Life in Wayzata, MN
[Private. starspangledcap, we muns should talk about the RP? This is just a note to let the muns know where Sally is and what she is doing.]
Sally dropped her book bag behind the counter, where it landed with a thump. She wasn't supposed to have personal items up front, but Pansy, the manager, didn't care if she did her homework. Sally mostly stuck to her homework, but occasionally, when the store was just dead, she did a little flyer or leaflet work. Only for the really important rallies, like Earth Day or National Coming Out Day.
For NCOD last year Sally had doctored up photos of famous mutants and captioned them "In or Out?" On the back she had put the phrase, "They can't hide; neither should you." The ones of Pyro, Cyclops, Rogue, and the Scarlet Witch had gone pretty quick. Sally thought that was because they had a sort of risque-thing going on. Emil, her best friend, he argued that Cyclops did not have a risque thing, at all, and Sally gave him a long talk on blindfolds and the value of feeling your way around with your hands. Emil still argued that Emma Frost was way more risque. Not to girls, Sally had countered; the boy who dates the bad girl is way more interesting to women than the bad girl herself.
Sally double-checked Radon's math -- his name was Mike, really, but he called himself Radon -- and signed in on the register. She set her iPod in the deck and adjusted the volume on the store's speakers. There. All set. Six hours until go-home time. Sally hauled out her Calc book and started in on the day's assignment.
A few customers came in. Tuesday night was not a big night here at Hot Topic. It was all-ages night at Playground, for one thing. And the Entry had local shows, small bands. Sally finished her calc and restocked the "Magneto Was Right" shirts, adjusted the stack of "American Hero" Captain America shirts. She stopped at those, made sure they looked just right. Hot Topic was the kind of store where people went for the villains. The Magneto shirts always went fast, and in the World of Warcraft gear the Horde stuff sold twice as fast as the Alliance. The Firefly stuff went quick, too. People liked rebels and bad guys. But these shirts, the American Hero shirts?
They'd sold out after two days. Pansy'd had to emergency reorder them.
Sally had read Kat Farrell's article on Captain America. She'd cried. Sally loved Ms. Farrell's work, but her idol couldn't be more wrong on this one. So what if America was MySpace and iPods. So what if Sally and her friends knew who Paris Hilton was fucking. Sally was exactly what Farrell was slamming. She was young and self-centered and obsessed with pop culture and she knew it. But what Farrell missed was that none of that stopped Sally, or Emil, or Madison, or Mike or any of them, it didn't stop them from caring about the deeper things, too.
You can't care that much all the time. Sally knew that. She read the newsletters and the action alerts from Amnesty International, sent the emails to Congress, sent her membership dues to the Task Force. After a while it just hurt too much, and you go to the mall or you IM all night about Daredevil's secret identity or you find a cute guy at a club and you make him wonder if he's going to get any. And then the next day, after school and work and homework and sports and trying to keep your friends and trying to keep your parents happy, well, you sent out another email or organized another rally. You did your best.
Sally carefully smoothed out the top shirt so that Captain America's face was clearly visible.
But him. Captain America. He was better than all of that. He didn't stop. Didn't take a break. Didn't give up not ever on anyone. He knew what was right, and he lived it every minute of his life. Sally traced his picture with her finger and turned angrily back to the counter. She wiped the few hot tears from her eyes and slammed open her Chem book. There wasn't going to be another one like him. There wasn't going to be a Captain America again. And the world was a sadder, smaller, dirtier place for his loss.
After a while Sally checked her phone for messages. Her mom, Toni, was out on a date that Sally had arranged. A really nice guy named Steve from Sally's church. If Unitarian Universalists can really be said have churches, precisely. He was eight years sober and ran with the local AA Harley club. Really nice guy.
There were no messages from her mom, two IMs from Emil, and news headlines. Sally scrolled through those. One caught her eye, a notice from a superhero-fan listserv she subscribed to.
There was a new group starting up in New York. The New Defenders. Sally smiled. They were a bunch of teenagers, it looked like. She wished them all the best. Maybe there was a chance that the next Captain America would come out of that.
It wasn't likely, but there was always a chance.
Sally dropped her book bag behind the counter, where it landed with a thump. She wasn't supposed to have personal items up front, but Pansy, the manager, didn't care if she did her homework. Sally mostly stuck to her homework, but occasionally, when the store was just dead, she did a little flyer or leaflet work. Only for the really important rallies, like Earth Day or National Coming Out Day.
For NCOD last year Sally had doctored up photos of famous mutants and captioned them "In or Out?" On the back she had put the phrase, "They can't hide; neither should you." The ones of Pyro, Cyclops, Rogue, and the Scarlet Witch had gone pretty quick. Sally thought that was because they had a sort of risque-thing going on. Emil, her best friend, he argued that Cyclops did not have a risque thing, at all, and Sally gave him a long talk on blindfolds and the value of feeling your way around with your hands. Emil still argued that Emma Frost was way more risque. Not to girls, Sally had countered; the boy who dates the bad girl is way more interesting to women than the bad girl herself.
Sally double-checked Radon's math -- his name was Mike, really, but he called himself Radon -- and signed in on the register. She set her iPod in the deck and adjusted the volume on the store's speakers. There. All set. Six hours until go-home time. Sally hauled out her Calc book and started in on the day's assignment.
A few customers came in. Tuesday night was not a big night here at Hot Topic. It was all-ages night at Playground, for one thing. And the Entry had local shows, small bands. Sally finished her calc and restocked the "Magneto Was Right" shirts, adjusted the stack of "American Hero" Captain America shirts. She stopped at those, made sure they looked just right. Hot Topic was the kind of store where people went for the villains. The Magneto shirts always went fast, and in the World of Warcraft gear the Horde stuff sold twice as fast as the Alliance. The Firefly stuff went quick, too. People liked rebels and bad guys. But these shirts, the American Hero shirts?
They'd sold out after two days. Pansy'd had to emergency reorder them.
Sally had read Kat Farrell's article on Captain America. She'd cried. Sally loved Ms. Farrell's work, but her idol couldn't be more wrong on this one. So what if America was MySpace and iPods. So what if Sally and her friends knew who Paris Hilton was fucking. Sally was exactly what Farrell was slamming. She was young and self-centered and obsessed with pop culture and she knew it. But what Farrell missed was that none of that stopped Sally, or Emil, or Madison, or Mike or any of them, it didn't stop them from caring about the deeper things, too.
You can't care that much all the time. Sally knew that. She read the newsletters and the action alerts from Amnesty International, sent the emails to Congress, sent her membership dues to the Task Force. After a while it just hurt too much, and you go to the mall or you IM all night about Daredevil's secret identity or you find a cute guy at a club and you make him wonder if he's going to get any. And then the next day, after school and work and homework and sports and trying to keep your friends and trying to keep your parents happy, well, you sent out another email or organized another rally. You did your best.
Sally carefully smoothed out the top shirt so that Captain America's face was clearly visible.
But him. Captain America. He was better than all of that. He didn't stop. Didn't take a break. Didn't give up not ever on anyone. He knew what was right, and he lived it every minute of his life. Sally traced his picture with her finger and turned angrily back to the counter. She wiped the few hot tears from her eyes and slammed open her Chem book. There wasn't going to be another one like him. There wasn't going to be a Captain America again. And the world was a sadder, smaller, dirtier place for his loss.
After a while Sally checked her phone for messages. Her mom, Toni, was out on a date that Sally had arranged. A really nice guy named Steve from Sally's church. If Unitarian Universalists can really be said have churches, precisely. He was eight years sober and ran with the local AA Harley club. Really nice guy.
There were no messages from her mom, two IMs from Emil, and news headlines. Sally scrolled through those. One caught her eye, a notice from a superhero-fan listserv she subscribed to.
There was a new group starting up in New York. The New Defenders. Sally smiled. They were a bunch of teenagers, it looked like. She wished them all the best. Maybe there was a chance that the next Captain America would come out of that.
It wasn't likely, but there was always a chance.