Project Hero

by Briar Prescott

I once drew a bunny for my niece. She started crying when she saw the result. My sister was pissed and refused to listen to my explanation that I was not trying to scar her kid for life with my rendition of mutant rabbits but rather, I was trying to educate Lily and show her which rabbits to avoid should there ever be a nuclear disaster. That’s what I get for trying to make the best of a bad situation and turn a disaster of a drawing into a teaching moment.

My hair is a curly mess, and when passing on genes, my dad bestowed upon me the gift of multiple cowlicks. On a good day, I look like I do not own a hairbrush. On a bad day, I look like the lovechild of Albert Einstein and Edward Scissorhands. There are more bad days than good ones.

“What’s wrong with how you look?” he asks. “I’m too sexy,” I deadpan. “People find it hard to resist me, which let me tell you, makes walking down the street a real challenge.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll just eat that chicken alfredo myself then.” Andy glowers at me. “You evil bastard.” I grin as I watch him pull his sneakers on. “It’s my grandma’s recipe with extra cheese.” Andy shakes his head. “Keep talking. But just remember, people have gone to hell for less, and God is always listening.”

“It’ll be great,” I announce. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.” “Six!” he yelps. “My alarm clock didn’t come with the six a.m. option.”

Five forty-five in the morning is a ridiculous time to get up. The sun is rising, true, but the apartment is still dim, for Christ’s sake. That must be a clear sign from God that He does not approve of doing anything other than sleeping at this hour of the day, and who am I to contradict the big guy? Clearly, people aren’t meant to be up this early. The sun looks like it’s trying to convince itself that rising is a necessary feat. As it is, only murderers, lunatics, and prostitutes are out at this time of day, and since I’m none of those, I feel like I should have stayed in bed to avoid false advertising.

“Is this the right time to mention that running, and exercise in general, is against my religion?” I ask as we drop our things in the lockers. “And what religion is that?” “I worship on the altar of Mars Inc. and Hershey Co.”

with Law, I don’t feel like I’m the sidekick. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m a hero either, but the thing is, with Law, I don’t really care about being a hero at all. With Law, I’m just me. Just Andy. And with Law, it’s enough.