NaNoWriMo I: A Lie

I've never told many people about this, but there was a time in my life that I was a super-powered vigilante.  I didn't get a lot of press outside of southeast Tennessee.  And what little bit of word did pass much past McMinn, Monroe and Polk counties in my neck of the woods was reported with tongue planted pretty firmly in cheek.  And really, in those days, before everybody and their brother had a webpage devoted to them, their work and the rut charts of their dogs, news travelled slow.

Especially if it were not news of a certain sort.

Now, I’ve never told a lot of people about this, so please excuse my hesitancy.  I’ve told a lot of stories in my life, and I won’t tell you that I haven’t embellished for the enjoyment of both the listener and the teller.  It’s just the kind of thing that makes the day go a little easier, when all you’ve got to look at otherwise is the mindless drudgery that makes up most of our existences nowadays.

I also need to preface this by saying I’m doing all this to set the record straight.  I’ve not told a lot of people, but I have told a few.  And those people have told a few.  And those people a few more.  And at the end of the day, it’s been like that telephone game where you whisper “A giraffe in a business suit stole my car” into the ear of the person next to you in a circle, and by the time it gets back to you it’s “Paul is dead and John and George killed him with a sitar.”

You might not have heard these stories, or any version of them.  I have.  More times here lately than make me comfortable.  You see, I’d put that part of my life in behind me.  Stowed it in a big steamer trunk in the back of my mind, and not let myself think of it in waking hours.  Truth is, until now, the only times I’ve let myself wander these particular mental fields is in those late night hours, when I’ve beset by some manner of insomnia, maybe brought on by a cheese and horseradish mustard sandwich I’ve eaten before bedtime, and my mind wants to replay all those little choices, wondering maybe if things would be different if I’d chosen to eat a banana with my lunch on a Thursday in 1989, instead of the apple I did.

If you want the truth?  It is something of a difficult story to think about.  And it is a ridiculous, difficult story to tell.    I enjoy my life now.  I have good friends, and a family whose company I legitimately enjoy.  I have a job that keeps me maybe a little too busy, but I not so much I can’t go out and have a beer or four with friends.  It is an ordinary life.  And it is enough.

Most days.

The truth is, those cheese and horseradish mustard nights have come a little too much, lately.  And while it might behoove me to knock it off with my choice of late night snacks, I can’t blame them so much for the insomnia.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  

It’s time to do some writing.

Thanks for reading.  

This story, is all true.  At least, I think it is.

You may not know this about me, but once upon a time, I was what you’d call a superhero.  I had superpowers.  I had a suit.  I had a cool vehicle.  I even had a sidekick, though I’m sure he’d say different.  Truth is, back in the day, Captain Dumptruck was something of a big deal.

I figure it’d be rude to tell you an origin story of how I became a superhero without telling you how I came to my powers.  I figure that’s where I’ll start.