Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Yes, I am a Superhero

In the open space where I walk the dogs daily, a Rubbermaid bin is hidden in the tall grass behind a tree. I am sure it is meth lab waste, because what else would it be? Geez, it's not like I'm leaping to conclusions.
Surely it is a sign that our neighborhood is falling into ruin. Evil forces are at work. Somebody must take action. Should I call the police?
Weeks pass. Sun and rain and wildlife do their work. Pieces of bin scatter along the path.
I picture dangerous chemicals leeching into the creek. Children poisoned. Something must be done, but that will require planning. And safety goggles, probably. More weeks pass. I do nothing, and am racked with guilt.
Until one day like any other I decide that I can't take it any more. Tying up the dogs, I step off the path. I creep toward the shattered box. The forest holds its breath. I put thoughts of nerve damage out of mind. Will there be needles? Broken glass?
I am willing to face danger to do good. Like a superhero, except that my wardrobe is more T.J. Maxx than Cirque du Soleil. I really build myself up.
And when I part the branches I find the remnants of the bin and...wait a minute...a bird house? Splintered walls, gingerbread trim, tiny shingles smashed into the grass. And an empty bird seed bag.
So much for heroics.

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