Yesterday, I saw Superman crying. He was sitting on a curb on 4th street. His oil black hair was buried in his hands while his broad, coat-hanging shoulders quivered to the beat of his tears. He was the first thing I saw when I left the building. The prominent red “S” stood out amongst the passerby’s walking their daily commute. The “S” would pop in and around the dark overcoats and pleated slacks; dart underneath umbrellas and above polished oxford shoes. For a moment I had to stand there. Looking around me, nobody else had seemed to notice.

I made my way over to his part of the sidewalk and again just had to stand there staring at him. After a bit, I looked up and watched a jet plane chisel its way through a clear blue sky. It left a long snake of smoke behind it. I brought my attention back to him. I didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t noticed me standing there, or maybe just hadn’t acknowledged it. But he hadn’t broken stride. He continued crying and his head would bob, but not a single black hair on his head moved. I looked behind me to see if anyone else had seen me, or seen him, and there was no one. I needed to say something.

-So, do you get your cape pressed? Or when you take it out of the wash do you just hang it up? Or is it like a dry clean type of thing?

It only took a second or two for him to stop crying. Yet, he kept his head in his hands. Nothing was said. I put my hands in my jean pockets and began shifting my weight from my toes to my heels, balancing myself on the edge of the curb. After a minute or so, he spoke.

-Idon’tdomyownlaundry.

With his head still in his hands, his words were a bit muffled.

-I’m sorry, you said you don’t do your own laundry?

With his head still in his hands, but more clear this time, he replied,

-No, I have someone do it for me.

My lips pursed, and, out of nervousness, I began rubbing the backside of my head.

-Oh yeah. That makes sense.

At this point we were back to square one. His head in his hands, and me in disbelief nobody else was seeing this. Looking around again for some pedestrian support, and coming up with no one, I tried him again.

-So, what are you doing on 4th?

After not getting an immediate answer, my right hand returned itself to its soon-to-be home, rubbing the back of my hair. I stopped shifting my weight when I realized one of my shoes had untied itself so I bent down to tie it.

-Idon’thaveanyplans.

I stopped tying and still on one knee turned to him.

-Um, what? I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.

He shuffled his red boots a little in the gutter. Removing his hands from his face for the first time, but keeping his head down, he began rubbing his knees.

-I, I um, said I didn’t have any plans.

I finished tying my shoe and parked myself right down on the curb next to him.

-You, uh, don’t have plans for what?

He turned his head to me, but brought his hands back up to hide his face. His eyes were the only part of his face he revealed. They were a little red around the edges and a bit swelled.

-You asked what I was doing for the 4th? I don’t have any plans.

…asked what I was doing for the 4th? I had no idea what he was talking about. I looked over to my right, away from him, hoping somebody would come to help me out. Nobody. I looked back to my left at him. Now his whole face had come up out of his hands and was now looking at me, or through me. The first thing I noticed was his cheekbones. The sides of his face were like minor valleys cut only for high fashion models, and, well, superheroes. They were joined by a square jaw and a sharp cut chin.

-Oh, no. I asked what you were doing ON 4th, 4th street.

I pointed up to the sign across the street. His eyes followed and stayed there for a few ticks. Without looking back at me he replied,

-That makes sense. July isn’t for about seven months yet?

He turned back to me and waited for me to say something. His cape would occasionally dance a bit when somebody would walk close enough, like a quiet guard dog waiting to bark when someone got too near him, or it.

-So, what are you doing on 4th?

He looked straight ahead and relaxed his shoulders.

-There was supposed to be a phone booth here.

By now his eyes were completely dry. He looked solid and with a bit of intent, his eyebrows stiff with confidence.

-Cause you need to change, right?

He nodded. Then, we both just sat there.

-You can change somewhere else, right?

He looked back down at the ground. The streets seemed to be getting busier, more cars, louder cars, with more people or louder people walking to more places, leaving more places. Overhead, the smoke from the jet plane was beginning to fade. I began to wonder if I was doing more harm than good being there. I needed a way out.

-Well, hey I would invite you to my place to change but it’s pretty far and my girlfriend is there and I don’t know, she might think that was strange you coming and everything.

He glanced up at me and smiled for the first time. His teeth looked like Chiclets. But in a good way.

-That’s nice of you. I need to find a phone booth though. Only two left in the city.

I nodded and began to stand up.

-Yeah, I wish I could help you. I haven’t even noticed one in quite a while.

His smile faded and he turned his attention back across the street.

-Well, it was good talking to you.

The only movement I got out of him was a swooping wave of his cape. I waited for a few seconds while I zipped up my coat. It was colder then it was when I had first sat down next him. I looked up to see if the clouds had moved in, but there were none. The jet smoke had now disappeared from sight. I turned and began walking in the direction of my apartment.

After walking for only about a block or so, I stopped. I turned back to where I had seen him sitting and my shoulders dropped. I zipped my coat up all the way to the bottom of my chin, and headed back towards him. Back towards where I had seen Superman sitting on the edge of a street curb.

When I got there he was gone. I flipped my head around to see if maybe he had followed me and we had passed each other by mistake. Nothing. Over across the street there were just people walking back forth, same as before. So I decided to just head back, but I only got a couple of steps before I noticed something being kicked around on the sidewalk. Tattooed with boot prints and scarred by minor rips along its delicate red plain, was his cape. It no longer danced. The only motion it had was caused by the motion of the people. It just lumbered along, being tethered back and forth by the constant foot traffic. One step going one way would hold it in place while another person, coming the other way, would unknowingly step on the other end, grinding its mystery fabric into the unforgiving cement. I walked over to it and bent down to pick it up. It lay damp and limp between my fingers. The mud that was sprawled over it looked like the bruising of an aged piece of fruit, trying to live long past its intended shelf life. I gently folded it up, and put it underneath my left arm.

*

When I walked in the door my girlfriend was in the kitchen making dinner.

-Hey, where have you been? Your cell phone just kept going straight to your voicemail?

I didn’t answer her. I just walked over to the living room table right next to the kitchen and set the folded cape on the table in front of me.

-I made pasta, you hungry?

I sat down on the couch, and fell back softly against the backrest. All I could do was stare at the folded material.

-HEY, I made pasta, you hungry?

I looked over my shoulder in her direction.

-No, I had a long day. I’m not really that hungry.