Arclight 1.4

 Growing up, Isabela had a friend who was home schooled, Erin, who, along with her three brothers lived two houses down. At the time, this was enchantingly novel and Isabela would quiz her on things she was learning and how it compared to what was happening in normal school. Place value, state capitols, and spelling tests. It all seemed the same. They even ran into each other once on a fiddle trip to the Great Lake Science Center. Isabela with her entire class and Erin there with her family. They waved and caught each others eye and Isabela's classmates wondered "Where do those kids go to school?"

Sometimes she and Erin would role play teacher with Isabela talking about things not discussed in her cross examination. "We read this book The Giver in class. Did your mom make you read that? Or The Pearl," asked Isabela. When Erin would shake her head, Isabela would pantomime her own teacher and try to sound erudite (a word she had just learned in class) and informed. 

Locked in to be a teacher from an early age, Isabela thought that was all that she needed. Be really smart and read a ton of books. She had no clue about curriculum and coaches and state minimum standards. Even when it dawned on her, as an undergrad and then apprenticing, that this was not as romantic as it seemed she swore she would set the world on fire.

Instead, she ran fire drills. Stuck in the awkward in between of idealistic neophyte and grizzled veteran she tried to sail a post pandemic teaching world. "The kids are different" was the common refrain and while she could feel it she hesitated to blame any one thing. When she got her abilities (She hated calling them powers but Drew had begin calling them that and it was easier. "Just call them powers. Its like calling your boyfriend/girlfriend your partner. It seems off," he had chided) she thought it just a novelty. A year into it and she found herself reading less and putting less emphasis on anchor charts and planning. Her sub plans (already strained this year) were spread out across varying cloud drives and a haggard binder fraying at the corners. Her time pivoted to working out and running through stance drills from fencing and diving into busy body apps like Nextdoor and police scanners for info. And, sleep. Which seemed always so furtive.

"Rose and I discussed it," said her principal, May Holden, "And we are going to add an extra observation or two to your class this year."

This brought Isabela into sharp focus with a bruised ego. She played the professional and pliable part while inside she started to bristle "Oh. Wow, I'm sorry. I hate making more work for you. Is something wrong? Did someone complain? Am I ok?"

May leaned back in the student chair by Isabela's desk. Fifteen years in this and still it was a whole new world when trying to sit in a kid chair. "Well, can we real talk?"

Real talk was a custom secret school term for "lets cut to the chase" or "just be honest." At an elevated form it was "Candid is clear and clear is kind" which was the take away from a surpassingly engaging in service training a year ago. 

Isabela nodded and didn't realize it but also inhaled sharply like belaying a sniffle. She was happy this was happening in her classroom and afterschool. She prepared herself to be gutted and could not have carried that into class if this happened during a planning period. 

"You are almost out of PTO and its only mid October. You show up with just minutes to spare most days if not right as kids are walking in. I have parents, and not just the crazy ones, saying you don't respond to emails. I see how good you are with the kids but I also know you are watching a lot more movies in class or handing out work sheets." May put her hands on the table and reached forward as if she wanted Isabela to take them. When she did not and Isabela kept her arms folded across her stomach, May grimaced and pulled them back "Like, is everything ok? At home? You don't need to tell me but maybe Rose can help or I can get HR from the model involved. We just want to get ahead of anything."

"Ahead of what?" Isabela felt herself get very small inside.

May took a deep breath. "Before this becomes a thing, Isa. Before I have to write you up for being late or showing up everyday in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Before I need you to write down in a little spreadsheet what you did every minute of the day. I feel like I'm losing one of my best teachers and I don't know why."

The sincerity defused the building ire in Isabela. She could take it from students whose cruelty was candid (Remember, candid is clear and clear is kind) but she realize she was quick to be defensive with everyone else. Not yet beyond it but recognized it. May's empathy did melt all that and she felt her eyes billow with tears. She wiped them away before anything major but felt the heat in her face and how it must look. "I appreciate that. I really do. Home is fine. I've just been distracted." Isabela offered no excuse why "I have just taken this all for granted I guess, but, go it. Its fine. You, assistant principal, HR, anyone is welcome to observe. I appreciate it. Life long learning, right" The weight of every choice in last two years centered itself on Isabela's stomach. When school and "work" had intertwined before it had been on her terms with Carlos on the roof. Now, it felt naked and sudden and pointless. What was she doing anyway?

May sensed the conversation had run its course. "Ok, we will book it. And you will know ahead of time for sure." It was another bit of kindness Isabela now felt unworthy of getting. "And I was honest when I think you are one of the best. Real talk."

Arclight 1.3

 Drew hit the pavement on the full length of his shoulders. He felt the grooves of the asphalt and the myriad street grit brand his skin through the thin cotton of his t shirt. In trying to get away he had let them grab his jacket and shuck it off his arm, something that gave him a few seconds to put space in between them, but left him shivering, hurt, and covered in dirt. He then felt a foot slam into his side and send all the air out of his chest. His side went concave and he rolled away clutching his side. Rolling onto his back he saw the shimmer of lights against the river on one side and the sleepy lots of abandoned junk shops in the Flats. He didn't know the name of the guy trying to kill him. Form the bulge at his hip, Drew knew he was armed and wondered why he hadn't just finished it. 

"The fuck were you thinking, huh? You should have just kept walking." The guy wore a bright red sweater with the OSU logo on it and bright blue jeans that looked painted on. He had the look of a campus bully in in a 50's teen beach movie and the physique to match. He ran up to Drew and kicked him again sending him rolling into the embankment of withering plants and still biting thistle. He hurt all over and felt the boots of his assailant nudge under arm. "Stealing from me! Do you know where you are? Who I am?"

A car drove by and the guy crouched down trying to hide Drew's frame with his own. The attacked pressed his hand against Drew's chest and pushed down slowly, pushing him into the thicket until the boughs had no more give. When the headlights faded, the guy sucker punched him the side of the head and it made Drew's head pop into angry sounds and black circle. 'Isabela," he gurgled, "can you...do...this, please."

His attacker cupped his hands around his ear. "What did you say?" Then the air crackled as a shard of light shot past his eyes and the arched back to stab him in between the shoulder blades. "Oh, FUCK. What was that?" He reached for the shard and it burned his hand when he touched it. Isabela came out of a half crouch from under a streetlight. She was exhausted having held there for three minutes refracting the world around her so she was invisible. Drew called it "active camo" and he had showed her clips form all sorts of movies and shows where it was a thing. She thought is  neat trick and appreciated she could pull it off with her clothes on. But, it left her an achy hurt like a bad cold. She just wanted to end this and save Drew.

Isabela had been practicing her voice, something of a modified teacher voice that could paralyze 5th graders in the next room over, and maybe could work on the non elementary age. It sounded OK, at least in her head 

"Tony Georgia! Get the fuck away from him!" She said and then flung another shard at him the nicked his thigh. Isabela was horrible at throwing things, something apparent the one time she had to cover for gym class and whipped a ball somehow perpendicular to her entire body. 

He ran at her and she also bolted back into the radius of the streetlight where she flared the half circle of lumens behind her and made him trip onto the pavement. His nose cracked under the weight and he dove into a prone fetal position. "My fucking face! What the fuck!?"

Isabela dug into every resolve she had to pull up from achy legs and make a short sword she pressed to Tony's neck "You are going to pick yourself up and walk back to the restaurant. The money my friend over there has is ours and we are going to give it away."

"You are thieves. Fucking thieves," he said in a wet guttural snarl

"I know people who work at your place. Who have other jobs and thanks to people like you cannot make ends meet. And you shaft them on tips and fire them when they call off sick and stare at their asses and you can just take the fucking L for this one time, ok" Isabela felt venom rise in her voice and any twinge of self doubt evaporated. She pricked him with the tip of the sword in the side of the stomach. "Do you understand?"

He bellowed and shook his head. "Ill call the cops. I saw his face!" She once again poked him with the sword and reached it up so a pinprick of blood arched up in the streetlight. 

Isabela had not put much thought into this and felt her chest tighten. Drew had liberated the cash from the safe. Just where Jessica said Tony skimmed all the cash tips into. Must have been a year's worth. And then he just ran. 

Ok, Drew had robbed them, but it was for a good cause. And then Tony chased Drew into the Flats far from  the array of restaurants by the river and into the sleepy store fronts that sold safety equipment and marine supplies. 

"If you talk, I swear we will come back and kill you."

Tony had one hand to his side and the other to his face. Both were slick with sweat and blood in an oily red. "Fuck, ok. Just leave me alone. I'll kill you that is what I will do." He then began to mutter. 'You are that vigilante bitch. I can't believe you are real, what the fuck. You know this is Cleveland. Not fucking Gotham"

Drew hobbled over to her side. Her voice did soften "Oh, you are ok?" She saw Drew did not have his jacket or hood on him but did still have the gaiter around his mouth. That should do, she thought

He wheezed. "Mostly." he said motioning to Tony "Lets take his phone and wallet. Take the SIM card out and then toss the rest"

"Fucking thieves!" Tony turned up into a sitting position and tried to get up. Drew kicked him down with a single hit to the chest. "Shut up! Can't you see we won!?"

Isabela made the whole world around Tonys head a bright white where he couldn't see. He screamed from his single helmet prison while they grabbed the money and wallet and phone and ran. 

Arclight 1.2

Drew liked to think of himself as somewhat elevated, a bit more mature than other guys in their early thirties. His apartment had furniture, which was assembled from varying thrift stores and cast offs, but it was there. His plates and bowls, a neat half dozen of each, matched in the same emerald green hue.  He even had a bed frame and sheets. He had plants. A large philodendron that lived off cold coffee poured into it every night and then a Christmas cactus that he always hoped would bloom. His bathroom had extra towels and extra shampoo and conditioner. These sat idle but compared to his single friends he lived like the world's most interesting man. The only items that would have seemed typical were the varying collectibles used as decorations. Funko Pops still in box and premium hard cover editions of graphic novels and a pair of Pokemon plushies (Espeon and Umbreon) bookending them on a built in shelf. 

There was another teacher who made a point of sharing every book she read in the year (Going for 100!) she did in her Instagram stories and he made a point to note them and read more women authors. He did this because it felt fair and expanded his horizons over his usual fare of spy thrillers but also a lingering reflection of being raised by a single mother with two older sisters. He had come to peace with his middling success with women and instead wanted to be a model for his middle school boys a few Joe Rogan podcasts away from becoming jabronis. 

But, all that sensibility went dark in this moment when looking at Isabela. As she stood on the roof of the school and crackled with power he was transported to a base adolescent mode of infatuation. As a teen he loved wrestling and still sometimes used the terms in everyday speech. He was a total "mark" for her (this was her, right) and believed in everything and anything she had to offer. It had to be a dream. This checked a lot of boxes. Isabela had palmed her hand over her feet and brought pulled it up in front of her. It trailed spiraling flickers of light that changed what she wore into a a legitimate super hero outfit. Black tights coming up from matching boots with her knees, ankles, and thighs set with glowing armor pieces plated against her body securely in a hover. Then a black top like a surfer's rash guard set under a glowing white and blue cuirass over her chest. Then a hood which she had over her hair that she was quickly and messily braiding into a pony.

Fuck, its...you're. It's really you?" he mumbled. 

She tucked the braid behind her neck "Sorry, I have not figure out how it can do hair." She then gave an awkward smile having now just realized the gravity of the decision. Would he freak out? He has to be freaking out, right? Would he tell anyone. This was looking more and more like a horrible idea. Isabela hadn't told anyone and she choose to tell a co worker. Not a family member or someone in power but someone she knew only during business hours. "And, yeah, its me."

"Wow. This explains a lot." Drew didn't hear anything. The roof could explode or collapse under him and he would still be just enthralled. "You like glow and hum with potential. I mean...you're a fucking superhero!" He finally took steps to her and she did instinctively take some steps back and make a small shield of light against her left wrist.

They both saw that and grimaced. "Sorry," she said. "I look better at the part then playing it."

He shook his head and waved his hands "No worries, no worries." In the moment she could have slahed the tires on his car and he would not care. "I shouldn't have just run. You look...amazing." Drew realized he dolloped extra emphasis on the last part and quickly pivoted to anything else 'What, what can you do. Like manipulate light, right? Make flares? Blind people?" 

Isabela had never been in this position. Needing to explain her abilities. Made her realize she didn't even know what she could do. How long it would last and any lasting harm. Or, the important why it happened. She felt a sinking twinge of fear that she buried and then sheepishly answered "I can make it into shapes and change the colors of things I'm wearing or touch. Yeah, I can move it, for lack of a better word. Turn on the light on your phone. Let me show you."

Drew fumbled for it and then got it on after three tries with the school's required passcode. He should have never said he was fine checking work emails on his phone. He shone it at the gravel top of the school roof and caught the base of duct. Isabela flicked her wrist and then he saw the beam curve up and over the duct and back onto his chest. He gasped and she smirked while then making the light change from white to whole spectrum of the rainbow. He beamed "Its like hardlight in Halo. You can make bridges and shield and swords. Please tell me you can make a sword. Didn't you fence in college!?"

Isabela did feel herself turning a confused red in the face. She felt she was learning more about Drew in this moment then in their three years of working together. She had fenced, just as part of a club team in college, and he would only know that if he dug through her old Facebook pictures. She closed her eyes and centered herself and then let pinprick of light come from her wrist. She let the top of the beam extend about two feet and then widen into a simple machete shape. Making the hilt take shape in her arm she turned it around and offered it to him "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," he said.

Then she turned it an electric violet and offered him to take it.

Arclight 1.1

 It is 7:45AM and Isabela wants the day to end. She runs through the options that would cancel school

1) A freak snow storm in September. Tricky, but possible. Climate change is real!

2) The water main would blow. She had seen it once when the custodian showed them the basement. It was a faded green gear in the corner behind an idle work bench and abandoned carpets. 

3) Violence. Letting the intrusive thoughts win for a brief second she knew it would do it but was also a looming potential since the 90s. 

She crossed this off her mental list

4) Plague. Massive absences. The rumor was that if less than 50% of the students showed up then they could cancel the day. 

She leaned her head against the cold cinder block of her door way and realized that none of these would happen. Good for number three. Both the burden of her position (Teacher but also lunch counter but also ersatz therapist and proxy parent and recess monitor and test proctor and Chromebook helpdesk, etc. etc.) and her extracurricular would mean she would need to intervene. And, not sure how successfully considering she was already "teacher tired" with 10 minutes before opening bell. Her right hip and thigh hurt from where a galaxy purple bruise was developing. She was thrilled that she convinced Drew to make her copies for her and he came in early to put down her chairs and write the welcome message. Not in her voice or hand writing but still got the job done.

"Hey everyone! It is Friday (Yay!) September 17th, 2021. So happy you (and everyone) is back here at school. Does the sign look different? Ms. Orel asked me, Mr. Drew, to write it and always happy to help. Specials today are Art and Music!"

She cracked a brief smile which then withered when she thought about when he would sober up and stop all these favors. He had his own class and life and likely questions as to why she bolted right after school and ghosted on messages in the evening.

The sound of chatter and cloying "HEY!" messages down the hall told her the day and had begun. Showtime. She popped the hood of her sweater out so it nested against her shoulders and tucked her lanyard against the top of her stomach. Pen behind her ear and ok lets go. The disaster needs to wait. 

***

Isabela had been up since 3am, save for a tiny nap on her couch between 5:30am and quarter to seven. When she awoke she realized she had fallen asleep in all her gear. Her inner child lashed out feeling embarrassed. "If Sailor Moon feel asleep in her outfit wouldn't it just go back to normal overnight? Do the Power Rangers need to change?" She had gotten good enough with the hard light to make solid shapes and crystallize it into an outfit but it was patches over workout gear from the thrift store. And a black hoodie, which she shook out and thought of wearing to work but smelled the cigarettes and sweat from it and changed her mind. 

She had spent the time between 10pm and 1am primed along East 22nd and the Tubbs Jones transit center. There was a wrestling show that night and letting out she was able to spook someone trying to force themselves into someone's parked car "Give me a ride, baby! Why the fuck not" he yelled while he pounded at the glass. She made the light flickering off it coalesce around his fist and cut into him as if he was punching through it. "FUCK!" he screamed while they car sped off. The only physical thing she did was drop onto a cop car as it primed itself to approach a group of three women walking past the Salvation Army. Isabela assumed the cop was up to nothing good and they had done nothing. She did not land on her feet but instead her hip on the back where the trunk meets the glass. She heard the officer scream "What the fuck!?" even through all of the vehicle and he scrambled out of the front letting the women walk off laughing at him. She rolled into the landscape around the Wolstein center and popped the disco lights on the squad car to further cover her limp away. The last hour was spent slinking back to her car, a black Nissan Rogue she had illegally parked in a closed surface lot. Cleveland surface parking was big business and she wasn't sure if anyone checked the old cash drop boxes, but she did shove a ten dollar bill into it from the emergency kit in the glove box

***

Drew was trembling and nervous, sweating this question in his head, but, after much internal debate thought to ask it. It would test all limits of their friendship. 

"I am sorry. I don't want it to come off anything weird but you look tired. You ok?" he asked as he caught Isabela in the mailroom. He instantly froze hoping his voice carried the sincerity.

Instead of daggers she looked past him and emptied her teacher mailbox of all the fliers and announcements shoved into it. There was a post it note reminding her to hand these out next week, which did not really feel helpful and instead petty. "I'm fucking exhausted. I can't wait to go home." She then turned to him and did put her hand against his shoulder "And, no, I get it. Thanks for asking. And thanks for helping." The shoulder touch defused his tension, which Isabela did not realize, but she hoped it would cut any antipathy he had. "Please don't be mad at me!" was not a great motto for someone called a vigilante on r/Cleveland reddit. A term Isabela hated but yeah did not project confidence. 

"Ok, do you want me to pull the fire alarm?" Drew pointed over to the lever and then threw up his hand in a shrug.

She shook her head appreciating the joke "No, its just one more hour. The kids are going to watch Netflix. Fuck it"

Early Q2

 In six month's time, you'll be allowed

The opportunity, not promised, please mind that

To shuffle a different spreadsheet and vent

A new face may hear your ups and downs

In six month's time, the opportunity

Should be here, but it may not, so

Do not suggest waiting or changing or anything too

Crazy. Congratulations, by the way for what will happen

in six month's time. Maybe. For now, feel silly that

a promise, an opportunity, made you feel so within yourself

Attention

If you read the notes,

Yes, sorry, please

At the bottom below your signature

There it is. I don't know why it was

Missed. A huge clusterfuck

Fly me down to Florida. Or up to Vermont

Pick the problem. I'll sort it out. 

Note it and present

No, I don't think they saw the notes

As well, it will work out. Somehow

As It Was

I've finished mourning

In my memories you will always

Catch the sword as the music crests

And, gather the cars and warm the room

With long long looping wires that tether

Me, to a moment of lost papers returned 

You'll always be on the roof

Me, nervous you'll fall, albeit you are

Invincible and Dynamic. Eternal

We built a chair with no instructions 

And told the bourgeoisie to go home

I said the thing and blazed red waiting your response

I'll still hear your hundreds of stories.

Doctor, sailor, lawyer, secretary, and spy

I'll hear your rumors, the incriminating 

Screen snips of the gossip, the tea spilled

Like the water from broken pipes on 3rd

You'll be traveling. The south of Mexico

And tour of all the ballpark

They'll be quirky earrings with black cats

Enamel pins and memes, shared like jail house smokes. There will be a crack of lacrosse sticks, a sound I've never heard but remember through you.

I've finished mourning

The space around gets bigger, the loss

Stays the same; gnawing, dull, toxic

When Isolated, it loses its bite and

Toothless, you revert to better memories

And, the sobering dawn that we are

Each other's history