That's What Heroes Do by Keith Robinson

prompt: almost hero

When Jacob Oblonski of Seven Valour Lane woke up that bright May morning, he did not expect the front lawn hullabaloo.

He flinched from the lights, raised his arm to ward off questions, and tried to shoo the crowd from his rose bushes, as if they were pigeons.

"Wha—?" he started, but was drowned out by reporters.

A horrifying realization: he was wearing the 'Super-Squirrel' pajamas his nephew had outgrown.

On her porch across the street, Ms. Berkowitz, the focus of Jacob’s vivid imaginings, lit a cigarette and smirked disdainfully.

One reporter shouted, “How did it feel when you saved them?”

“No, no,” protested Jacob, covering the PJs, “I did nothing any normal person wouldn’t have, if they’d done it, I mean, had I been the doer, done it.”

Neighbours described him as “the quiet type.” Reporters broadcast: “The strong, silent hero.”

“I have to get to work,” said Jacob.

“See,” someone said, “That's what heroes do. They show up.”

Jacob’s departure cemented his reputation as the hero who 'showed up.' When he arrived at the office, a standing ovation greeted him, not a tardiness warning.

Jacob stood frozen by his cubicle as the clapping continued. Look, these were people who watched him wrestle with the copier daily. From his manager, a thumbs-up; Brenda from HR wiped away a tear. Then Mary-Ann from Purchasing sidled close, whispering, “Free tonight, hero?”

Thus began three days of fame. Jacob basked in the glory of an unacted act, half-believing the praise, standing a little straighter, speaking less hesitantly. He learned mistaken heroes reaped unexpected benefits including two free muffins, and one invitation to speak at a Rotary breakfast, plus a hastily scribbled phone number from the young lady at the dry cleaners.

The next morning, he avoided the hullabaloo by staying at Mary-Ann’s.
 
The third morning, from Ms. Berkowitz's kitchen, he saw the crowd was absent. Well, he could have started the day basking in her bedroom delights. Instead, he drank her coffee and obsessed: Really, what was the difference between fame as a hero and being a hero, and acting heroically?

Behind him, Ms. Berkowitz smelt of Players and cold cream, no longer mystery and lust. “Your paparazzi finally got bored.” She refilled his mug. “Time you showed up at home, hero.” She closed the dishwasher, then drew the kitchen blinds.

He crossed Valour Lane with plenty to ruminate on.

In the front yard, his rose bushes had been flattened, trampled by attention that hadn’t cleaned up after itself.
Just like that, the spin cycle of fame had completed. He stood for a long moment, the coffee cooling, then stepped inside. The house felt familiar. But hollow.
 
That morning, he volunteered at the Kids’ Lunch Project. The facility smelled of baking bread and industrial tubs of peanut-free sandwich spread.

He donned an apron.

​Above the busy tables, tacked crookedly to the wall, a hand-painted banner read: “Be a hero. Show up.”

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Keith Robinson (he/him/his) is a long time non-fiction and creative non-fiction writer. He is the author of the speculative memoir, The Buddha in Our Bellies. New (two years) to fiction, his current work in progress is a literary fiction novel of adult coming of age. Keith enjoys the wonderful support of the AWCS staff and community.