2 Hrs In the Life of a Superhero

The clock on the bedside table reads 8:31 AM when the tousle-haired brunette woman in a strawberry-print nightie sleepily sits up, rubs her eyes, and rises to face the day.  A plastic toy squeaks underfoot and she winces and hobbles to the dresser. She pulls the top drawer, but instead of sliding out, it only moves a little to the side. She pushes it back centered, places her left hand along the dresser edge, and grabs the knob again with her right. The sleeve of her gown falls back to her elbow, revealing rows of horizontal pink scars along her forearm. "Stupid dresser. Got to get it fixed someday," she mutters, then frowns in concentration and gives it a sharp, clean jerk straight back, and it slides open.
  
Picking a pair of buff panties with "No More Pantylines" tag still attached, she reaches with her left hand to remove the tags, and some paper slides into the drawer.  She picks it up, a checkstub from Cedra Laboratories, $1,500.00, pay to Stephanie Mawrling, with an attached copy of Release of Liability signed by her, regarding participation in the study, "Advanced Healing Bloodwork, Healthy Adults Ages 18-35."  She tucks the checkstub and release in her purse atop the dresser and takes the panties, a seamless beige sports bra and nylon footies into the bathroom.  Another dog toy squeaks in protest as she kicks it out of the path along the baseboard.

A long garment bag is hung outside the bathroom door. She takes it with her, leaving the door slightly ajar as she dresses, humming a nameless melody.  From the hallway, a male voice calls, "Stephanie!  I'm getting ready to go, you up yet?"

"Yeah, James, I'm in the bathroom dressing," she hollers.

The bedroom door opens, and a handsome man in his 30's leans in, sandy haired and tall.  "Honey, I made you waffles, they're in the toaster oven to keep warm.  They've got extra whey and soy powder and a multi with iron."

She opens the bathroom door more as an invitation, and he enters. "Thanks a bunch for getting Allison off today.  That really was nice on my day off from the doctor's office."  They kiss lightly, and again more.  "You taste like waffles," she says, smiling.

"Mmmm-mmm," he says approvingly, looking her up and down.  "You don't have to return that until tomorrow, do you?"

"Actually, it's late at 9 pm, but Allison's going to the Jensens' after school for a sleepover," she replies, with a significant pause before, "I can't wait."  They embrace and kiss again, and now her apparel can be seen from the back, a silver lycra  bodysuit with 3/4-length sleeves.  She is almost as tall as he is, 5'10".
  
James leaves regretfully, retrieving the briefcase he left in the doorway.  The dog waddles in slowly, a large old beagle/basset hound mix, makes its way to the discarded toy and sniffs it, then resumes toward the bathroom door just as Stephanie exits.

Her outfit now includes a wide pewter vinyl belt with long gloves tucked into it, and has a lightning bolt of mixed dark gray and silver threads down the front.  Her shoulder-length wavy reddish brown hair is pulled back by a pewter pleather headband with a silver lightning bolt pin at its center.  She has not-quite matching dark gray ankle boots.  She reaches down and pets the dog.  "Hi Gershwin, ole girl," she calls it, "C'mon, let's go kitchen."  She grabs one more thing off the hanger in the bathroom, a silver cape with gray-and-silver-threaded lightning on the back, tucks her purse under her arm and heads into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, she gets her waffles out of the oven, grabs some grapes, and eats them at the counter barstool.  She checks Gershwin's food and water bowls (both half-full, and water on the floor), mops up the water, hands Gershwin a treat out of the glass jar in the pantry, and leaves, noting the time on the kitchen clock as she does.  It's 8:55.

She gets in her car, a dark red Ford Taurus, and drives off, applying makeup as she goes. Along the way, she passes a billboard which advertises, "Be A Hero.  Cedra Clinical Labs.  Paid medical research trials for All ages and conditions."  A few minutes later, she passes under another sign which says, "Save Lives, Give Blood.  Don't wait until you need it."

That sign is only 1000 feet from where she stops, the Central Texas Blood and Tissue Center.  Leaving her cape in the car, she goes in.  The receptionist greets her cheerfully.  "Good morning, Miss Finley, my, that's quite an outfit today, very heroic!  What's the occasion?"

"Oh, I'm talking before a bunch of kids about being a positive example, doing for others, making something worthwhile of their lives, etc.," Stephanie replies lightly.  "I thought it'd get the message across better if I dressed the part."

"Well, it looks great.  You could pose for ads for us.  We'd love to have you as a volunteer, you know."

"I know, Darla.  I've thought about it, I just haven't had time.  James and I have an exchange student, we're pretty busy now.  By the way, would you please update my records.  My new last name is Mawrling.  M-a-w-r-l-i-n-g.  I finally got it changed last month."

"Got it," Darla writes the name down.  "Will do.  You can go right in."

Stephanie does, sits down at the student-desk-style chair, pulls out the checkstub and release from Cedra, and shows them to the male phlebotomist, an African American with close trimmed beard and moustache whose nametag reads Cedric.  "I don't want you to get alarmed when you see my wrist.  I haven't been trying anything.  I just want you to make sure my blood is clear to give to others, after this.  It's been twenty-one days."   

He takes and scans the paper, eyebrows furrowing a second, and frowns when he sees her arm.  However, caution and reserve turn to guarded optimism and perhaps even respect as he sets the paper down, twists the tubing around her bicep, and swabs her arm.

"You're either crazy or brave, but given what that says you did," he indicates the paper with a slight head motion while smoothly drawing her blood.   "I'd say you're a hero, and deserve to wear a costume."

Stephanie blushes.  "It's actually for a speech I'm giving, to a bunch of schoolkids in a junior achievement program.  It's just rented.  I wear street clothes here usually."

His eyebrows lift.  She rushes on.  "I mean ordinary clothes.  I don't know where I got that phrase.  You must get street people often here, for the plasma money I mean."  She flushes even more.  "No offense intended, I know I'm luckier than most..."

He undoes the tubing and finishes putting her blood away, nodding in approval or understanding.  "Well, like I said.  Welcome back.  We'll test it thoroughly.  We always do.  Thank you, Ms. Mawrling."  

She hurries out of the lab from his intense gaze, selecting a bag of cookies and bottle of orange juice from the lobby table, noting the time on the wall above, 9:44.  Reaching her car, she pauses to fasten on her cape which is draped over the seat back.  Then she double-checks her gloves, drinks half the orange juice, and makes sure the mineral water is safely stashed behind her purse on the passenger seat.


The accident happens just in front of her.  She barely has time to pull over past where a woman in a small brown car with an infant in the back seat is struck by a heavy towtruck after she stalls out in the intersection.  It seems to happen in slow motion, what would have been plenty of time before the oncoming truck arrives becomes an interminable nightmare as the car completely stops across both lanes and the truck, brakes squealing, weaves towards the center lane too late and plows into the car's passenger side, spinning it 180 degrees.  The brown sedan, glass shattering, airbags deploying, is hurtled onto the curb ahead of the truck, back end partly on the sidewalk, front end driver's side broadside to oncoming traffic.

Stephanie steers around the truck just barely, coming to a screeching halt on the opposite side of the road, but fortunately facing in the right direction with traffic.  She pulls into the nearby parking lot and races out of her car to the intersection, the towtruck engine now in flames, the driver getting out shakily.  She almost runs into him, sees that he's alright, and goes on to the car.   The dark-haired woman looks up and sits back with a look of shock on her light brown, blood spattered face.  There is glass everywhere, and no sound comes from the back seat.  Stephanie goes around to the passenger side, which is completely crushed like a Coke can, although less so on the front.  The front passenger doorframe is bent, but latch and metal hold when she tries it, hand beside it, twisting her shoulders.  Bracing her left hand on the edge of the roof, she takes the door handle firmly with her right,  whispers, "Oh God, please let this open," and pulls straight back with all her might.  It opens slowly, protesting loudly.

By now, traffic has stopped flowing through the intersection, thanks to the towtruck driver waving cars to halt.  She manages to get the front passenger seat to slide forward with more metal anguish as the bent rails yield under her determined efforts.  The roof has to be forced up to get the passenger seat to pop down.  Somewhere in there she has started bleeding from a long gash on her arm.  The back side of the child safety seat now faces her, still wedged in.  

The mother, hysterical now that she's come back to her senses, tries to grab the child safety seat to help.  Stephanie gently puts the mother's arms down at her sides and rotates her back to sitting straight.  "You need to stay still, Ma'am.  Others will help you and your baby.  Relax, close your eyes, and don't move."  Blood from her arm spills over the woman's bloodied hands as Stephanie moves.  The mother's eyes widen and she gasps.  Suddenly she subsides, exhaling, and with implicit trust, complies.

With a bit more work on the roof, the infant seat comes loose, and Stephanie unbuckles it and edges it over to another Samaritan who has opened the driver's rear side.  A middle-aged lady starts assisting him in easing the carrier out and lowering it to the pavement.  They speak in whispers.  "Gently now.  Toward the left.  On three, on the curb.  1, 2, 3."  No one touches the driver or speaks anything else to counteract Stephanie's words until the paramedics arrive...and there are four, no, five people watching now.

Stephanie gingerly extricates herself from the car and goes over to the baby.  He is unconscious, blue and red all over.  Sirens wail in the distance.  She puts her ear to his lips, feeling no breath.  She touches him gently with her bloodied hand, pulling his cheek down to open his tiny mouth.  "Dear God, let him live," she breathes aloud, and blows into his mouth.  Not daring to injure him more, she looks up, gauging the time the emergency medical crew will take to arrive.

The fire truck pulls up, and paramedics begin grabbing their gear, while she breathes again into the baby's mouth.  Once more, just as the first one arrives, and she scoots a foot to the side.  "Not breathing.  Don't know if he has a pulse," she murmurs, then stands and takes two steps back.  The baby coughs and wiggles his arms.

Looking about, she sees now ten onlookers, and considering her attire and the couple aiming a videocamera at them, boldly walks back towards the wrecker and its driver who by now is surveying the blackened hood of his truck (a firefighter having just extinguished the blaze).  "I  remembered something in my car.  Glad you're alright," she says, loud enough to be overheard.

He nods, remarking, "Nice suit," as she trots past him, cape fluttering.  

Then she's in her car, pulling on her seatbelt, praying, "Please protect the mother of that baby and let her be well too."  She pulls out of the parking lot in time to see the woman stand up, telling the concerned paramedics, "No, I'm fine, really, that woman healed me," indicating Stephanie.  She drives off, managing to blend with other traffic just before the first cop car arrives.

She makes it to the school parking lot at ten minutes past 10.  Somehow while driving she has forgotten her wound and the blood on her costume, but unbuckling her seatbelt, notices them again.  The gash on her arm has stopped bleeding and is closing up already.  She retrieves the mineral water bottle from the floorboard where it fell when she braked severely.  "This better work on blood," she says, a tremor in her voice.  She gets out of the car and washes her arm in the parking lot.  The water works better that Shout on her costume--she squeezes the spots dry, and appears satisfied it will do for now.  She considers the index cards in her purse but puts them back and removes her drivers license. Taking only keys and license, she locks her purse in the car trunk, puts on her gloves, and walks into the school building.

"Good morning, Ms. Mawrling," the security officer greets her after comparing her ID to her face.  "Sign in here, and the STRIVE class is down the hallway right after the cafeteria, first door on your left.  Have fun."  He skips the usual visitor's pass since her costume is so obvious.

"Thank you, it should be interesting," Stephanie replies, just managing an even voice.

The clock above the cafeteria entrance reads 10:29.  Pausing outside the STRIVE door, she crosses herself and takes several deep breaths.   

She walks inside, and after her enthusiastic greeting, begins to talk.  "Good morning, I'm pleased to be with you young achievers today.  You may not think it, but any day, you could be asked to be a hero.  How each of you responds to a crisis, or even ordinary events, could help save someone's life.  Let me tell you what happened on the way here, and then we can talk about it."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Author's note: Following the evening news, which broadcast traffic camera footage and tourists' video recording, Stephanie returned (ignorant of this fact) to Lucy In Disguise, but was unable to return the rented Silver Flash costume. She was allowed to keep it, forfeit her deposit, because it was "stained beyond reuse" (not true, the stains did come out, the next day).