Remember when you were a kidlet, and played Let's Pretend with your friends? When my friends and I played cowboys and Indians, I was always the Indian, by my choice, not luck of the draw. And I did not always die, and if I did, I took a lot of White Eyes with me. Sometimes we pretended to be the King, sometimes the Knight—Slayer of Dragons, Rescuer of Fair Maidens. Because, when I was that age, dragons were still horrible beasts, and could not be ridden. Now, I would be Rider of Dragons, Rescuer of Fair Hunks.
And, of course, we would choose our super powers. Some of us could fly, leap tall buildings, throw a really yuge and heavy hammer, crash golden bracelets together—I became invisible. That was the super power I wanted: Invisibility.
Me, as I wanted to appear as a child
I wanted to be able to pick on Mrs. H when she was our substitute teacher (I didn't much care for her), throw chalk at her, clap the erasers together over her head. I wanted to stay up late and read my library books (we didn't have TV). I wanted to be able to listen in on forbidden conversations, catch spies, stop crime before it happened. I wanted to be invisible!
Now that I am in my 70s, have more silver in my hair than brown, I have attained my super power. Yes, indeed, I am invisible!
A few months ago, I tripped shortly after I exited my car, and down I went. Dame Fortune smiled upon me (well, maybe it was a grimace, but she at least saw me) and tilted my collapsing self to the sidewalk, not the parking lot. People drove by and didn't see me in my bright and multi-colored quilted jacket lumped on the sidewalk. People walked by me, stepped around me, and at best made unkind remarks about being drunk so early in the morning (it was 0800), or how I should sleep in a shelter instead of out where children could see. NOT ONE PERSON SAW ME as a human in distress.
Selfie of me, as seen today
Fortunately, once my stars (bright and multi-colored) receded back into the heavens, I was able to take an inventory of my bones and hide; none were broken, but I couldn't get up. (Yes, the commercial is true: Help! I've fallen and I can't get up.) There was nothing near that I could grab to pull myself up. I was doomed to spend the rest of my life on that cold concrete, a whimpering lump of unseen brightly clothed invisibility.
Finally, a young man, I'm guessing about 17 years old, who looked like he was on the varsity wrestling team walked by. I called to him and asked his help. He seemed surprised—he apparently did not know sidewalks could talk—but his eyes quickly saw it was a lump of brightly colored person on the sidewalk who called to him, and he came over, easily pulled me to a vertical position, ascertained I was, in fact, okay and not drunk, and walked away.
Well, surely that was a one-time deal, right? Wrong. The other day I went into my most favoritest store in the whole wide world to buy some office supplies. I have shopped in this store for a dozen years. I know many of the people by name. I could not find what I needed. I could not find an employee to help me. If I saw a worker bee over there, by the time I got to over there to ask help, said worker bee had flitted off to somewhere else. I stood around looking lost. Finally, I decided they couldn't see me, so I came home and ordered what I wanted from Amazon.com.
I have attained my super power, and it ain't as much phun as I thought it might be. I think I'll play Let's Pretend again, and be considerably younger!