Bzz! Bzzzzzt!
Gene’s phone vibrated from the back pocket of his crisp, blue, denim super-suit as he dodged another punch from one of the goons he was fighting. Through the black ski mask, the man in front of him gave him an almost wounded expression.
“Don’t give me that look, I thought it was on ‘do-not-disturb’!” Gene protested, ignoring the vibration as he swept the guy’s legs out from under him. The goon crashed to the ground, nearly falling through the display case next to him.
Gene’s phone continued to ring. He was keen on letting it go to voicemail, until another goon socked him in the side of the head, activating the built-in bluetooth communicator he used on team-up missions with The Washer and Captain Clothesline.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What was that?” His mother’s voice rang out through his communicator, leaving an echo in his ears.
“Shit.” His mother couldn’t know about his activities as ‘The Denim Defender’; the woman would probably die of a heart attack if she knew the kind of danger he willingly put himself in on the daily.
“Language, Eugene!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, kneeing the goon in the gut and hoping his mother was hard of hearing enough to miss the grunts and thuds of the fight. “Look, Ma, I really can’t talk right now.”
Sniffling came from the other end. “You never have time for your mother anymore since you moved to the city. I guess there are much more important things in your life now.”
“It’s not like that! I just…” Gene looked over the pile of black-clothed individuals groaning on the gallery’s floor, not a single weapon or plan passing between them. “I’m working but I can multitask, it shouldn’t be too difficult. How’ve you been, Ma?”
Gene noted the way his mother’s voice immediately perked up, and suppressed a wince as the volume and pitch increased. “Oh, honey! I miss you so much. That father of yours gets into all kinds of trouble–”
“Mhmm.”
The goons were collecting themselves, adjusting their ski masks and dusting off their dark tracksuits. Gene braced himself, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
“You know how he loves to experiment with his cooking–”
“Yep!” Gene high-kicked a goon in the jaw.
“He accidentally set the dog on fire–again!”
Gene gritted his teeth as a goon landed a hit on the back of his knee, sending him kneeling towards the ground. “Wow!” he hissed, forcing a light-hearted tone.
“I had the gals over for our book club meeting and–”
“Mhmm.” Gene used the momentum to duck and roll into a somersault.
“–there was smoke everywhere and–”
Gene stumbled back to his feet. “That’s crazy!”
“Betsy was yelling like mad–”
“Of course.” Another knee to another gut.
“–went flying–”
“Uh-huh.” High-kick.
“–Luckily none of us really liked the book, so it wasn’t a big loss. Anyways, how’re you doing, baby?”
“That’s crazy–wait, what?” The end his mother’s rambling startled Gene back towards the conversation, his mind reeling to process the question. He didn’t notice the goon sneaking up behind him until his body reacted on impulse, roundhouse kicking the masked woman into one of the gallery display cases.
The glass shattered on impact, sending shards of glass and jewels from the display flying everywhere. One of the goons went to help their fallen comrade, as the others scrambled to collect the priceless gems.
Gene froze.
“Eugene, are you alright? What was that?” his mother asked, her voice quivering.
Gene became keenly aware of the sweat gathering under his suit, making it stick to his skin–not unlike the octopus monster he’d fought last week. “Uh, I told you I’m at work. Someone just dropped a glass, there’s nothing to worry about!”
“Oh, okay. How is the office?”
Gene eyed the goons stumbling towards the exit, arms full of jewels, but none of them seemed to be able to get the door open. He wasn’t about to inform them that it was in fact a pull, not a push. One of the goons turned back towards him, a large diamond in the palm of their hand.
“Everyone here is an idiot.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“Eh, long hours and bad pay, but I can’t imagine doing anything else–FUCK!” Gene rubbed his head where the diamond hit, glaring at the goon who threw it through the trickle of blood dripping into his eyes.
“Eugene?!”
“It’s fine, Ma, I said duck!”
“Why–”
Gene’s head spun and he groaned, “My boss threw a stapler…?”
“WHAT?”
Finally, one of the goons pulled on the door, and the gallery’s alarm sounded overhead as they scrambled out into the street.
“Eugene, what’s going on?!” his mother shrieked, making the throbbing head wound throb even more.
“Gotta go, somebody started a fire in the waste bin! Ha, maybe Pa’s here?”
“Eugene. This isn’t funny.”
Gene darted down the street after the thieves, activating the wheels in his denim roller skates to catch up. As he neared the gaggle of goons, he pulled the lasso coiled at his hip, giving it a quick snap to unfurl it, before cutting the goons off in a wide arch. He skated in a circle, wrapping the rope tightly around and around until they were forced together. With one last kick, he sent the bundle of bandits tumbling to the ground in a heap, wrapped up like a birthday gift.
“Eugene.”
Gene panted, slowly gathering up the jewels as he caught his breath. “Sorry, Ma.”
“What’s going on with you? Why don’t you talk to me? You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Gene sighed, glancing down at his denim suit. Maybe he’d kept up the charade long enough. After a moment to gather himself he said, “Look, Ma, you’re right. There is something I need to tell you, I’m just worried you’ll view me differently and I don’t want our relationship to change. Ma, I’m–”
“Oh, Eugene. I already know.”
It wasn’t just the chase down main street making it difficult for Gene to breathe. “You do?”
He waited, his heart beating in his ears, not daring to move as if that could sway the outcome.
When his mother's voice did come, it was soft, like when he was a child and she used to comfort him after a scraped knee or tuck him into bed after a nightmare. “It’s okay, I love you for who you are, and who you are is beautiful. Nothing could change that.”
Tears started to form in Gene’s eyes. “Oh, Ma, I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“You don’t need to say anything, it’s all perfectly normal.”
Gene paused, eyebrows scrunched together. “It is?”
“Yes, honey, there are lots of people like you.”
“I’d disagree…” he muttered, trying to count off all the other supers he knew off the top of his head.
His mother continued, “I know you might feel alone, Eugene, but there is an entire community out there that can support you. I’ve been doing research–I can send you some links if you’d like.”
“Uh, sure, Ma,” Gene said, raising a hand to check on his head wound. Maybe he was hearing things due to the blood loss?
“I got to go, your dad set dinner on fire again! Just remember, there is nothing wrong with being gay. Love you, baby.”
“Ohhh.” Gene stood there for a moment as a click sounded from the communicator, signaling his mother had hung up to help with whatever mess his father had gotten into now.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished taking care of the situation with the thieves, knowing that his secret was safe for the time being–although he knew he’d probably have to tell his mother someday.
That night, after a long evening of fighting crime, Gene stumbled back to his apartment, pulling off his suit as he went and stashing it in the hidden compartment in the alleyway. He slipped in through the living room window, stripped down to nothing but his base layer denim jeans. Tiptoeing, he made his way towards the bathroom to clean up, but accidentally tripped over the edge of the rug, knocking over a lamp in his attempt to catch his balance.
“Genie? Where’ve you been?” His boyfriend’s head poked out from the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes with a large yawn as his vision came into focus and he took in Gene’s sweaty and disheveled appearance. “What the hell happened to you?”
Gene avoided his boyfriend’s gaze, scanning the wall behind him intently as if it might hold the excuse he was looking for. “Uhhh…Ma found out I’m gay?” he tried.
His boyfriend’s eyes went wide, and his hands curled into fists as he honed in on the cut slicing across Gene’s forehead. “What?”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant!”