by T L Barrett
“Mighty glad?” Barry whispered.
“The important thing here is that you had the wherewithal to come and confront me, man to man. I appreciate that. I respect that.” They stood at the car awkwardly. Barry kicked Glen in the leg. Glen shut his mouth.
“Would you like a beer, Dad?” Glen asked.
“No, I don’t son. I gave up the drink. I hope that you will take from my example in that. Look for Jesus, son; he will lead you right.” Hankie patted Glen shoulder.
“Look for Jesus?” Glen said.
“Oh, hey, Glen. You never drank that coffee I gave you for the ride up. I bet it’s still warm. Maybe your father would like some,” Barry said and put the warm deep chug coffee mug in his hand.
“Why thank you, boys. I could use some coffee before getting to the honey-do list.” Hankie took the cup.
“Well, have a nice day!” Barry said and jabbed his head for Glen to get in. Glen got in very quickly. Barry got behind the wheel. They started off.
Glen twisted his head as they drove away.
“Wait for it…wait for it…” Hankie waved and took a big gulp. An ugly look came over his ugly face. He spit in a great fountain.
“Beyond Classic!” Glen roared. They didn’t stop laughing until they were back on the interstate.
“Hey, thanks a lot, man. You really are the best.”
“No problem, best bud,” Barry said. “I guess the moral of this story is: laughter really is the best medicine.”
Glen groaned.
“Okay, is the moral: revenge is a dish best served cold?”
“Nah,” Glen said. “It’s best served warm in a deep chug coffee mug; and I’m deeply sorry.” Barry sniffed, rolled his window down and stuck his head out.
“You know, sometimes you can be such a bastard!” Barry yelled into the wind.
Chapter Three
Hairy Heroes
Glenwood Trucksmasher opened his left eye in the bright spring afternoon sunlight that had crept into his cave. This act gave him a thirst for beer. He opened his right eye, and this, too, gave him a thirst for beer. The headache from the night before, as well as the burning urge to void his enormous bladder, did not help.
Groaning, Glen lifted himself on his long hairy arms and knuckle-walked out of his cave. He squinted at the discarded beer cans that littered his front stoop and glittered in the sunlight.
“I think I’m an alcoholic,” Glen stated. A blackbird cawed his agreement from a nearby tree.
“Shut it, bastard bird!” Glen growled and voided his bladder. “Where’s Barry?” Glen asked. The bird gave him an indignant ruffle and flew away. Barry should have woken Glen up hours ago. Not starting the day cursing Barry for waking him did not set right with the Sasquatch. This gave him a thirst for beer.
He scratched his head and found himself staring at the homemade grave marker for Mister Cuddles. The fact that the rambunctious fox wouldn’t be coming around that evening, or on any evening, to dance for handouts, hit Glen hard. The shocking melancholy that assailed him demanded beer.
He sat on his favorite drinking rock, scratching his back. He kicked disconsolately at a crumpled can. Glen knew that he was an alcoholic.
“Sure, but I’m other things, too,” he said aloud. Wasn’t he? Was he just an oversized consumer of beer? Was that his only purpose in life?
“I protect this forest!” he said and thumped a fist against his chest impressively. Then his eyes fell on the grave of Mister Cuddles. He slumped and thought about beer some more.
Glen understood that he had once used alcohol to hide from the pain of his childhood, so he would not have to face his father. He blinked at that and shook his head. He had definitely been listening to too much of Barry’s psycho-babble for one lifetime. Glen had faced down his father, in his own way, and it really hadn’t frightened him. It had given him a glorious feeling of relief and euphoria for a while, but that hadn’t lasted. Now, like the countless empty beer cans littered before him, he felt discarded and empty.
Two things struck him in quick succession. The first was the insightful realization that he had only been using the drink to avoid his childhood pain, so that he could use the childhood pain to avoid dealing with the real problem that faced him: he had no purpose; there was no identifiable reason for his existence.
The second sensation that followed was a sudden and overwhelming state of existential ennui. Having spent most of his adult life away from his fellow Sasquatch, he did not know that this is a very common experience among his hirsute race. This was due to the fact that Glen’s race were actually quite capable of deep and probing psychoanalytical thought, which inevitably led them to profound states of philosophical malaise. This aptitude and their general psychological dysfunction would have made them fit for careers as therapists; except for the fact that they stood eight to ten feet tall and were covered with hair. Also, these recurring events of ennui sent Glen and his kind into wild and uncontrollable rages, earning them such colorful surnames as Trucksmasher and Campwrecker.
When Glen could move once more, he retreated to his cave. In the back of the cave stood many plastic bins filled with D.C. and Marvel comic books in alphabetical order and wrapped in protective mylar bags. Glen rifled through them and his eyes fell on a well-read issue of Justice League Europe. The image of Powergirl, a blonde woman dressed in spandex filled the cover. Glen’s eyes fell to her amazing bosom. That old familiar quickening occurred between his muscled thighs.
Chaffing himself raw, although distracting, would not ultimately cure this feeling of boredom, he decided and slid the issue back into its place. He opened another and pulled out a handful of Alpha Flight comics. He pulled out and flipped through an issue where Sasquatch and the coquettish and enticingly disturbed heroine, Aurora, stumble upon the lair of the Gilded Lily.
“Maybe, that’s all I need,” Glen thought. “I need to find a lady friend, someone with whom to share my man-cave.” His thoughts went to his father, all shaven and sighing over his honey-do list; he shook his head grimly. He needed real purpose.
Sasquatch had real purpose. Heck, all of the heroes in their tricolored adventures had real purpose, he mused. The world needed them. They heard the call and they went, to serve, to save.
The blackbird cawed from outside the cave. Glen lifted his head.
“Yes, bastard bird, I hear the call,” he said.
* * * *
Night had fallen on the wooded hills when Glen fell upon Barry’s house. He paused in Barry’s overgrown back yard and looked into the window. In the warm light, Barry and that vampire brat, Ollie, were bent over a game of Scrabble on the dining room table and talking excitedly.
“I’m telling you the truth. Apogee is totally a word, all right?” Barry said. Ollie screwed up his pale, delicate face.
“All right, fine; then what exactly does it mean? Is this another word that has to do with vaginas?”
“No, my lad, it means, ‘the pinnacle’,” Barry said.
“Great, well, some of us didn’t go to genital word school, okay; and I thought we agreed you would drop that ‘my lad’ stuff?”
“Sorry. No, it means the highest point; the greatest height.”
“Oh, I’m afraid of heights.”
“I thought vampires could fly,” Barry said.
“Can they?” Ollie asked. “Really? Jesus, nobody tells me anything.”
“Have you ever thought about it?” Barry asked.
“Flying? Shit yeah, I’ve had dreams, I mean. Who hasn’t?”
“No, what I mean is: have you ever thought about the source of your fear, why you fear heights?” Barry steeped his fingers together and raised an eyebrow. Outside, Glen’s mouth curled in a grimace. He hated when Barry made that face.
“No, not really, why?”
“Well, I’ve heard from a renowned psychologist that people who fear heights really have trouble trusting themselves.” Barry waited for this truism to sink into his protégé.
&
nbsp; “Renowned psychologist, my ass,” Glen muttered. “You just have a hard on for Doctor Phil.”
Inside, Ollie’s eyes lit with pink fire.
“Yeah, you know, that makes a lot of sense. When I was ten, I tried roller-blading on my father’s roof. That hurt!” Barry unfolded his hands like a man offering a great blossom of wisdom. “Wow, this is great. I’m learning so much from you. It is so great of you to let me stay here awhile, you know, until I get my feet on the ground and all.” Barry smiled warmly.
“Actually, Ollie, I should thank you. It’s so nice to finally have someone around that appreciates the finer points of conversation.” Outside, Glen’s grimace became a scowl.
He couldn’t stand there and listen to this Heckle and Jeckle routine any longer. He took a step forward, but stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to tap on the glass. He also wasn’t going to try to navigate the dark pantry inside Barry’s back door. He’d made that mistake before. He reached down and picked up a rock.
He hadn’t meant to shatter the window and strike his old pal Barry on the forehead, not really. He just didn’t know his own strength was all.
“What the hell, Glen?” Barry said, holding a suddenly hairy hand to his forehead. Ollie peeked his head up from under the table.
“You’re losing your edge, Barry,” Glen said from the other side of the broken glass.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been standing here watching you two pussies for a long time. I’ve heard everything you’ve been saying.” Barry blanched.
“So, you’re a peeping tom?” Ollie asked, flicking a scrabble tile from his sleeve.
“No, Peter Pan, if I’d been a monster hunter you two would be so much dust and dead meat right now,” Glen said and crossed his huge arms over his chest.
“Jesus, Glen, you and I both know that there’s no such thing as monster hunters, not in real life, anyway. Friday Supernatural night is hereby cancelled for you, mister.”
“’No such thing as monster hunters’. Is this the kind of crap you’ve been feeding your little boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend! Jesus, you threw a rock through my window and hit me in the head. This one’s going to leave a mark.”
“Call SRS.”
“Don’t even joke about it. Now I have to go to the hardware store and shell out good money for a new window, unless you have some cash on hand? Oh, wait, no, you don’t have a wallet in your pocket, because you don’t wear pants!”
“Here we go again! Well, fine, be that way, I was going to let you in on a pretty big thing I’ve been working on here, but fine. Be that way!”
“Great. Good night, Glen!” Barry sighed.
“Wait,” Ollie said, “what big thing?”
“Leave it, Ollie. Don’t let him bait you,” Barry muttered.
“No, maybe he does want to hear. Maybe Ollie hears the call as well, even though you can’t.”
“I can hear dog whistles. I think I could hear if someone was calling.”
“Well, what if it were destiny calling? Would you hear its clarion call?”
“Oh, Christ, here he goes. He’s quoting comic books, Ollie, I hope you know that.” Ollie had come very close to the broken window. Glen bent down so that his half-shadowed simian face peered into the dining room. His eyes glittered madly.
“I’m talking about purpose, real purpose. No more hiding in the dark and wishing and regretting. I’m talking about serving humanity, saving people.”
“What do you mean?” Ollie asked.
“Glen, you’re not human.”
“Maybe, I’m not, and maybe you guys aren’t either, not anymore. Maybe humans revile us, fear us, maybe they’d rather hunt us down with torches and pitchforks…”
Barry groaned. He had an idea where this one was going. Life had always seemed like this to Barry: a long string of deja vus tied together with a general sense of helplessness. Barry knew he had known what was occurring, but only remembered knowing just as the terrible things unfolded before him, as they always, inevitably, did.
“Maybe, just maybe, those humans need us. I’m not talking about all that bullshit Barry will feed you about them projecting their fears into us. I’m talking about real need, here. Maybe they need us to save them from themselves. Maybe we’re not monsters, maybe, just maybe, we were given great power for a reason. Because as you may well, know, with great power…”
“Please, God, don’t say it,” Barry muttered.
“…comes great responsibility!” Ollie finished. “Hey, you know, I never thought of it like that.”
“What, so, what are you going to do, Glen? Are you going to put on a cape and be a superhero?” Barry asked.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Why would I wear a cape? I’d look ridiculous.”
“So, you’re not going to be a superhero, or anything crazy like that?”
“No…Yes! I’m talking about putting my own life on the line for the good of the many!”
“Jesus, can you hear yourself? How much have you had to drink?”
“I haven’t had anything to drink, for your information. I have heard the call, and I’m going to answer it.”
“This is nuts. Ollie, tell him how crazy this sounds,” Barry said.
“Well, it is pretty crazy, but…” Ollie started.
“Don’t let him control you, man!” Glen shouted. “You can feel it, too. I know you can. Let the hero inside of you out.” Ollie looked like he was considering this. His eyes glowed excited chartreuse. Then he blinked, and shook his head and started to turn away.
“I challenge you to a contest. We’ll see who can be the true hero. What do you say?” Glen shoved his fist through the hole in the window, scattering more glass shards about the dining room.
Ollie smiled putting up his own pale fist and meeting Glen’s.
“You are on!” Ollie said.
“That’s it. I’m too tired, and too old for this. I’m going to bed,” Barry announced.
“Good night, then, citizen,” Glen called. “Sleep well knowing that the fearless of heart are out there in the dark, protecting you,” Glen said. Ollie grinned that crazy pink-smeared look again. Barry sighed, waved a hand in retreat and trudged off to his bedroom.
* * * *
The next day, Barry followed the odor of ape musk and flatulence over the wooded hillside to the edge of a field. Glen crouched there in the bushes.
“Psst, Glen. What are you doing? I take it you’ve given up on all that junk you were spouting last night, and you’ve taken up, what…bird watching?”
“Shhh! For your information, I have not given up, and I will not give up. I’m about to apprehend an evil-doer at any time.”
“We live in Northern Vermont. We don’t have a lot of evil-doers around, sorry to break it to you,” Barry said.
“Oh, yeah, then what’s that?” Glen said and pointed an enormous finger toward the center of the field before them. Barry squinted his eyes and wrinkled his lupine nose.
“I give up,” Barry said.
“Those, my friend, are apples. Apples are used for one thing when put in the back field behind somebody’s house: deer baiting. Deer baiting just happens to be against the law in this state. So, ipso facto, we have criminal behavior in progress.” Glen made to hitch his thumb into his belt and then, remembering that he was pants-less, put his hand away.
“Deer baiting? You’re kidding me. You have baited deer ever since I’ve known you, but fine. I’m relieved, actually. You’re wasting your time, but I guess you can’t cause too much damage peeking out from behind bushes.”
“You know what, Barry, you can go to hell. I’m really trying my hardest to make a difference here, and all you can do is mock me.”
“Well, maybe you can catch a deer and exchange it with some rednecks for beer. You see, I’m a little short on cash right now, considering I’ve had to replace a window and all.”
“I don’t drink beer anymore,”
Glen said, pouting out his lower lip.
“Yeah, that’ll be the day,” Barry said and moved away into the trees.
“Yeah, well, fuck you very much, Barry. Fuck you very much. I’ll show you.” Glen turned back to the field and saw a large doe tiptoe over to the mound of apple bait and start to nibble away. An idea began to formulate in his head.
* * * *
It is a difficult thing to bait a deer, ensnare it, carry it over acres of hilly woodland, and stand at the highway and wait for dusk and unsuspecting oncoming cars. After getting kicked in the goods a couple of times, Glen was about to tear the damned deer apart with his bare hands and have a meal down there by the culvert. There had to be a better way to start saving hapless citizens, but Glen couldn’t think of one. You can’t just wait for someone to get themselves into trouble, not if you wanted to spread the word that you were out there protecting them. It looked like Glen would have to help a situation along, so then he could stride in and do his hero thing.
Glen had considered finding a type of radio that was able to listen in on emergency and police broad bands, he was sure there were things like that, and that most people could buy one probably. The only problem with that was that Glen knew damned well that Barry wouldn’t offer any assistance. Glen supposed he could find a way to ransack a cop car and make off with some radios and the like, but that just seemed pretty illegal and, in any case, the wrong thing to do.
The glowing nimbus of headlights began to intensify to Glen’s right. Glen took a step forward, reached down, and loosened the rope he had used to tie the doe’s skinny legs together. The thing began to kick instantly, and Glen dug his fingers into the doe’s sides to keep it from escaping. The doe bleated in pain. A tiny sharp hoof connected with Glen’s thigh. Glen swore, took another step and half-tossed the doe out toward the blacktop.
The doe found purchase as soon as her legs hit the ground and bolted out toward the oncoming car. A screeching of brakes filled the night. The oncoming car’s headlights flashed wildly over the undergrowth where Glen ducked low. Glen squinted his eyes and waited for the sound of smashed glass and crumbled auto frame. Then, all that would be left would be to jump out and pull the hapless citizen from his flaming wreck of a car.
