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The Healing Piece
by
Chris McCall
The day brought an unexpected peace with it considering it had only been a few weeks since September 11, 2001. I, like so many others, was attempting to assume life as usual, or at least as what could pass for usual after that dreadful Tuesday. So I gave it that red-blooded American try by upholding my end of the month routine of shopping for my comic books at the Oxford Comics and Games. I felt it was necessary because I grew tired of constantly reliving the tragedy of so many people over and over again through seemingly insensitive television specials, newspapers, and special edition magazines. Thus, I found myself desperately seeking to become totally immersed in the imaginary world of characters such as the X-Men, the Justice League, the Titans, Batman and Wonder Woman. That is when I first saw the work of art that changed my view of the events of September 11, 2001 and made me truly appreciate the limitless power of a good artist to extend beyond the canvas and duplicated copies and touch the hearts and minds of those who happen to see his, or her, work.
The four o'clock afternoon sun was a gentle centurion keeping a careful eye over its heartbroken populace as I made my way into the little shack of a street store located just south of Peachtree Street on Piedmont Road. I remember the feeling of serene familiarity and how important it had become to me when so much changed around me so quickly. The left door was always the only door open for both entering and exiting the cramped quarters. Just beyond to its right sat the cashier's station where Kim, as always, stood ready to assist questioning customers while she sorted pre-phoned orders. The isles called to me drawing me to my sacred ground where the comics' rack rested against the right wall. I flipped through my standard favorites, carefully reviewing the issue numbers and covers. First, the X-Treme X-Men, then the Titans, the Wonder Woman tie-in story to the "Our Worlds at War" crossover proved to be easy finds before moving along to the left of the back corner making my way to the new releases for the month. I picked up the Justice League "Our Worlds at War" tie-in entitled "Divided They Fall." I gave a halfhearted smirk at the irony of this title as I continued on over to the left placing the Justice League comic in my stack. I glanced upward at a number of stacked comics looking as though they were a part of some major crossover story line. That was when I noticed the most unusual sight I have come across in any comic shop.
I stood as if I had been caught in the bright headlights of an approaching vehicle. The strong, noble faces peered at me. A young man who looked as if he were a Latin construction worker stood just behind two proud looking men with mustaches. The gentleman to the construction worker's right wore a black coat with two yellow and gray stripes running horizontally across the torso and arms. Glancing at the helmet, I realized that he was a fireman. To the fireman's right was a red haired woman wearing what looked like scrubs. She stood defiantly with her arms folded in an almost casual yet stern manner. The sturdy man across from the fireman looking as though he was staring directly at me was wearing a well-pressed policeman's uniform. Just to his left was an Asian looking woman wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck. Behind her stood a man in a black suit, white shirt and tie gazing over her and the policeman's shoulder at something, or someone. My gaze moved to the right of the dark suited businessman to another construction worker who was a little heavier looking than his Latin counterpart. He stood in front of yet another construction worker wearing his yellow helmet and a filter mask. On his opposite side was another more distinguished man dressed in a white lab coat, gray shirt and pale tie. To his right was another fireman in a fully accessorized helmet mask and face shield. There was a pilot and another businessman with glasses in the background peeping over the shoulders of the others.
They all looked like the imaginary icons I had collected and doodled for years. I felt as though someone was speaking to me, but there were no words to be heard. I lowered my discerning stare in hopes of discovering at what these princely people looked. Tears burned my eyes as I noticed that these magnificent beings glared at the figures of Superman and his dog Krypto who were looking up at a billboard featuring these often unsung champions. Superman seemed like a child looking up at a level of greatness he could not fathom achieving. I backed away from the piercing work of art to get a better look at it. I noted the clear blue sky in the background and how populated the painted billboard including so many culturally diverse people. All of them reminded me of people I had seen on the television, at ground zero, in the newspaper, and in my dreams. They were the heroes and Superman was trying to emulate them.
The tears that stung my eyes now flowed freely down my cheeks as I found myself slowly pulling a copy of the book from the shelf extremely careful not to damage or smear it. I opened the cover to find out who could have created such an overwhelming work of art that could pierce the wall that I crafted to keep my feelings about September 11 from escaping to the surface. It read Alex Ross, "Superman and the Heroes of September 11, 2001." I bit into my lip as my vision continued to blur. A gentle hand touched my shoulder and asked, "Hey, you okay?"
I looked at Kim and with a shaky smile responded, "Not really, but I will be."
Copyright (c) 2002 by Chris McCall
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