
“This looks to be our last meeting. I’m glad I was able to be a part of this, despite your difficulty as a patient, you know, refusing all treatment!” He favored me with a wry smile. “But everyone loves a happy ending!”
He gathered his things and headed for the door but paused halfway through and looked back at me.
“You are free to go. We have handed your case off to the doctors you were working with for the procedure from the government agency. I’m sure they will be in contact for any follow-up appointments. And remember, if you do need any counseling, or just someone to talk to, we have those resources here too,” he said. “I wish you a very fair well, Ryan.”
The door swung shut after him. I sat on the table for another minute before following him out. I didn’t schedule any appointments at the front desk. Walking out of that place for the last time felt like leaving a part of myself behind. It had become a part of my identity, almost a second home.
In some ways, it had been a shelter in the choppy sea of my uncertain life. Instead of a lighthouse warning me away, it had been guiding me toward the rocky shore with a steady hand. A permanent countdown clock for all the problems I’d been facing. And now I was leaving it behind to head back out to sea. Now, though, my life had complications, to put it lightly. Worst of all, Holly hadn’t been there. I had no idea if I would see her again. All the answers to my questions had left with her. Despite receiving only good news, I left the hospital with a lead weight in my stomach.
____________________
The following Saturday, sounds of construction were my introduction to the weekend. They must have been a few blocks away—I hadn’t noticed them from my room before. Thankfully winter would be putting a bitter end to their productivity.
It’s amazing how fast the fantastic can become familiar. How normalizing life is. I had been living like this for two weeks—super hearing, super vision, super strength, hell even super smarts. In one week, I had gone from an average student to top of all my classes. Given more time, who knew where I could be?
Unfortunately, the boredom that had started to wrap its tendrils around me shortly after my procedure were now dragging me down into the mind-numbing depths of apathy.
I supposed this was why the hero always took up a life as a vigilante. Imagine walking around, able to do so much more than anyone ever asked of you, more than any circumstances of life ever demanded, but never actually called to put these abilities to the test. How dull.
I had learned to live with my abilities, and the tedium of life had quickly beat me back into old habits. I had not changed as a person, despite my body’s physical transformation.
Cancer had become a big part of my life. It had dictated most of my decisions and changed me into who I had become. And it wasn’t all bad. I had taken far more risks, faced with my impending mortality. What did it matter? I had a very short fuse on life. Might as well enjoy it! Really live it! There had been no consequences. Even so, I had felt the cold grip of the fear of rejection, stronger even than death. Some risks I had still not taken. Some roads left untraveled.
But now? Not only did I not have to fear cancer, but I no longer feared class, papers, exams, being scrawny, breaking out, or any of life’s little qualms. And so I continued living as if nothing had changed. Even though for me everything had. I understood why creative types took drugs. Any escape from the banality of reality would be welcome.
As it turned out, suddenly gaining fantastic abilities did not transform me into a new person, like it supposedly did in movies. I couldn’t simply don a cape and become a charming superhero. I was merely myself with some new life skills. I quickly regressed back into who I was most comfortable being, which was average in every way.
This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to grow, evolve. I wanted to become someone better and live a more exciting life. I didn’t just want to absorb knowledge from a book; I wanted to be truly wise because I had lived life.
So why do I share all this with you? Because you have to know what I was thinking. How my life was shaping out to be. I would like to think this is a sort of justification for my actions. Maybe I just want a little empathy, or failing that, sympathy. Or perhaps this is my way of saying I’m sorry. I guess in the end it doesn’t really matter. The ones who I wish I could apologize to aren’t around to hear it.