by Georgea Jourjouklis
Irene’s wrinkled face soured, rage flooding her frail body. She raised a shaking hand and pointed her finger an inch from her daughter’s nose.
“I’m not going!”
Nancy looked her in the eyes. “Ma, we’re not going through this again. I’m working weekdays and weekends for your meds. Breezy Brooks is a great place—there’d be others helping me look after you.”
Nancy had worked at the old age home for over a decade and with her employee discount she could afford around-the-clock care.
“You’re gonna kick out your own mother?” Irene shouted.
“Ma, I’m not kicking you out—”
“Do you know who I am?”
“You barely know who you are!”
The frown on her mother’s face deepened. “I don’t remember everything, but I know who I am. I’m Telekinetica—the best goddamn hero this city’s ever known! Twenty-three years I served them. I got a beautiful plaque hanging in City Hall and a collectors’ card—Class 4 Hero, worth ten grand in poor condition. It’s classic.”
Nancy closed her eyes and rubbed her temples to soothe the pulsing ache. She expected an outburst, but there was no time to care for her mother anymore.
“Ma, the doc said you’re gonna get worse.”
Irene swatted a dismissive hand. “I don’t believe that new-age bologna. I remember everything.”
“Oh yeah? What’d you have for breakfast this morning?”
Irene’s hands flew up again. “That’s a low blow, Nancy, and you know it! No one remembers stupid shit like that. When I was twenty I didn’t know what I ate for breakfast.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!” Irene yelled. “You know what people do remember?”
She pointed at the gold medal hanging above the fireplace. Its ribbon was striped blue and white, and the word ‘Honours’ was engraved in the golden center. On either side of the medal hung photographs of Irene in her uniform fifty years ago. In the first picture, she held up a silver Honda, and in the other she was shaking hands with a previous mayor, Tim Hopkins.
“In 78’ I stopped six cars and a school bus full of kids from going off the Alport Bridge, and they gave me that medal so no one would forget.”
“They’ve already forgotten! The students on that bus have kids of their own—their kids have kids. They don’t remember.”
“You’re a liar!”
Nancy gritted her teeth. “They got new heroes—young and fit—doing twice as much as the old ones did.”
“That’s bullshit,” Irene grumbled. “They don’t make ‘em like the classics.” She raised her chin proudly. “I’m too famous to go to an old folks home anyway. I won’t catch a break.”
Nancy smirked. “You think they’re gonna be asking for your autograph?”
“You can bet your rear-end they will.”
“Ma, come on, there’s lots of retired heroes there. No one knows the difference.”
“They’re gonna know me!” she shouted. “I got my own collectors’ card—ten thousand big ones. People don’t forget the classics.”
Nancy drummed her fingers on her thighs as she collected her thoughts, trying to ignore her mother’s grumbling.
“Ma, I know it hurts, but you can barely lift a needle without breaking a sweat.”
Irene closed her eyes and shook her head, as the furniture in the room began vibrating. The ceramic figurines on the mantle rattled, while the table legs tapped against the wooden floors. Irene mumbled curse words under her breath, but then she sank back in her chair to catch her breath. Everything was still.
“See?” Nancy said.
Irene’s cheeks burned red. Then she erupted, “And whose fault is that? I could’ve gone another twenty years if I didn’t get stuck with you!”
Tears pricked at the corners of Nancy’s eyes, but she steadied herself and swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Yeah? Well, now I’m stuck with you.”
Nancy rose from the couch, but as she was heading for the door, she turned back and jutted out a finger.
“You’re going. End of story,” she said, then slammed it behind her.
…
Irene sank into a dark blue armchair at Breezy Brooks, staring at the blank screen of the television. She spent the last three days alone in her new room, only letting staff in to make her bed and serve her meals. If Nancy had not worked there, she might have gotten away with being a shut-in, but every time her daughter entered the room, she told her to go downstairs and socialize.
Most of Irene’s entertainment arose from using her minimal power to manipulate her surroundings. At first, it was fun knocking her spoon off the table, but she could only do it once until a staff member picked it up again. Then, she tried drawing the curtains in the morning and closing them in the evening, but it exhausted her.
This led Irene to her final option, fiddling with the television. With a glance at the remote, Irene clicked the television on and off, over and over. The news anchor could only manage a few words before the screen went black again, but it was enough to know the segment was about Thunder Punch, the newest hero servicing their city. They played a video of him, only nineteen years old, shaking hands with the mayor after stopping a storm-damaged tree from crushing a playground.
Irene clicked the power button again, shutting the television off. She looked over at Nancy, who was tidying the room.
“What do ya think?” she called. “I still got it, huh?”
“Impressive…” her daughter mumbled without looking over. She continued straightening the bed sheets.
Irene’s mouth sank into a wrinkled line. She looked back at the television and stared at her grey reflection.
“I’m only doing this for fun, you know.” She was quiet for a moment. “I lifted a school bus, Nancy. Remember?”
Nancy ignored her.
“The brakes jammed so they shot right off that bridge—seventy kilometers an hour. Fwooosh,” she said, adding the sound effect. “But I saved ‘em.”
“Eat your lunch, Ma.”
Irene glanced at the plastic tray on her side table, which sat untouched, then looked back at her reflection. Her throat tightened.
“Just yesterday, I won a medal, then I blinked and here I am.” She stared blankly, her eyes glossed over. “I only blinked.”
Nancy put a hand on her hip. “You want me to bring your medal from home? We could hang it over your bed.”
Irene shook her head slowly. “They’ll know me without it.”
Nancy sighed. “Look, Ma, they’re playing cards in the lounge. Go meet everyone.”
“Nah, I don’t want all that attention. I’ll distract them.”
“The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”
Her mother’s nose scrunched as she turned back to the television. “It used to,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’ll be in the lounge setting things up,” Nancy said. She pushed the tray of chicken and rice closer to her mother and walked out.
Nancy had listened to her mother lament the death of her prime since she was old enough to ride a bike. Each session began with a wave of despair, a few hours of despondence, frustration, and ended with all of the blame on Nancy.
It was tough to wrap her head around. Nancy was not afraid to grow old or die. There was nothing she would be remembered for—no medals or honour to her name—no one to mourn her. She lived a quaint life and would die a quaint death.
She entered the main-floor lounge, where large windows let in the sunlight and elderly residents lazed on worn couches. She saw their faces every day, but this time, she observed them carefully. Most moved slowly if at all.
“Who’s ready for ‘Go Fish’?” Nancy asked, dealing cards around a coffee-stained table as the residents gathered.
She eyed a man whom the staff called David, but growing up with a hero as a mother Nancy knew that forty years ago he was The Tornado—shooting through the air like a launched missile. Now, with one finger outstretched, the old man spun a card on the table, hypnotized.
Across from him was Penelope—Sonic Boom, making little ripples in her IV fluid as she waited for Nancy to finish dealing.
Nancy looked over at the fireplace, where Anil—Pyromania, made embers flicker and drift to the ashes below; once they touched the sooty ground, they extinguished. She watched each flame go out.
Her mother always said, a classic never dies. At least, no one expected them to.
“Anil, care to join?” Nancy called.
The old man sighed but then nodded. He shakily rose from the brown armchair by the hearth and hobbled over to the table.
“Anyone else?” Nancy asked, shuffling the leftover cards from the deck.
“I’ll join,” someone croaked behind her.
Nancy turned to see a staff member pushing Henry, The Speedster, closer to the table in his wheelchair. Henry’s face sank as his eyes tracked the staff hastening in and out of the room.
Nancy swallowed hard. “I guess that’s everyone.” She looked around for her mother but imagined her in her room sulking.
“Hey, he looked at my cards!” Penelope—Sonic Boom—yelled.
Nancy snapped her head back to the residents. Penelope pointed an accusing finger at Anil, who sat beside her.
“Did not!” Anil barked.
“Liar!”
“Take it back!”
Anil shook with anger. He locked his eyes on one of her cards with so much focus that he broke a sweat. Then, one corner of the card caught fire. David, The Tornado, blew a gust of wind from across the table that snuffed the flame, but Penelope was fuming.
“Is that all you got, tough guy?” she taunted, rolling her IV pole with her as she shuffled closer to Anil.
“Everyone, please!” Nancy said. They ignored her.
Penelope’s whole body shook as she shot sound waves at Anil, triggering a high frequency like a faint, whining kettle.
“Ah! Dammit!” he cried, turning off his hearing aid.
“You both stop that!” David said. He blew wind at their faces until they were yelling at him too.
“Don’t make me come over there!” Henry called, wheeling himself over in his chair very slowly. He grunted and huffed with every push.
“Everyone, just settle down!” Nancy said.
They continued arguing, sending sound waves, blowing air, and shooting flickers of fire as the other residents fled the room.
…
A few minutes after Nancy left Irene’s room, a staff member knocked on the door and walked in with a smile. Marie was a young woman, newly hired, with a melodic voice and warm eyes that carried no regret.
“Good evening, Irene, not much of an appetite?” Marie asked.
Irene’s plate was untouched, but the plastic cup of strawberry Jello was empty. Her spoon was on the ground.
“No,” Irene muttered.
“Are you feeling well?” Marie asked, picking up the spoon.
Irene clenched her teeth as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“What the hell is well anyway?” she said. “Old farts like us don’t remember what it’s like to feel well.”
Shouting at staff members was not permitted at Breezy Brooks, but Marie’s temperament kept her quiet and sympathetic.
Irene fell silent, staring at the dark television screen.
“Would you like me to turn it on for you?”
“You think I can’t?” Irene grumbled.
Marie watched with a pout. Irene hated that look. Ever since her diagnosis, Nancy looked at her the same way and asked if she needed help with the simplest of tasks. People used to ask the impossible of her, and now, they expected nothing.
“I’m better than this,” Irene snapped, slamming her arms down on the sides of her chair. “I’m everything to these people!”
Marie frowned. “I’ll give you some space.” She turned away, but Irene caught her sleeve.
“Do you know who I am?”
The young lady raised an eyebrow, but then smiled gently. “Irene Walker, of course,” she said. Marie collected Irene’s tray and left the room.
There was a long pause before Irene turned back to the television screen, and this time, she could not ignore her eye bags, sagging under-chin, and crow’s feet. It was not grandiose heroics that had weathered her, but time.
Irene saw people often, but they rarely saw her. If they did, she was just an old woman. Only collectors wanted her trading card now, not for her story, but for the price tag attached. Nancy called her Ma. To everyone else she was Irene. Maybe she was the last person on Earth who truly knew who she was.
Irene could not bring herself to click the television on, so she sat there, locking eyes with a stranger. She watched the old woman break down in tears.
…
Nancy rushed into the hallway and called for assistance. The fight escalated, and now a cup of prune juice spilled, a pillow was charred, and The Speedster gave up intervening and laid back in his chair to rest.
“Someone help, please! I need help!” Nancy called.
She rushed back into the room and looked around at the chaos. “Please, sit down and we’ll sort this out!”
“You heard her,” Irene said, shuffling in through the doorway. “Sit down!”
Nancy turned to see her mother, pushing her Rollator into the lounge. Irene raised a hand and shook the furniture, rattling every lamp, picture frame, and decorative plate in the room. The residents looked over, even Henry, who was startled awake.
“My god, it’s her! It’s Telekinetica!” Penelope erupted, grinning. “She saved that bus of kids, remember?”
“It can’t be!” David said.
“It is! It is her!” Anil said. “And the landslide back in 76’. Nearly crushed my cousin’s house!”
“And the family stuck on that hot air balloon at the Woodson Fair,” Henry said.
Penelope’s eyes watered. “I wanted to be just like you.”
Irene slowly smiled, then shot Nancy a smug look. She pushed against her walker to stand as straight as possible and held her head high.
“That’s right. So, you listen up—stop acting foolish! You’re too dangerous to be throwing your powers around all willy-nilly.”
“We are?” David huffed, taking a seat to catch his breath.
“Of course you are,” Irene said. “You’re The Tornado—in 79’ you single-handedly stopped a windstorm from sweeping away The Rigby Carnival! Imagine the damage you could do to this place.”
David smiled ear to ear. “You remember that?”
“Oh, I know all of you.” Irene gestured to Penelope. “In 81’ your frequencies stopped The Rabid Dogman from eating the zoo animals. In 83’ there was a flood east of the city and Pyromania evaporated enough water to save the community center.”
Anil laughed. “I did, didn’t I?”
“And The Speedster, the fastest man alive, grabbed two tots out of a burning building before the whole thing exploded!” Irene flung her arms up dramatically. “They’re alive because of you!”
Henry looked up at her with glassy eyes.
“But look at you now,” Irene scolded. “A bunch of hotheads. Putting the whole city in danger for petty squabbles. Shame on you!”
The old heroes lowered their eyes.
“We didn’t know we caused such a fuss,” Penelope said.
“Well, now you know,” Irene snapped. “So, let’s just sit down and play cards, all civilized and such.”
Nancy watched as her mother shuffled over to the table and sat down. The others gathered around the table too, still in awe. None of them could focus on the game and soon they were bombarding her with questions about her adventures and achievements.
Other residents returned to the lounge once they realized the fight subsided, and they sat nearby to hear Irene’s stories. Nancy leaned against the doorframe, fixated on her mother’s animated expressions and exaggerated movements.
One by one, each of the heroes shared their journeys too, receiving gasps and praise and tears as they described their highs and lows.
When it was time for bed, they had not even shared a quarter of the tales they collected from their careers, but they would be in the lounge the next morning, bright and early, to share another story.
Nancy accompanied her mother upstairs, and when Irene laid down in bed, Nancy tucked her in and wished her goodnight. The television was on, so Nancy reached for the remote on the armchair. Then she stopped. She slowly retracted her hand and turned toward the door instead.
“Hey, Ma, I gotta run. Do you mind?”
Irene glanced over at the television. “Oh, no problem, you go ahead,” she said, resting back against her pillow.
Irene took a deep breath and closed her eyes as a news anchor chattered about Thunder Punch’s recent crime-fighting fiasco.
Her lips pulled into a knowing smile as the screen went black.
About the Author:
Georgea Jourjouklis is a University of Toronto alumnus, a future English teacher, and a queer writer with a primary focus on fantasy, speculative fiction, poetry, and mental health.