Poem: "That Kind of Hero"
Recently I posted an essay about the comic "Superman: Grounded." It got me thinking about the tension between Ham and Clement introduced in "Weaving Damask," which you need to read first in order for this to make sense. Conversations with 
rosieknight about Clement and Farce played into the development too. This poem also fills the "wishing" square in my 8-13-13 card for the
origfic_bingo fest. It has been sponsored by
technoshaman. It belongs to the series Polychrome Heroics.
WARNING: This poem contains verbal abuse, interpersonal and intrapersonal tension, and vulgar language. If these are sensitive topics for you, please think carefully before deciding whether to read ahead. Other people step in with comfort after the conflict, in case that affects your decision-making.
"That Kind of Hero"
Ham
"I can't believe that
you let Farce get the drop on you!"
I snarl at Clement.
The headspace we share
is much like a house,
each of us with our own room.
Clement's door is a deep green
with a round brass handle,
currently shut tight.
I thump my fist against the door,
but Clement doesn't come out
or even respond to me.
"What were you thinking?!"
I demand. "Did it honestly not occur to you
that a captive might reach for a weapon?"
No answer.
"Are you listening to me, boombots?"
I say. "How am I supposed to become a hero
if you butt in when I've got an opponent on the ground
and then she gets away because you've got
a head and a heart as soft as marshmallow?
If you don't want to help me,
you could at least stay out of my way."
We are not very good
at talking with each other yet.
There always seem to be walls in the way.
I lean against the doorjamb.
"I wish I could fix this," I mutter.
"I wish I could go back and catch Farce
so she can't cause any more trouble,
like a proper hero is supposed to do.
I wish I could get Clement
to fucking talk to me."
Keane's door rattles then.
It's dark walnut
with an iron handle
embossed with a pattern.
There's a screw loose under the handle
and if you're not careful,
you can cut yourself on it.
-----
Keane
"Hey, man," I say,
because Ham's harsh words
are ripping Clement to ribbons.
"Let it go. You're not doing anything
but hurting Clement's feelings."
Ham's door is made from knotty pine,
golden wood streaked and spotted with red-brown.
The knob is fluted black ceramic
with brass ribs and base plate.
I walk past it to knock softly
on the deep green door.
"Clement? You okay in there, bro?"
I ask him.
He doesn't say anything,
but I can feel that he's not okay,
because he's pouring off enough pain
to keep me pinned at the front of our mind.
I wish that emotional pain
was as straightforward to handle
as physical pain, but it's not.
"It's safe to come out now,
if you want to," I say.
"I shooed Ham away."
The door remains closed, silent.
Well, fine. I can deal with this.
"Don't worry," I tell Clement.
"I'll take care of it."
I walk toward the Student Health Center
because that's a place I know.
I can remember going there for injuries,
and Clement knows it from first-aid training.
Maybe if I take him somewhere
safe and familiar, then he will
stop hurting so much,
come out and look around.
-----
Clement
A familiar voice pulls me forward,
though it's calling for Maisie
instead of my own name.
"You look pretty wrecked,"
Jason says. He's an undergrad
who teaches first-aid lessons.
He has a kind face with a scruff of beard,
golden eyes and a long straight nose,
wavy brown hair falling to his shoulders.
People say he looks like Jesus,
which always annoys him because
he is Greek rather than Jewish.
"It's been rough lately,"
I admit, because it has,
what with Mindflare kidnapping Maisie,
then me meeting Dace on the roof,
tangling with Farce in the theatre,
and finally Ham shouting at me.
"Care to talk about it?"
Jason offers.
I try to answer him,
but my throat closes around the words
and it's all I can do not to cry.
I just nod.
Gently he leads me into his office.
It's quiet there,
and it smells of the pine oil
used to polish his wooden desk.
Jason locks the door behind us,
then sits down -- not behind the desk --
but in one of the two chairs in front of it.
I settle into the other one.
"I'm sorry that you're having a hard time,"
he says, "but I'm glad to see you again.
It's been a while."
"I've been using what you taught me, though,"
I tell him, and it's the truth.
"Oh?" Jason says,
his rising tone an invitation.
"Drunk guy on a roof,
probable alcohol poisoning
and possible suicidal thoughts,"
I say, thinking about Dace.
"Then there was a fight
that ended in an asthma attack.
She mentioned a previous suicide attempt."
"No wonder you're upset,"
Jason says, leaning forward a little
to rest a hand on me knee.
"That's some pretty intense stuff."
"I was actually okay until ...
someone started yelling at me
about what went wrong," I say.
"Did you keep everyone alive?"
Jason asks.
I have to think about that.
Dace survived -- I checked on him --
but I have no idea about Farce.
"As far as I know," I say.
"Did anyone else get hurt in the process?"
Jason asks, watching me closely.
I can tell that he's worried about me.
"Yeah," I admit.
"I was more concerned
about someone's health than
making sure she couldn't reach a weapon."
"Anything that wouldn't heal?"
Jason asks.
"No," I say, hoping it's true.
The pepper spray washed off,
but whether Ham will ever tolerate me again
remains to be seen. It hurts
to think that he might not.
"Then you did okay," Jason assures me.
"Emergencies can be scary and confusing.
We give the best help we can.
Sometimes it works out,
but other times there are complications."
"I wish ... someone else understood that,"
I say softly, my hands twining in my lap.
"Does this someone else
have first-aid training?"
Jason asks.
"No, more like self-defense training,"
I say. "That's kind of where we disagree."
I suspect that Ham gets about as much
carryover from me as I do from him,
but it's not helping,
so it hardly matters.
"Well, different backgrounds can do that,"
Jason says. "Not everyone
is cut out to be a hero."
A bitter laugh bubbles up.
"That's also where we disagree," I say.
"Someone thinks that being a hero
is all about the fighting."
"What do you think?"
Jason asks.
"That's not the kind of hero I want to be,"
I say. "It's not wrong, exactly ...
it's just not me."
"There are many ways to be a hero,"
Jason says with a nod.
"I wouldn't want to be a fighter either.
What did you have in mind?"
"I don't know," I say,
shifting restlessly.
"I wish I did.
I wish I could explain it."
Jason is patient as well as gentle.
He doesn't rush or pressure me,
just waits for me to gather my thoughts.
The clock ticks quietly on the wall,
measuring out seconds like grains of sand.
I cross my legs, toes twitching.
My gaze roams around the little office,
snagging on this and that --
the peace lily on the windowsill,
the desktop aquarium with a trio of steel-blue guppies,
the stack of comics left on the end table.
The back cover of one comic book intrigues me,
with a worried-looking hero holding a girl
as they float above the city.
I flip it open and discover
that it's an anthology volume.
The first several stories are typical:
muscled figures hitting each other with their fists,
heroes smashing through walls to save the day.
The last story is different, though.
It's like a collage of what I've been doing --
there is the hero flying up to the girl
as she threatens to jump from a building.
He doesn't grab her, but instead
spends all day talking and listening
and guarding her while she thinks silently
until she feels ready
to step into his arms
and let him carry her safely down.
It's not the kind of story
that comic books usually tell,
but I love it at once.
"That's it," I tell Jason,
but Ham is the one I'm really thinking of.
The taut knots of pain
in my throat and chest finally loosen up.
"I want to be that kind of hero."
Jason smiles at me, warm and sweet.
"The world could sure use more of those,"
he agrees. "We've got plenty of people
who like to solve problems with their fists."
"Thanks for helping me figure it out,"
I say as I stand up.
I hold out the comic book.
"Keep it," Jason says.
"You need it more than I do."
So I thank him again
and walk home slowly
with the comic book
clutched in my hand.
There will be time enough
for me and Ham to talk.
We'll work it out somehow,
now that I understand ...
It isn't that he's a hero
and I'm not, just that
we're meant to be different kinds.
* * *
Notes:
Verbal abuse is a type of emotional abuse. Ham doesn't really mean to be so harsh; he's just frustrated by what happened and doesn't have a better way of expressing it. There are steps for resolving hostile communication in a relationship.
Dealing with anger can pose a challenge. Understand how to let someone know you're upset, deal with an angry friend, and forgive a friend who has upset you.
Headspace is an inner realm for a plural person, where the members of the collective can interact. It often takes the form of a house or other set of rooms. For Damask, headspace is a house, similar to the conventional residence shared with other students. Each headmate has their own room with a door that reflects their personality.
Clement's door is plain deep green with a round brass doorknob.
"Boombots" is Italian-American slang for "idiot."
Keane's door is black walnut with an embossed iron knob. Older door handles can loosen and make it easy to scrape your knuckles on them.
It's hard when your friends get into a fight. Know how to stop friends from fighting.
The situation is even worse for multiples. Uncooperative residents can undermine shared responsibility. Establishing a healthy internal family is often a goal of effective internal landscaping.
Ham's door is knotty pine with a fluted ceramic and brass knob. Italian doorknobs can be quite ornate.
Jason looks like this.
It helps to listen when a friend is trying to deal with stress. Understand how to notice that a friend is upset and how to offer comfort.
The peace lily is among the most popular houseplants.
Guppies are common aquarium fish; steel blue is one of many varieties. They are popular with college students because they're small enough for a desktop aquarium. Jason prefers guppies to bettas because he dislikes the aggressive aspect of Siamese fighting fish. Watching fish swim is soothing, a key reason why they appear in student housing and in health care centers.
Heroism is a complex concept. People often talk about what makes a hero. Explore the nature and characteristics of heroes. Saving people frequently plays a part; rescue workers are often portrayed as heroes. Different types of heroes appear in entertainment and everyday life. Some are better situated than others. Children have many ideas about who heroes are and what they do.
You can be a hero too. It doesn't require superpowers; you just have to notice that someone needs help, then be willing and able to step up. If you want to be a hero, then plan ahead by learning care, action, and problem-solving skills. Understand at least the basics of psychological and physical first aid.
rosieknight about Clement and Farce played into the development too. This poem also fills the "wishing" square in my 8-13-13 card for the
origfic_bingo fest. It has been sponsored by
technoshaman. It belongs to the series Polychrome Heroics.
WARNING: This poem contains verbal abuse, interpersonal and intrapersonal tension, and vulgar language. If these are sensitive topics for you, please think carefully before deciding whether to read ahead. Other people step in with comfort after the conflict, in case that affects your decision-making.
"That Kind of Hero"
Ham
"I can't believe that
you let Farce get the drop on you!"
I snarl at Clement.
The headspace we share
is much like a house,
each of us with our own room.
Clement's door is a deep green
with a round brass handle,
currently shut tight.
I thump my fist against the door,
but Clement doesn't come out
or even respond to me.
"What were you thinking?!"
I demand. "Did it honestly not occur to you
that a captive might reach for a weapon?"
No answer.
"Are you listening to me, boombots?"
I say. "How am I supposed to become a hero
if you butt in when I've got an opponent on the ground
and then she gets away because you've got
a head and a heart as soft as marshmallow?
If you don't want to help me,
you could at least stay out of my way."
We are not very good
at talking with each other yet.
There always seem to be walls in the way.
I lean against the doorjamb.
"I wish I could fix this," I mutter.
"I wish I could go back and catch Farce
so she can't cause any more trouble,
like a proper hero is supposed to do.
I wish I could get Clement
to fucking talk to me."
Keane's door rattles then.
It's dark walnut
with an iron handle
embossed with a pattern.
There's a screw loose under the handle
and if you're not careful,
you can cut yourself on it.
-----
Keane
"Hey, man," I say,
because Ham's harsh words
are ripping Clement to ribbons.
"Let it go. You're not doing anything
but hurting Clement's feelings."
Ham's door is made from knotty pine,
golden wood streaked and spotted with red-brown.
The knob is fluted black ceramic
with brass ribs and base plate.
I walk past it to knock softly
on the deep green door.
"Clement? You okay in there, bro?"
I ask him.
He doesn't say anything,
but I can feel that he's not okay,
because he's pouring off enough pain
to keep me pinned at the front of our mind.
I wish that emotional pain
was as straightforward to handle
as physical pain, but it's not.
"It's safe to come out now,
if you want to," I say.
"I shooed Ham away."
The door remains closed, silent.
Well, fine. I can deal with this.
"Don't worry," I tell Clement.
"I'll take care of it."
I walk toward the Student Health Center
because that's a place I know.
I can remember going there for injuries,
and Clement knows it from first-aid training.
Maybe if I take him somewhere
safe and familiar, then he will
stop hurting so much,
come out and look around.
-----
Clement
A familiar voice pulls me forward,
though it's calling for Maisie
instead of my own name.
"You look pretty wrecked,"
Jason says. He's an undergrad
who teaches first-aid lessons.
He has a kind face with a scruff of beard,
golden eyes and a long straight nose,
wavy brown hair falling to his shoulders.
People say he looks like Jesus,
which always annoys him because
he is Greek rather than Jewish.
"It's been rough lately,"
I admit, because it has,
what with Mindflare kidnapping Maisie,
then me meeting Dace on the roof,
tangling with Farce in the theatre,
and finally Ham shouting at me.
"Care to talk about it?"
Jason offers.
I try to answer him,
but my throat closes around the words
and it's all I can do not to cry.
I just nod.
Gently he leads me into his office.
It's quiet there,
and it smells of the pine oil
used to polish his wooden desk.
Jason locks the door behind us,
then sits down -- not behind the desk --
but in one of the two chairs in front of it.
I settle into the other one.
"I'm sorry that you're having a hard time,"
he says, "but I'm glad to see you again.
It's been a while."
"I've been using what you taught me, though,"
I tell him, and it's the truth.
"Oh?" Jason says,
his rising tone an invitation.
"Drunk guy on a roof,
probable alcohol poisoning
and possible suicidal thoughts,"
I say, thinking about Dace.
"Then there was a fight
that ended in an asthma attack.
She mentioned a previous suicide attempt."
"No wonder you're upset,"
Jason says, leaning forward a little
to rest a hand on me knee.
"That's some pretty intense stuff."
"I was actually okay until ...
someone started yelling at me
about what went wrong," I say.
"Did you keep everyone alive?"
Jason asks.
I have to think about that.
Dace survived -- I checked on him --
but I have no idea about Farce.
"As far as I know," I say.
"Did anyone else get hurt in the process?"
Jason asks, watching me closely.
I can tell that he's worried about me.
"Yeah," I admit.
"I was more concerned
about someone's health than
making sure she couldn't reach a weapon."
"Anything that wouldn't heal?"
Jason asks.
"No," I say, hoping it's true.
The pepper spray washed off,
but whether Ham will ever tolerate me again
remains to be seen. It hurts
to think that he might not.
"Then you did okay," Jason assures me.
"Emergencies can be scary and confusing.
We give the best help we can.
Sometimes it works out,
but other times there are complications."
"I wish ... someone else understood that,"
I say softly, my hands twining in my lap.
"Does this someone else
have first-aid training?"
Jason asks.
"No, more like self-defense training,"
I say. "That's kind of where we disagree."
I suspect that Ham gets about as much
carryover from me as I do from him,
but it's not helping,
so it hardly matters.
"Well, different backgrounds can do that,"
Jason says. "Not everyone
is cut out to be a hero."
A bitter laugh bubbles up.
"That's also where we disagree," I say.
"Someone thinks that being a hero
is all about the fighting."
"What do you think?"
Jason asks.
"That's not the kind of hero I want to be,"
I say. "It's not wrong, exactly ...
it's just not me."
"There are many ways to be a hero,"
Jason says with a nod.
"I wouldn't want to be a fighter either.
What did you have in mind?"
"I don't know," I say,
shifting restlessly.
"I wish I did.
I wish I could explain it."
Jason is patient as well as gentle.
He doesn't rush or pressure me,
just waits for me to gather my thoughts.
The clock ticks quietly on the wall,
measuring out seconds like grains of sand.
I cross my legs, toes twitching.
My gaze roams around the little office,
snagging on this and that --
the peace lily on the windowsill,
the desktop aquarium with a trio of steel-blue guppies,
the stack of comics left on the end table.
The back cover of one comic book intrigues me,
with a worried-looking hero holding a girl
as they float above the city.
I flip it open and discover
that it's an anthology volume.
The first several stories are typical:
muscled figures hitting each other with their fists,
heroes smashing through walls to save the day.
The last story is different, though.
It's like a collage of what I've been doing --
there is the hero flying up to the girl
as she threatens to jump from a building.
He doesn't grab her, but instead
spends all day talking and listening
and guarding her while she thinks silently
until she feels ready
to step into his arms
and let him carry her safely down.
It's not the kind of story
that comic books usually tell,
but I love it at once.
"That's it," I tell Jason,
but Ham is the one I'm really thinking of.
The taut knots of pain
in my throat and chest finally loosen up.
"I want to be that kind of hero."
Jason smiles at me, warm and sweet.
"The world could sure use more of those,"
he agrees. "We've got plenty of people
who like to solve problems with their fists."
"Thanks for helping me figure it out,"
I say as I stand up.
I hold out the comic book.
"Keep it," Jason says.
"You need it more than I do."
So I thank him again
and walk home slowly
with the comic book
clutched in my hand.
There will be time enough
for me and Ham to talk.
We'll work it out somehow,
now that I understand ...
It isn't that he's a hero
and I'm not, just that
we're meant to be different kinds.
* * *
Notes:
Verbal abuse is a type of emotional abuse. Ham doesn't really mean to be so harsh; he's just frustrated by what happened and doesn't have a better way of expressing it. There are steps for resolving hostile communication in a relationship.
Dealing with anger can pose a challenge. Understand how to let someone know you're upset, deal with an angry friend, and forgive a friend who has upset you.
Headspace is an inner realm for a plural person, where the members of the collective can interact. It often takes the form of a house or other set of rooms. For Damask, headspace is a house, similar to the conventional residence shared with other students. Each headmate has their own room with a door that reflects their personality.
Clement's door is plain deep green with a round brass doorknob.
"Boombots" is Italian-American slang for "idiot."
Keane's door is black walnut with an embossed iron knob. Older door handles can loosen and make it easy to scrape your knuckles on them.
It's hard when your friends get into a fight. Know how to stop friends from fighting.
The situation is even worse for multiples. Uncooperative residents can undermine shared responsibility. Establishing a healthy internal family is often a goal of effective internal landscaping.
Ham's door is knotty pine with a fluted ceramic and brass knob. Italian doorknobs can be quite ornate.
Jason looks like this.
It helps to listen when a friend is trying to deal with stress. Understand how to notice that a friend is upset and how to offer comfort.
The peace lily is among the most popular houseplants.
Guppies are common aquarium fish; steel blue is one of many varieties. They are popular with college students because they're small enough for a desktop aquarium. Jason prefers guppies to bettas because he dislikes the aggressive aspect of Siamese fighting fish. Watching fish swim is soothing, a key reason why they appear in student housing and in health care centers.
Heroism is a complex concept. People often talk about what makes a hero. Explore the nature and characteristics of heroes. Saving people frequently plays a part; rescue workers are often portrayed as heroes. Different types of heroes appear in entertainment and everyday life. Some are better situated than others. Children have many ideas about who heroes are and what they do.
You can be a hero too. It doesn't require superpowers; you just have to notice that someone needs help, then be willing and able to step up. If you want to be a hero, then plan ahead by learning care, action, and problem-solving skills. Understand at least the basics of psychological and physical first aid.