Big Feelings

BIG FEELINGS

"Okay, kiddos, let's thank Mr. Cowan for talking with us today."

The twenty second-graders on the floor clapped. All but Franklin. No matter how much I tried to convince him, he'd never think superheroes were cool. I was going to make it my personal mission to convert the single holdout. I'd break him and turn him into a future customer.

"Alright, my kangaroos, let's follow Mrs. Thatcher to lunch."

Mrs. Chessa helped the kids off the floor, ushering them from the reading corner to the door. Years ago, I had been one of those kids sitting on a pillow as Mrs. Chessa read us stories from her favorite books. It was amazing to see that little had changed in two decades. More so, I was surprised the librarian had hardly changed since she called me a "tiny terror. "

I cleaned up the books, a mixture of classic stories and superhero books, all filled with pictures for the kids to follow. I tried getting out of my beanbag chair, finding it far more difficult than I remembered. When jumping to my feet didn't work, I clumsily rolled off the side before getting upright.

"That was painful to watch," Mrs. Chessa said.

The librarian had a sarcastic streak. It meant she was one of my favorite people in the school. She joined me as I moved the cushions into their boxes, ready for the next class to arrive. It was hard to remember years ago how big the space had been. No bigger than a classroom, I remember loathing the library.

"Are you ready for the convention?"

I wanted to say yes. Despite checking items off the list, it seemed there was always more to do. I hadn't lost sleep over it, but it steadily took more and more time out of my life.

"I think so? But there's so much work."

"You amaze me, Jason."

I scratched my head as I dropped my eyes. "Thanks."

"I mean it. I remember you as a kid. You hated the library. You were worse than Franklin."

I chuckled. "Yeah. I won't tell you what I called you when I was a kid."

"Wicked hag?" She put her hands on her hips. "I still resemble that remark." Her hair, pure white, had been tucked into a messy bun. The dark purple dress looked like something you might find the goth kids wearing. I used to imagine at night, she'd fade into the forest, only to return the next day, demanding I read.

"I'm sorry. I was a brat."

"It's okay, I own being a hag." She poked me in the chest. "I'm darned proud of it."

Mrs. Chessa spun about, her dress flaring out. She could be thirty or three-hundred. Something about her had a timeless quality. Even now, I still believed she lived in the forest.

"I'll have you know…" She stopped spinning, giving me a slight curtsey. "The week leading up to your convention, the school has agreed to theme each day. Superheroes. School colors. Capes and cloaks. Of course, I'm most excited for supervillain day." Her eyebrows waggled. "What would a wicked hag wear?"

"Thank you so much." I couldn't believe how much the town stood behind this event. Even as my chest swelled with pride, I could feel the expectations I put on myself get heavier. "I'll admit I'm nervous. This is the kind of thing they do in the city. I honestly don't know if we… if I can pull it off."

"What's the worst that happens?"

"I make a fool of myself? Sometimes, I think I should leave it to the professionals. I could just encourage people to go to Boston to see the spectacle."

Her eyes rolled back, making her appear even more supernatural. "Get that out of your head. It'll be wonderful. It'll give the kids something to get excited about."

"They're not the ones who need excitement around here." Mrs. Chessa gave me a quizzical look. "Don't mind me. The thought of moving has been bouncing around my head."

She pulled off her glasses and rested them on the top of her head. I expected words of wisdom. In the past, she always had this otherworldly insight. Right about now, I could use a sign. Maybe I was putting too much emphasis on the convention. If it didn't go well, would I just board up the shop and run away? I wanted to say no, but it'd be another push toward greener pastures.

"Follow me." She snatched my hand, tugging me along behind her. She barged through the doors and into the hallway. When she repeated the gesture, taking us outside, I was about to protest. Her grip didn't give me an option. Across the playground we went, her dragging me as if she were about to wash my mouth out with soap.

"Where are we going?"

The high school. Mrs. Chessa wasn't the librarian for just the elementary school. She served the entire district, and she threw open the side doors to the school as if she owned the place. It took a moment for me to get my bearings. We were…

"Wow."

Down the hall, we'd find the art room. It had the most murals painted on the wall, but it looked as if the upperclassmen were displaying pieces of their portfolio. I stepped around Mrs. Chessa to look at the brown packing paper hanging from the ceiling.

"I think of you every time I see it. "

Slightly larger than life, the charcoal figures looked as if they were screaming at the top of their lungs. The chest cavity had exploded, bits of skin and bone flying outward. Inside was the same person, curled up in a ball. Amid the shadows, they wore a rainbow t-shirt, hand stretched out as if begging for help.

I chewed my top lip as I took it in. Anybody who had ever felt like an other in their life would empathize with the subject. Instinctively, I felt the urge to reach out, to take their hand, and pull them from the shadows. It's all any of us could ask for.

"I'm not saying stay," Mrs. Chessa whispered. "But if you can find a way to be happy in Firefly, there are still those who need role models."

It might have been decades ago, but I remember sitting in that art class trying to sort through my feelings. Even with a supportive family, I felt isolated and withdrew from the outside world. I'd hate to think what life would have been like if I hadn't found adventures in my comics.

The agony on their face. At one point in life, I had felt the need to scream. Life had moved on. Most in Firefly accepted me, others tolerated me, and only a small few shunned me. Maybe my story wasn't universal?

If the convention happened, it'd be my anchor. "I only need one reason to stay." Then again, maybe I had become obsessed and narrowed my focus too far? Maybe there were more reasons if I'd opened my eyes a little wider.

"Do you have time to talk with the art class?"

Mrs. Chessa stood next to me, admiring the self-portrait hanging on the wall. "Skylar's the president of the GSA." She gave me a slight elbow to the gut. "I couldn't think of a better role model."

A role model. I had never given it much thought. If I could help Skylar make the scream softer, or if I could reach in and wrap my arms around that struggling kid… I owed it to a younger version of myself.

"I think I can do that."

Mrs. Chessa grabbed me by the arm, leading me to the art room. "Did I mention they need an advisor?"

The librarian had played me like a fiddle. By the time I left, I'm sure she'd have me signing paperwork agreeing to be the advisor to the Gay-Straight Alliance. I didn't have the space or time for it, but my heart wouldn't let me say no. Mrs. Chessa wouldn't make leaving easy. What I didn't know was whether her machinations were for the kids or for me.

Librarians, they're a devious lot.

I stood outside the elementary school, watching the kids disperse. Some climbed onto buses while others started the hike through town to reach their homes. There was enough screaming and shouting that I thought I was in a war zone. After behaving all day in school, they unleashed that overabundance of energy on the world.

Amanda: So, you're the GSA advisor now ?

Jason: Co-Advisor. :) :) :)

Amanda: We need to talk about boundaries.

Jason: Love you.

Amanda: …

Amanda let the triple dot hang on the phone. At first, I thought she might write a monologue about how she didn't have time. I realized she had done it as punishment. I wouldn't know when the reply came in. She left me suffering in anticipation.

"Diabolical," I mumbled.

For the last few hours, I critiqued portfolios and talked to art school hopefuls. I wasn't sure if I was cut out for advising. I loved reading to the kiddos, but the teenagers? They made me nervous. Skylar was a young person, questioning everything about themselves. When I mentioned coming out, they didn't have questions. Instead, I grabbed a sheet of paper and asked them to teach me the basics of drawing. For a guy who loved comics, I couldn't draw a successful stick figure. Skylar, however, not only had a gift for art but for teaching.

We'd be having our first GSA meeting at the comic book shop. Before I left, they said thank you. Mrs. Chessa might as well have thrown a rope around my neck, tying me to Firefly. Now, I needed to?—

"Jason!"

Through the crowd, I spotted Lucas. His dad had dressed him in jeans and a button-down short-sleeve shirt. I'd need to get this kid some t-shirts so he could blend in with his peers. An eight-year-old shouldn't be better dressed than me.

He charged toward me, cutting through the crowd like an offensive lineman. "Hey, Lucas. How was school?"

"Whoa." He said as if it were a loaded question that needed unpacking. "Ms. Maggie gave us so much homework. I have two worksheets." Once upon a time, I remembered Ms. Maggie giving me the same worksheets. "Math. I hate math. Do you like math? I bet you do a lot of math. Dad says grownups do math."

I needed coffee to chase his train of thought. "I do a lot of math." Did I tell him I used a calculator? Wait until he got to multiplication tables. That'd shake his reality. "What are?—"

"I got our spelling list, too." Oh, I guess Lucas had more to share. "I have to write sentences. I don't like writing. I never get gold stars."

"If you don't write, how are you going to make comics?"

His eyes grew wide. The possibilities flashed across his face. The long pause in his sharing meant he had never thought about it before. Mrs. Chessa always appreciated how I encouraged the kiddos to read and write.

"Maybe we can work on one together."

He gasped. "Really? Can it be about superheroes? Can Valiant be in it?"

I dropped into a squat so we could see eye-to-eye. "What if it was about an eight-year-old who moved to a new town? "

He shook his head. "That's boring."

"But what if he's secretly a superhero?"

"Can Valiant still be in it?"

I appreciated his singular focus. "I bet he can come help the kid fight crime."

"Good."

I gave his hair a ruffle. Lucas growled and shot out of reach. "No touching. Dad says you have to ask. I have to give permission."

Lucas had put me in my place. "I apologize. Your dad's a smart man." Other than being a literal wedge between us on date night, I knew little about the kid. The next time I asked Simon out, I might take a chance and invite Lucas as well. There'd be no Simon if I didn't get to know his kid.

"Can I walk home with you?" I could handle a kid for three blocks. I wasn't sure if I'd ever have kids of my own, much to my mom's dismay. If a handsome man came with forty pounds of baggage, I might be able to handle that. Mom would spoil Lucas rotten.

He mulled over the idea. "I suppose."

We started our walk through the crowd of kids. "How do you like Firefly?"

He shrugged. That seemed out of character for a kid who had no filter.

"Making lots of friends?"

"Just Josh. But he's weird. He likes to eat glue."

There was always a glue-loving kid. Some things never changed. "Is he the one who had the sleepover? "

Lucas shook his head. "Eric had the sleepover. I don't think I like him. He picks on Josh."

"That doesn't sound very nice."

The sound of the elementary school faded into the background as we reached the crosswalk. Without asking, Lucas reached up, holding one of my fingers. I assumed his dad had taught him to hold his hand whenever they crossed a street in Boston. The crossing guard gave us a nod, letting us move ahead. Firefly didn't have enough cars to warrant crossing guards, but here we were.

"I don't want to go to Eric's house again."

"I bet your dad would understand. Maybe you can hang out with Josh instead?"

"I dunno." Who knew it'd be this hard to plan the social calendar of an eight-year-old? When I was his age, I'd be somewhere in the woods behind the house playing make-believe.

"When I was eight, I used to play in the woods and stop dragons from attacking Firefly."

He stopped and stared. His judgement was palpable. Lucas debated if I was telling the truth. "There aren't dragons in Firefly."

I spun about, arms held out. "Of course not! I stopped them. It was serious work when I was a kid." Firefly sat nestled in the valley before the Appalachian Mountains. Most of our backyards gave us direct access to the surrounding forest. It served as our playground growing up. "It's been a long time. I bet there's a few hiding out there now. "

"Really?"

"You can only see them if you believe."

The thought of dragons must have caught his attention. We walked the next block in silence. I'm sure I'd get flak from Simon for putting the idea in the kid's head. What's the worst that could happen? I take him on walks in the woods, and we go hunting for dragons? I could stand to get a little more exercise.

"Are you excited about the comic convention?"

He nodded quickly. "Dad says we're going. I can't wait. I want to dress up. Dad too. But I don't know."

"I'll be dressed up. I'll have a cape and everything."

"Mom made all my costumes. This one time, she made me a spider outfit. When I lifted my arms, all the arms moved. It was cool."

I hadn't expected to talk about Lucy. I didn't want to pry into Simon's personal life. This was his story to tell. If he wanted to share details about his past, I'd leave it up to him.

"That sounds cool."

"Dad can't make costumes. He makes food. It's really good food." He grew quiet. The separation must be tough on the little fella. I couldn't fathom what I would have done as a kid if my parents split up.

"I'll ask her if she can make us costumes."

"What does your mom do for work?" Innocent enough, right? I already knew the answer. Technically, it wasn't prying .

"Mom is helping people in Africa. She saves sick people. When they're broken, she fixes them. It's her superpower."

He said the words as if they were fact. I doubted Lucas exaggerated. The way Simon spoke about his ex-wife, she deserved a cape and cowl. It made me happy that Lucas thought highly of his mom, especially when she wasn't around. I wonder if Simon and he had talked out those big feelings before coming to Firefly?

"She sounds amazing."

"Mom?"

"Yeah. Your mom?—"

"Mom!"

Lucas dashed up the sidewalk. He didn't wait for me as he turned onto the path to his front door. When she stood, there was no mistaking his mother. The blonde hair and legs for miles, Lucy was even more beautiful in person. Her jeans were tight enough that they could have been painted, but her turtleneck was the perfect attire for an early fall. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around Lucas.

He bounced up and down, barely able to contain his excitement. I stood in the driveway, unsure how to proceed. The ex-wife had abandoned Africa and showed up in Firefly. Hearing Simon and Lucas talk, I never thought I'd have to deal with this awkward encounter.

Had she come by for a visit? To stay? To reconcile? All at once, the possibilities came rushing in, and I experienced my own big feelings. I wanted to be the better person and give her a hearty welcome to the town. There was no rational way to say I was Simon's friend. Oh, and your ex-husband is deep-dicking a guy.

I wouldn't call it a coward's exit. I didn't want to intrude. Lucy looked over her shoulder to see me. I gave a slight wave and shoved my hands in my pocket. Turning around, I headed back to the school to pick up my truck. It'd give me time to process these feelings, these big feelings.

Just like that, a simple romance turned complicated.