Here’s my submission for this week’s “Heroes” prompt for MJ Polk’s Stories from the Jukebox.
I guess David Bowie knew that “no one is coming to save us.” Mel Robbins—and probably folks in the trenches before her—told us so. But here we are with Phillip Slater’s “Heroes” prompt anyway.
And listen, I don’t want to bring y’all down. I’ve been in a funk ever since my family exploded on Monday, which is what we do best when we’re in the same room for more than ten minutes. We ain’t functional, y’all.
But that’s not what this is about. This is about heroes. And let me tell you this—and you don’t have to feel sorry for me; in fact, I’d rather you not—I don’t think I’ve ever had a hero. I mean, I’ve had a hoagie, but that’s a completely different thing.
A hero?
No.
People let you down, folks. And, you may have heard by now, they’re not coming to save you.
I know. You’re probably saying, what kind of headspace is this girl in right now? Should she even be participating? Maybe she should’ve sat this one out.
Prolly.
But heroes.
I’m thinking about that latchkey life, and no one coming. The hose water and the streetlights. The bike rides down to the creek where we built unsupervised fires when we were a certain age and smoked unsupervised somethings when we were older.
And no one came. To stop us. To save us. To check on us.
So—no heroes.
Sometimes you get sick and have to relearn how to walk. The doctor might save your life. The nurses lift you up like you’re a saint. The physical therapists literally teach you things that should be second nature. Are they heroes? Maybe. It’s also their job—which… complicates it.
Remember the friend you hadn’t talked to in two or five or ten years who texts the day you get home. You had posted an ask on social media for rides—to the doctor, to PT, eventually to work—because you just relearned how to walk and you sure can’t drive. And you didn’t even know she followed you, but now she picks you up every day. And when she can’t, her husband does. For three months.
And when you’re cleared to drive, they hang their capes back in the batcave and don’t pop out again until a few years later, when they’ve got a pool and invite you over. Every day in the summer. On the very day you were praying for new friendships—or the tools to nurture old ones.
And you resurrect a friendship you’d pronounced dead more than once.
I mean. They might be heroes. But they also let me down. Even last week.
I’ve told y’all about Roxy. And Kidd. I love them. But I don’t call them my heroes. I call them my friends—for more than half our lives. And I think that’s probably better, even if it’s not perfect.
They want to save the world—one person at a time. They want to be heroes. And they also break my heart on the regular. But maybe I break hearts, too, when I can’t be the hero I want to be. Or the hero you need me to be.
And when we need to—when you really need us to—sometimes “we can be heroes, just for one day.”
And here’s the mixtape:
Heroes—David Bowie
Hero—Family of the Year
The Friend Song—Drivin’ n Cryin’
Hey Driver—Zach Bryan
Follow You To Virgie—Tyler Childers
My Hero—Foo Fighters
A tale about Roxy and how she kind of let me down. But it all worked out in the end. I hope you like it.
The Stand-In
“Wills, do you have an umbrella?” I panicked into my phone. Roxy would be here any minute. She’d already tried to bail twice and she was not gonna be happy if she had to wait on me. Not even one second.
If you haven’t checked out Stories from the Jukebox, you really, really should.
I love what you write so much. You haven’t let me down yet.
A lifelong Bowie fan thanks you. I had a theatre dance company in New Orleans and for one of the concerts I choreographed a piece to V-2 Schneider. Are you familiar with that song?