My Queer Superpower

Chapter Six

I leaned toward Martha at the counter and tapped my fingers along its surface to get her attention, but she held up a finger and continued on with her work. She was wearing a thick pair of readers with a beaded chain linking both ends. They looked like they were straight out of a national librarian catalog. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail. It was naturally very stringy, so she often wore it like that. Her feathered look was reserved for red panty nights; her words.

The desk she sat behind was filled with stacks of new books she was in the process of labeling. I knew she couldn't risk losing her place. I watched patiently as she scanned ISBNs and printed out labels while clutching a pen between her teeth. She used that for marking covers, date slips and who knew what else.

She had a process and from what I could tell she was the hardest worker in the building or the Meryl Streep of pretending to look busy. Honestly, it could've gone either way with her, but the arrangement worked out well for both of us. The desk was her wheelhouse and she hated straying far from it, which left me to my favorite task: shelving books on the fifth floor.

Martha spit the pen out on the desk and tilted her head back with both hands held high above her. "Finally!" she exclaimed in a deep voice of triumph. "Reegs, sweetie, hop on over."

She didn't have to to tell me twice. I jumped the counter like the hood of a car in a foot chase. I loved that I could be myself around her and that she called me Reegs. While I wasn't in love with the nickname itself, anything was better than Mad-Eye Rudy. For awhile, my college choices had been up in the air, but she gave Iowa the winning nudge, assuming I could figure out what I wanted to study.

I reached down and gave Martha a hug. Months of working with her had given me time to acquire a fondness for them. Mostly, I had learned to strike first. It was much safer for my bones to be the hugger than the hugged.

"I can see you're busy... so off to the fifth with me?" Any other day, we'd stay and chat for awhile, but I knew not to be in the way when orders came in. Besides, having the past few days off had built up plenty of... Too much information. I was eager to assume my post was all.

"Ah-Ah-Ah, not so fast," Martha teased from over her shoulder. I was already cracking up since I had thought of a hilarious excuse for arriving late, if she asked. "I've yet to call you on our little agreement, but there's finally someone I'd like you to meet."

My body froze up like I'd been kicked out of an airlock. My stomach tumbled as I free fell down to Earth. If she'd been looking in my direction, the rouse would've been up and those soggy orange carrot bastards would've made cameos in every last one of her books. If it hadn't been for the bile burning my throat, I'd have never thawed in time to feign a reaction. I managed a pompom-less cheer as she swiveled her chair.

"I'm so happy for you!" I shouted, adding claps where I lacked enthusiasm, "You deserve all the happiness, but don't expect me to go easy on him."

I shot her a glance as I hopped back over the counter. I'd never been in a such a hurry to leave.

"Awesome!" Martha squealed in delight. "He'll swing by next time you're in. Off you go."

My frozen smile was starting to feel twitchy, but I maintained it long enough to reach the stairwell. I could've taken the elevator, but the sounds it made could've thrown off my plans. I climbed the four flights of stairs as I thought hard about the ways unveiling my power could go wrong. 

The problem wasn't vetting Martha's potential suitors, it was that I let her believe my power could do it. I didn't need superpowers to tell her to stop dating drug dealers, but I didn't feel right giving any advice based on a lie—one big snowballing lie that would inevitably roll over and crush our entire relationship into nothing.

It sickened me to think about it, but I couldn't see a way out. I'd planned on coming clean. I'd been easing her into the truth, but we weren't there yet. As it stood, she practically knew my power, but with one teeny tiny nonexistent upgrade: allegedly, it activated whenever truly bad mojo was around. As far as I knew, my eye spasms were entirely random, but the lie had been necessary to save our agreement. How could I ever mend our relationship if she fired me?

I took my time creeping up the final turn of stairs. I was shameless in both senses of the word. Unlike the lower levels, the fifth was dimly lit and lacked the balconies that would've otherwise let light in from below. It had earned its reputation for evening romance.

A few quiet strides toward the nearest aisle made me invisible. I was a phantom in the forgotten home of obsolete literature and unread novels. I ventured into the darkness, stealing away and backing against shelves en route to my usual spot.

The mobile shelf was right where I'd left it: parked in front of a low run of dust covered things that nobody was after. There was enough space there for me to crouch down and have full view of the elevators. If anyone ever came looking for a Farmer's Almanac and knew where to find it, I'd welcome my hilarious death. Traffic didn't exist apart from those coming through with loose morals, so footsteps and elevator dings were my lame and toned down version of two AM texts.

The elevator dinged and I perked up the moment I heard its door fold open. By the time I heard footsteps, I had targets locked in my sights. Tonight's couple was so distracted by each other that I probably could've stood up and followed them. I didn't. I stayed hidden.

I loved the rush it gave me.

I took exception to how brazen they were, but I couldn't be sure if that was the employee or the voyeur in me. On the rare occasions when people crossed the line and stripped down to nothing, I never had the courage to stop them, but I always had the decency to turn away.

My voyeurism was quite innocent in that way. I was there solely for passionate kissing. It was my drug and I couldn't find a fix anywhere else. Compared to this, onscreen lip locking or necking in public was hardly kissing at all.

The couple came to a stop near a dark corner and I had the perfect spot in mind to watch them from. They were flirting and taking their time, so I made it safely to the magenta and gold British law encyclopedias well before anything had started. There were enough spaces between their volumes for me to see through them while still having the shelf as cover.

The shorter one with dark hair seemed unsure, but there was no doubt in mind they'd start kissing. They were in love. They held hands the whole way over and never stopped grinning at each other. There was nothing like watching a new couple's kiss. That finite span of time when fires burnt brightest for each other was unmatched. It was guaranteed magic. I was prepared for an unforgettable performance.

Even though the suspense was building by the second, I didn't mind that so much. I actually preferred watching emotions build slowly before boiling over and from the moment I saw them, I was fully invested. Usually, I had to imagine them both as guys. This time, I wouldn't have to. 

Yes, I can confirm, people kiss differently when they're alone. Cue my announcer voice.

Low lighting karate kicks judgment out of a fifth floor window. The sound of a book sliding out of place is our voyeur's sole contribution to kick things off. The thrill of being caught jolts the lovers' hearts the same as his, propelling them into action. The lack of restraint. The slobbering. The unapologetic and unattractive breathing. Two faces, constantly at odds with one another because touching noses doesn't feel quite right. Yet, both are working hard toward the same goal and neither seems eager to reach it. This could go on forever. It's sensual. It's beautiful. It's inspiring.

And disheartening.

I was left with a special kind of desperation to share my first kiss with someone.