#146: Megatron Man #1

“Chase Bradford’s comic book has been published? By a real publisher? That’s wonderful,” I said. I had seen much of the original artwork while he was working on it, but being busy with grad school myself, hadn’t been in touch with the aspiring cartoonist in quite a while. “How do you know, Nancy? Have you seen it?”

#124: Melody Chrysanthemum

I supposed Preston’s last remark was intended to end our conversation, because he returned to his work stocking the bookstore shelves with an air that he was going to ignore me until I went away. I didn’t know what else to say, although I didn’t turn away immediately. But then I heard some familiar voices from behind me.

#123: Flying Blind

“They think I’m a Megavillain in this reality?” I cried, stunned. “But look, I’m busting some jewelry thieves or something, right here on the front page.”
        It was true; Clarissa Too was shown in a halftoned photograph busting some crooks with handkerchiefs around their mouths, although the caption read, Who is this mysterious “Megahero,” and what is her agenda?
        “They’re afraid of the color of your skin—and the fact that you have ovaries,” said Avie.

#119: I Lost My Powers In This World

“Oh, great,” said Preston Percy, snuffing out his unfiltered cigarette under the toe of his shoe on the pavement of the driveway. “Don’t tell me America just lost her New Nuclear-Powered Hero!”
        The secret agent walked out onto the lawn where Mama and Avie were propping up Clarissa Too.
        “Can you still fly?” he asked.
        “I can barely walk,” said Clarissa Too. “I feel like I did before I got my Megapowers, like in my Civilian reality.”
        “Try lifting that stack of firewood,” said Preston, pointing to the short stack of timber against the garage. “Wait; that’s no good. It’s not heavy enough. Try lifting the car.”

#118: Never Even Kissed a Girl

Back at the apartment, I showed my sister Avie all the clippings Virginia had made for me concerning the other Ms. Megaton Man’s exploits. “Look at all this incredible stuff I’m doing, Avie—I mean my Counterpart is doing, the other Ms. Megaton Man; Frankly, she’s making me look bad—teaming up with the likes of the Doomsday Revengers and Megatropolis Quartet and battling Megavillains on the East Coast, breaking up subversive, insurrectionist militias in Maryland, battling more robots in Troy with the Troy+Thems. Good Lord, I’ve even been to Chicago and Wisconsin by now—only I’ve never once been to Chicago or Wisconsin in my life—battling evildoers. How will I ever live up to her tireless heroism and courage once she’s gone? When all I’ve done in the meantime is grade a few papers? And I’m still behind on my own submission for the upcoming Hypothetics conference!”

#112: Postmodern Sleeping Arrangements

“Say, what are you doing for Halloween?” asked Trent when I answered the phone. Stella had some academic thing all night, he explained, and he needed me to take Simon Trick-or-Treating while he stayed home and dispensed candy. “I can’t very well have Simon collect a bag of goodies while our house is the only dark one on the street—the other parents in the neighborhood would ostracize us for a year.”

#100: Dr. Sax

Next thing I know, I was back at the Inland Ocean Archeological and Anthropological Institute. The afternoon sunlight was still beaming through the windows on all sides of the top floor of the Wardell Building, through the stacks and stacks of rare books and manuscripts.
        I found myself seated alone, in the cross-legged position, on the oriental rug, barefoot in my athletic shorts and tank top. I looked at my hand; my class ring was still there; I reached over to my book bag—I knew I was back in my native reality because my butthole still hurt from my weekend with Trent. I fished out my wristwatch out of my book bag; the date hadn’t even changed; barely a few minutes had passed.

#99: They Pronounce the Doctor…Braindead!

I didn’t know what to expect when the Time Turntable began to materialize along the side fence in our Ann Street back yard. After all, at different times, I had seen Yarn Man, Kozmik Kat, Liquid Man, the Silver Age Megaton Man, and the Mod Puma appear or disappear on it. But those times all occurred in another reality—my native reality—not this weirdly alternative, civilian one.
        I knew even less what to expect from the oval opening of the Dimensional Doorway over the driveway—which, I hasten to add, appeared of its own accord, without the surrounding hardware, as an eerie, gaping aperture into a wild, unruly cosmic chaos.

#98: George Has a Gun

“Comic Coo-Coo Boo,” said Simon, who had been making Jackson Pollock compositions on the stainless-steel tray of his high chair with his noodles and spaghetti sauce. He was the only one of us able to gaze directly at the Cosmic Cue-Ball with his cyclopic, red-lensed goggles, while the rest of us were practically blinded.
        The incandescent orb looked just the way it was drawn in the comic books, but instead of harsh, black outlines, it burned as brightly as tungsten. The Orb of Great Power, as I’d heard it once described, hung in mid-air over us only briefly before it darted through the kitchen toward the open back door, stopping at the screen. Duchess, barking, chased after it; leaping up, her front paw came down on the handle of the screen door. Her weight carried her out of the house and onto the patio, and the Cue-Ball, sensing an opening, darted out into the back yard.

#97: Secret Identity

Daddy backed his red pickup into the driveway of the Ann Street house. I opened the passenger door, careful to unload my crutches first, then let myself out gently. My balance seemed much improved and my leg felt better, although something told me that if I tried to walk I’d still be rather lame.
        It was clear my perceptions had skipped forward in time once again. Judging from how the leaves on the trees and shrubs were turning, we were in the latter half of September now, at least.

#94: The Parallax View

In this alternate reality, certain events were unfolding differently from the way I remembered. Trent and Stella weren’t on speaking terms, even with Stella about to give birth to their baby. This made no sense—what could explain it? Doctor Messiah suggested it could be that in this reality, Clarissa James wasn’t Ms. Megaton Man. But I didn’t see what difference that could have made, since in the early spring of 1981—when Simon Phloog was born—I hadn’t yet become Ms. Megaton Man anyway.

#93: Tripping With Doctor Messiah

The next moment we were standing in front of my old house on Ann Street in Ann Arbor. I could feel the hard, scruffy cement of the driveway beneath my bare feet. It wasn’t as disorienting as I’d expected, although for a moment I was slightly dizzy.
        “At least astral-projection across space is possible,” I said, as if I were informing Doctor Messiah. “But, am I really here?”
        Doctor Messiah stood on the sidewalk next to me in his bare feet, arms folded, a faint smile on his lips. “Why don’t you find out?”

#91: On the Down-Low

When I returned to Detroit, I had the apartment on West Forest Avenue all to myself. Avie, following in the James sisters tradition I had inadvertently initiated, had gone up to Camp Michi-Fo-La-Ca for a two-week stint as a camp counselor, just as I had done for three summers between my freshman, sophomore, and two junior years of college. But whereas my first summer camp had introduced me to a variety of sexual experiences courtesy of the older, more wizened college-age counselors, my younger and more extroverted half-sister already had years of experience of her own and a wealth of hard-won sexual knowledge; I could only imagine what her fellow counselors would be learning from her.

#87: Those Chosen Few

In the parking lot outside the Big Yard, I spotted my father, Clyde Phloog; although he was in his civilian form and not his default Silver Age Megaton Man stature, he still seemed a head taller than everyone in the crowd. He was dressed in a sharp business suit and was snapping away with a self-developing film camera as Stella and I approached, triumphant, in our caps and gowns, clutching the scrolled mock-sheepskins we’d received on the stage.

#86: Apocalyptic Megachallenges

Flying back and forth from Detroit to Troy had been relatively easy for me, even in winter, because it was north and south, but Detroit to Ann Arbor was a different story. Arbor State University was due west, and often I’d often run into strong westerly winds, and in frigid temperatures it was even worse. My uniform offered thermal protection for most of my body, but the V-neck on my torso went down to the bottom of my sternum, leaving the center of my chest, neck, and face exposed to the wind. In late February, with highs in the twenties and lows below zero, I would really feel it.

#77: Schroedinger’s Cat

The Wilbert Dunlevy Himmelfarb Presentation Festival of Undergraduate Research is held every year in mid-to late March, depending on when spring break ends and Easter occurrs, on the main campus of Arbor State University. This year, it landed on March 21 through 23, 1984. Sponsored by the Albert Kahn School of Arts and Sciences, the festival took over almost an entire floor of the Modern Language Building, with programming running concurrently in more than two dozen classrooms. Drawing from all the satellite campuses including my own extension in midtown Detroit, the programming featured mostly seniors giving brief synopses of the senior theses they had completed during the fall semester, but ambitious underclassmen could also enter to showcase their research projects.

#72: Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner

Chuck Roast’s eyes opened instantly. He bolted upright, grabbing the cushions of the sofa. Holding one in front of himself defensively, he cried, “Who? What?”
     “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “What is the Human Meltdown doing back in America?”
     “I was recovering from jet lag, if you must know,” he said. “What are you doing...? Oh, that’s right. You used to live here.”
     Chuck rubbed the sleep from his eyes, set the cushion back in its place, turned, and put his feet on the floor. He relaxed somewhat, satisfied that I wasn’t immediately going to attack him.

#67: Knock Down, Drag Out

I shed my bookbag, winter coat, and civvies, stripping down to my Ms. Megaton Man leotard and panties. Koz took my bookbag before I could retrieve my yellow gloves and boots, let alone my red cape, brass buttons, or translucent-orange visor. “You won’t be needing that stuff,” he said, throwing me a pair of white silk boxing trunks instead. “Here, put these on,” he said as he grabbed a pair of red boxing gloves that hung on a peg on the wall.

     I noticed Alice², the Mod Puma, had shed her boots with their razor-like talons, so we were both barefoot. Presumably, she wasn’t wearing her taloned gloves, either, under her boxing mitts. She had slipped on a pair of black boxers nearly indistinguishable in color from her navy blue tights.

     All that was left after my gloves were tied was the padded head guard that boxers wear around their faces for protection during sparring matches, and a mouthpiece to protect the dentistry. “Is that really necessary?” I asked, as Koz proffered these.

     “Better safe than sorry,” said Koz.

#66: Plenty of Free Parking

I don’t know why I tell my sister Avril anything, because she always makes things more complicated.
     I mentioned to her that I desperately wanted to visit our Grandma while she was in Ann Arbor, and to visit my biological father, the Silver Age Megaton Man, and our alternate mama, the Mod Puma, at Megatonic University.
     “Great,” said Avie. “I’ll drive.”
     “No, I just want to fly in and out, real quick,” I said. By myself, was the implication.
     “Nonsense,” said Avie. “Seedy is my Grandma, too, and Alice² is our alternate mama.”
     “I’ll come along,” said Kozmik Kat. “I like the Mod Puma…I like any feline character of the female persuasion.”

#58: Megahero-Free Zone

“Look, Mama,” said Avie, proudly. “Clarissa’s wearing a dress.”
     “What’s the occasion, Sissy?” asked Mama.
     “You mean besides having Thanksgiving dinner with our Mama?” I replied. Avie and I were helping Mama take the turkey out of oven in her tiny new apartment near Eight Mile Road. “I can be traditional when I want to.”
     “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me,” said Mama. “But you do look nice in a dress for a change. I don’t think I’ve seen you in one since high school.”
     “Clarissa went by the house to pick up her old clarinet,” said Avie. “Daddy told her she was dressing too much like a boy lately and that she should grab some of her old dresses out of the attic, too, while she was at it. Only, they don’t fit her anymore. So he gave her money to buy new reeds and a new frock.”
     “Avie can’t keep anything secret,” I said. I stuck my tongue out at my half-sister.