Last month, the superheroes in my town had a meeting in which they discovered the only thing they had in common was their parents are all miserable here. So they got married or found better jobs, and they moved away. One went to New Zealand, but mostly places like Vermont and North Carolina. They left their stuff all over my town. I still don’t go a day or two without picking up silver leggings in a crumbly parking lot, or a lightning-forged shield in the front yard of the foreclosed house across the street.
At first, I assumed my superhero friends and acquaintances had lost sight of the details in their hurry to leave my town. So I would message them privately, being all hey, I found your mind control belt in the cart return at Price Chopper, where do you want me to send it? They’ve been super-whatever about it. Save your money and do media mail, one said. No one ever looks! Or: Hahah I was wondering where it was, j/k! Then, last week, my favorite: It’s okay, you keep it. Keep it? Oh, thank you. I’ll treasure your sweaty unicorn hair woven headband forever.
Yesterday I fished a cape out of the toilet in the ladies’ room at Subway. So this time, I typed: Hope all is well in Dallas. Please let me know where to send your cape because we can’t have it here anymore. Then I set the message to public, because my superpower is: I’m as miserable in my town as I would be anywhere.
Erin Fitzgerald is the author of Valletta73 (Outpost19), and Online Editor at Barrelhouse. She lives offline in Connecticut, and on Twitter at @gnomeloaf.