Variable Supermen

I sat there impatiently waiting for his arrival. The William Pope was late! If anything I was more annoyed. My day was filled with driving. The auto shop had not fixed my car until noon. All of the mechanics in New York went at their own pace without giving any consideration to the customer. I am guessing that the city has that effect on people. Where was William Pope?! Our brief conversation on the phone had ended with him telling me to go to the Starbucks on 48^th and Jefferson. That was over a day and half ago. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye a man dressed in all black. His skin was as dark as his outfit. To my surprise, he approached me and said, “You must be the great Mr. Huebler.” I questioned accusingly, “And who are you?” The dark man stood up, ran his fingers through his curly long hair, and replied, “I am William Pope.” At first, I was taken aback. This was THE William Pope.

Millions of thoughts raced through my mind. “Why are you so late?” I implored.

It broke the silence. He paused, shifted his eyes and said, “I had quite the long day. Today I presented one of my performances on the street.”

“Okay, which one did you do?”

“I have done this particular performance before. It was called, The Great White Way. You should have seen it! I dressed myself in this tight, spandex costume of Superman and through the streets of New York.”

“Wow! That sounds amazing. What was your intention with the piece?”

“Well, you know how some people are caught in such poverty and disabilities? I wanted to combine those two aspects of society that are not mentioned often. Those people are the ones who need a voice. I just simply want to convey that to my audience. I mean, it’s a quite interesting way of looking at it--obviously, it’s over the top. I could’ve gotten a flashier suit, but I struck people’s attention. So what have some of your works been?”

I was pulled back into reality. What had he asked me? I gulped, “Sorry, what was that?” “Oh! My works, well they are my pride and joy” I voiced. They mean to me as much as yours appear to. One particular piece comes to my mind. There was one that I did while staying in Massachusetts. I met a lot of people. I decided that deep down, it did not matter what our races were—we’re all American. It was a pretty patriotic peace. I called it Variable Peace. No pun intended, of course.”

He cocked his head from side to side. It appeared that he was in deep thought. “I find that interesting, he began. “That appears to be very difficult to make it across Massachusetts like that. How did you encounter these people?” I lifted my right leg and placed it over the left. “I stood in front of malls, grocery stores, and restaurants. Every restaurant I went to, I often ate there. I became quite the restaurant connoisseur. There was a restaurant called D’Angelo. I had a sandwich with roast beef, turkey, ham, avocados, and bacon. It was called ‘The Beast’ by the store owners. I actually took a picture of one of the waitresses there. I tipped her well.”

He clapped his hands and exclaimed, “I have been to D’Angelo! I had ‘The Beast’ too! Yes, I have family over there. My second cousins live over there and I enjoy visiting them. You should tell me when you’re there! They make the best Korean barbeque. The spices are mainly Asian; I hope you have had Korean food before.”

I touched the back of my neck, and shook my head from left to right. Then, I grinned, “I cannot say I have had that dish. My sister actually lives over there. I have a niece that’s three! She is so cute, her name is Jamie. Every time I see her, she laughs and points at my face. I want to teach her to call me ‘Uncle Doug’. My sister cooks for me a cheeseburger with seasoned ground beef and Roquefort. It is one of the few reasons I anticipate going to Massachusetts...”

He interjected, “People tend to misunderstand me. They do not think that my artistry works well. Despite what they say, it does not bother me at all. I usually let it pass and continue with my art. This feels like one of the few things I hate doing when meeting my artist friends. I know that we are all critics deep down inside.”

William Pope threw his head back, shook it, and continued

“Do you know what I did after finishing The Great White Way? I noticed all of the parts that I did not do right. If I had just yelled a little louder, or crawled a little faster, I would have caught more people’s attention. In that sense, I am the worst critic, because—I criticize myself.”

He took both hands and rubbed his face, “I apologize for that rant. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

I replied, “You do not know the criticism I had to go through before making a name for myself. My parents were so disheartened to hear that I wanted to become an artist. My father told me that it would be impossible to make any money off of paintings. He thought painting was all there was to art. So, I listened to him and went off to the Marines. With all those years spent at sea, I learned what it meant to fight for your life. I was a little seasick back then too. After time, I adjusted to being away from land. My marine brothers were the greatest men I will have ever met.”

I turned my face upwards and cursed, “My friend Ricky was always challenging me! We competed a lot with drinking and eating. I had a lot of alcohol with me. Sometimes, I would be able to drink thirty beers in one sitting. Those times spent drinking was what really brought our whole group together. Now that I have gone past that stage, the days at sea feel so far away. Well, it is getting late and I have to sleep soon. I need to go turn in rent at eight in the morning.”

He laughed, “I agree, let us meet up again in a few weeks. I would be happy to see what you will have accomplished within that time.” He extended his left hand. I shook, and left.