CRISIS of Faith

Author's Note: DC Fans will recognize the reference in the title. Unfortunately, that's as far as the comparison goes. Though I suppose there's a certain character from a certain Crisis that could easily fit into this story. Credit to my good friend, Kent, for the amazing pizza and stimulating conversation that led me towards this story.

I've never really had a problem marrying my faith with my reality, no matter how strange reality became.

When my dad was a kid, there weren't that many super humans around. There was the Super Union and Team S.U.P.E.R, but that was about it. If you had super powers and you weren't a criminal, you either joined Team S.U.P.E.R or the Union, it was that simple. The odds of meeting someone with powers was rare, and the chances of someone's powers directly conflicting with your religious beliefs was also reasonably low. For my dad's generation, there was a very slow burn as far as accepting super humans went, so by the time they were popping up left and right (like when I was a little kid), everyone had accepted them as fact and figured out how not to have their faith shattered.

I mean, when you think about it, why would super powers refute our faith? Our Father sent many people with strange abilities to assist humanity in it's times of need. His Son would probably be called a superhero by today's standards. And what are super villains but wicked men with powers? For every Goliath, there is a David. If anything, the existence of super-humans was His will, because super-humans often used their abilities to save and protect humanity, which is precisely what God would want us to do.

Of course, Jesus was the only man to ever have true power, and none of the superhuman's powers could ever match the powers of God Himself. At most, I was willing to believe a superhuman could be as powerful as an angel, but even that required me to stretch my imagination.

Then, one day, I received a knock at my front door.

Pausing the Veggie Tales DVD I'd put on for me and my niece (mostly for me), I walked up to the front door. There was a brilliant sunlight shining through the window, blinding me while also serving as a reminder of God's power and the beauty that He created. When I opened the door, I could see a brilliant, blue sky in the background, and hear the sounds of birds chirping in the distance. It was a blessed day indeed.

On my porch were two men, both white. I found that strange, considering this was a Black and Arab neighborhood, but I didn't dwell on it too much. I next observed that one of the men was wearing a blue uniform with a badge at his left breast. Around his waist was a large, black belt that held a gun, flashlight, and nightstick for his convenience. The policeman was holding a clipboard and scrawling something onto the paper, but I couldn't tell what.

Next to the cop was a man with long, sandy hair. His eyes were wide, but in a pleasant, friendly way. His shirt was obscured by the large, blue argyle sweater he wore, but I could tell from his open collar that it was a blue and white pinstripe shirt. I usually didn't appreciate such informality when men dressed, but I ignored it, reminding myself that I wasn't in church and had no right to judge. After all, the man was a Christian. I could tell as much from the Virgin of Guadalupe bracelet that was peeking from beneath his unbuttoned shirt sleeves, and the hand-carved wooden cross around his neck.

"Blessed day sirs," I said to the two gentlemen. "Can I help you in some way?"

I was nervous, but I couldn't let them see that. I played it off and acted so friendly, I managed to even convince myself that an unarmed Black person had nothing to fear from two white men, especially when one was wearing a badge.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the officer began, "but we're going around today because this gentleman is moving into the neighborhood and I'm required by law to inform you of his presence."

I groaned. Luckily, it was droned out by the sound of the ice cream truck and the gleeful screams of children.

There were only two reasons a cop would have to notify me that someone was moving into the neighborhood, neither of which were good. This nice, smiling, Christian man could be a sex offender of some kind. Probably a church counselor that touched a little boy or girl on a field trip, got off after a minimum sentence, and was now being dumped in the Black and Arab neighborhood because none of his fellow White Christians wanted anything to do with him. Alternatively, this nice looking man could be a superhuman with an especially dangerous power. Only super-humans with dangerous powers had to be publicly identified, everyone else could live private lives with only the government knowing about their abilities if they wanted. Usually, the adults that wound up in neighborhoods like ours had really good control over their powers, and eventually went on to work for places that gave them enough pay to leave our neighborhood for good. I wasn't too excited to live next to either a sex offender nor a Red Level superhuman, but I'd take the latter over the former any day.

"Are you a pedophile or a radioactive man?" I asked, with much of the politeness removed from my voice.

The cop shook his head and looked away. That was strange.

The man was still smiling, but his smile was more awkward and uncomfortable than it had been before.

"Well, you see," he began as he anxiously began scratching his head, "I have the ability to create nuclear fusion, and I may have had a minor indiscretion...with a minor..."

The cop scoffed.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "You...are a radioactive pedophile?"

He nodded.

"You are a RADIOACTIVE PEDOPHILE???!!!"

The man continued to speak, but I couldn't hear him. My mind was too busy thinking of static and nonsense. The stranger at my door scrambled my thoughts and turned me into a blubbering idiot. I looked up to the sky, hoping that there was some sign that this was all a divine test or even a divine joke. But all I saw were faint steam trails from jets flying overhead.

"Um, excuse me," the officer said, finally sick of his charge's rambling, "I know this is a lot to take in, but I really need you to sign this form stating that you are aware that this...gentleman will be moving in to the neighborhood."

I forgot all the training I'd received over the years. Every lesson in manners and ettiqute and how we should respond to white cops flew out of my mind. I felt a fire burning between my stomach and esophagus, but I wasn't sure if it were rage or indigestion. I didn't care. I looked the sad excuse for a peacekeeper dead in his eyes with the nastiest scowl I could contort my face into.

"Get. The. FUCK!"

I didn't say "get the fuck out of my face." I didn't say "get the fuck away from me with this bullshit." I didn't say "get the fuck away from me and march your stupid ass back to jail where this bitch belongs before I beat the shit out of you with your own gun." I didn't even say "get the fuck out of this neighborhood and bring this perpetual danger to society over to the white part of town." I didn't have to say anything past the first three words.

The radioactive pedophile raised his arms up defensively, as though futilely attempting to shield himself from a mauling lion. The cop jumped back a little, then reflexively reached for his gun, but he didn't draw it. He just stared at me.

The air around us sat undisturbed. Neither party said a word, we just looked at each other. We were probably a strange sight to anyone passing by. A radioactive pedophile standing with his arms in front of him, a confused cop with his hand on a gun, and the dangerously furious child of a local preacher staring them both down with an intense glare that could freeze Medusa in her tracks.

I don't know how long we stood there before the cop finally took his hand off his gun and tipped his hat awkwardly. He grabbed the radioactive pedophile by the arm and walked away from myself and my house.

I didn't move until the men were completely out of my sight. As soon as they were, I slammed the door shut and walked away from it like it was diseased.

Going to my left, I entered the living room again and saw my niece sitting on the sofa, engorged in the Veggie Tales dvd that she had continued playing even after I left. Any other time, I'd be annoyed at the rude behavior, but not then. I usually loved Veggie Tales, but I was so thrown by what had just transpired that the signing vegetables only made me want to punch the screen as I walked past it.

"Who was at the door?" My niece asked.

I ignored her and walked through another door on the far side of the living room, entering the kitchen. I pulled the old, wooden table from out of its spot and plopped down in it.

And I'm still sitting here. Just replaying that visit in my head over and over again.