All My Friends Are Superheroes Read Free

hold it.
    ‘Take a deep breath,’ Ambrose instructed. ‘And think of the first time you kissed her.’
    Tom pictured the horrible basement apartment he used to live in. The worst thing was the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Boot scuffs and cigarette burns covered it. No longer white, it was a grey that always looked dirty.
    The Perfectionist couldn’t stand it. One Wednesday, five days after their first official date, she showed up with two buckets of bright blue floor paint and two paint rollers.
    ‘Great idea,’ Tom said.
    They set to painting the floor. They started where the carpet hit the linoleum. They worked backwards at a furious pace. They’d paint what was in front of them, then shuffle back a few feet and paint that. In no time at all their feet hit the back wall of the kitchen. They’d painted themselves into a corner. Tom looked up and the Perfectionist was smiling.
    ‘What the hell do we do now?’ Tom asked her.
    The Perfectionist kissed him (perfectly).
    Tom remembered this moment as he felt the instrument push down his aorta. The pain was unbelievably sharp. Tom opened his eyes. He craned his neck. He saw a tiny ghost coming out of his heart.
    Tom recognized the ghost as Jessica Kenmore. Her head, then her chest, her hips and finally her legs squeezed out of his heart. She floated upwards, dissolving just before she touched the ceiling.
    Ambrose pushed the instrument deeper. The head of Sally Morgan appeared. Sally’s chest, then her feet came clear. She floated up, dissolving just before reaching the ceiling.
    Next came Nancy Wallenstine. Then Sara Livingston. Then Debbie Cook.
    ‘Christ, how many do you have in there?’ Ambrose called.
    ‘There should be one more,’ Tom told him.
    Tom gripped the edge of the kitchen table. He clenched his teeth. Ambrose pushed the instrument deeper. The head of Jenny Remington popped out of his heart.
    Jenny Remington pulled herself free. She floated over to Tom’s head. She stared at him. She looked so sad. She continued staring him in the eyes, then dissolved.
    Tom closed his eyes. He took a deep, deep breath. He could feel the Stewart every time his heart beat.
    ‘Well, that didn’t work,’ Ambrose said, pulling the Stewart out of Tom’s heart.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Still broken. Good that you cleaned her out. You won’t be getting those pains any more, but she’s still broken.’
    ‘Can’t you fix it?’
    ‘Nope. The whole thing’s broken, and when she breaks like that, there’s nothing anyone can do,’ Ambrose said, wiping the Stewart clean with the cloth from his back pocket. ‘Maybe it’ll mend itself. Sometimes they do.’
    Ambrose set the rib bone back into place. He held the hood of Tom’s chest with the tips of his fingers and let it drop. Ambrose packed up his tools. He shook his head, didn’t say a word, and left.

FOUR

REGULARS
    ‘All passengers are reminded to present proper identification with their boarding passes,’ the airline representative announces through the P.A. system. ‘Proper identification must be presented with your boarding pass.’
    Tom reaches into his jacket pocket. He has proper I.D. and a boarding pass for flight AC 117. His seat, E 27, is beside the Perfectionist’s. But he hasn’t shipped his belongings to Vancouver. He’s paid another month on their apartment. His ticket is a return ticket.
    Tom is so desperate he’s secretly hoping he’s a superhero. He’s never hoped for this before. There’s a chance he might be. All superheroes are born superheroes, but someof them, for part of their lives, appear regular. Their superpowers are inside them, dormant, waiting for the right event to trigger them. Tom doesn’t know how else he’ll make the Perfectionist see him.
    He puts his I.D. and boarding pass back in his jacket pocket. He thinks about the Shadowless Man.
    Before the Shadowless Man was the Shadowless Man, he was Henry Zimmerman. He was regular. He always knew when the toast was going to pop.