At the table, my Mom and I are playing with my new toy. When you are a child, the simplest things can seem the most entertaining. I am mixing super secret chemicals into a plastic monster mold; Halloween is over so I finally got what I wanted, it was on sale! My Mom gets up from the table, walking past the kitchen and down the hall; she enters her bedroom.
I continue contently mixing my evil concoction. With visions of Frankenstein’s monster in my head, I open the tube my Mom said not to use yet and add it in, it is taking too long and I want to play with it now.
“Alex!” My Mom yells
I take my time, she can wait, and this cannot. I finish with what I am doing. I cannot think of anything else to do with it because I need her to help me figure out the instructions. They are in some strange adult language that I do not understand yet. I make my way clumsily down the hallway; I am in no hurry despite the urgency of my Mother’s beckoning. I get to the master bedroom door, right next to my room, and walk in.
My father has both hands around my Mother’s neck, she looks like she is flying as her feet dangle off the ground.
This is but a mild, commonplace sight in my household so I do not grasp the gravity of the situation. However, I do not like it. My Mother starts to point out that I am watching and he lowers her to the ground, slowly, and then releases her from his hands. This seemingly incredible feat of strength will haunt me for years to come despite many others that were even more horrifying prior and post this incident.
To a child he was a Supervillain and there was no way I could win. He was huge, strong and unstable. I needed help. I needed someone even stronger to beat him.
I needed Superman.
I wrote letters. I called out. I made signs. I did everything I could think to do.
So I waited…
One day while watching TV on the couch, Mom runs in the house through the open front door. She takes a knee in front of me and she tells me that she loves me. She says that she is going away but she will be back soon, things will be better when she comes home and that she will miss me. She tells me the sweetest things I will ever hear, things that still make my heart melt. I just stare at her not quite understanding. She gets up and then walks out the door; she does not look back. I do not realize it at the time but I will never see her again.
I say nothing to her, the TV demands my attention and I give into it.
Superman never came, the day was never saved; yet I continue to wait. I am waiting for my Mom to walk in the door, I am waiting to tell Mom that I love her too, which is the single largest regret of my life, but mostly I am still waiting…
Waiting for Superman