My Superpower

Recently I've been really depressed because it seemed like all my friends were better than me. They had more money. They had boyfriends. Not only were they nicer and more attractive, but they also seemed to have more to offer the world. It was like each had their own superpower drawing a thick black line between them and regular folks.

Never was it more apparent than on last Saturday night. My friends Emma, Damien, Charlotte and I were in a cab on the Upper East Side when suddenly we saw a man dressed all in black running down the street holding a huge duffle bag in one hand and a sparkly jacket in the other.

Emma knew everything about New York, and a bolt of inspiration flashed through her eyes. "That building is the Belgian Embassy. But it's always closed at this hour!"

Damien knew everything about current events. "The Belgian Ambassador is in town trying to get America's assistance in fighting a fringe insurgent group. He's having a small party tonight to try to drum up American support."

Charlotte knew everything about fashion. "That jacket he's holding is a one-of-a-kind Rosie Assoulin for Lanvin, and it belongs to Heidi Klum. She'd never part with it, because it really flatters her rather unremarkable figure. He must be a thief! I'll bet he's tied up all the party guests and robbed them!"

Emma's hands flew up to her face. "We've got to do something!" she cried.

Naturally I felt left out, because everybody else had just demonstrated an amazing skill while I was in the back seat and could barely move my legs. I was a lump of mud next to these people! I was just a ridiculously tall geek with spiky hair.

"We have to do something," Damien said. "If only there was some way to attract the attention of nearby police."

"Roman," Charlotte gasped, "you're ridiculously, insanely tall. Crowds form when you try on shoes. Children cry when you try to dance. Anderson Cooper appeared out of nowhere the last time you tried to exercise. You can do it! Stand in front of the building and flail about madly. Every cop within eighty miles will investigate. YOU CAN DO IT, ROMAN HANS!"

I can do it, I thought. In one motion I swung the cab door open and raced to the sidewalk. I took a deep breath and held it. Summoning the spirit of the wind I felt my body slowly inflate, from my toes to the top of my head. My posture straightened as it filled my torso, and as it spread into my arms they floated weightlessly into the air. As its power strengthened, my movements transformed from rhythmic and smooth to sharp and wildly spasmodic. Within seconds it had turned into a tornado that was barreling through my body, holding me bolt upright but whipping me to and fro, my every movement utterly out of control.

One car stopped, then another. It was working! Traffic came to a standstill. Still madly flapping, I glowed with pride, and I realized an important lesson. We've all got talents, talents that are unique to us. That's indisputable. The challenge lies in recognizing these talents, accepting them, and exploiting them for good.

Within seconds Charlotte's words came true, and a police car pulled up to the building.

The first policeman's jaw dropped open. "What the fuck is that?" he said.

The second policeman shrugged. "Beats me, maybe a new tire store opened?" he said, and they drove away.

THE END