The Support Group

“I am more than my power. My power does not define me. I am powerful just as I am.”

I slipped in the back door of the meeting room as the mantra was being chanted and made a beeline for the snack table while everyone took a seat. Some days you just need stale coffee and week-old doughnuts, and today was one of those days.

“Hi, I’m Mark, and... I have a shitty superpower.” His voice cracked, and I was pretty sure if I was closer I’d see tears in his eyes. Poor bastard.

“Hi, Mark!” 

“It manifested when I was twelve,” he said, beginning what I was sure would be a long and boring story. Why did I even come to these meetings? I pulled up a rusty metal folding chair to the circle and did my best to pay attention. It was only fair.

Mark, as it turned out, had the ability to smell like whatever he wanted. That was pretty funny as a kid in the middle of class when the teacher suddenly smelled rotten eggs and couldn’t stop teaching, but it wasn’t exactly useful. It was nice to smell like chocolate chip cookies when he felt like it, but it got worse, because he couldn’t control his smells when he got nervous. He’d be on a date with someone he really liked and all of a sudden - skunk. Right now he smelled like bananas. Was that his default smell? It must be. Why would anyone go to a support group and choose to smell like bananas?

Then there was Dakota, who didn’t age. That would be great, if she could choose which age she wanted to be, but she was stuck at 13 forever, with pimples and baby fat that would never, ever go away, all awkward angles that would never even out. I didn’t even want to think about being stuck in puberty forever. It was bad enough the first time.

I didn’t really want to take a turn talking, but every once in a while I spoke up. Today? Maybe. It had been a long day. I dunked my doughnut into the coffee so I wouldn’t break my teeth on it, and listened to a woman tearfully explain that cats were allergic to her, and then a man talk about how having the ability to make people sneeze when he looked at them was ruining his chances of getting a good job. It’s hard to have an interview when someone can’t stop sneezing long enough to talk to you, after all. 

“Maybe you could do phone sales,” I suggested. As one, the entire group turned to look at me. “You wouldn’t have to look at anybody if you worked over the phone.” 

“That’s… not a bad idea,” he said thoughtfully, as I sneezed. “I’ll take a look online and see what’s out there. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Anthony.” 

All attention thusly turned to me, I sighed. It was my turn.

“We have met, actually. Several times. No, don’t be embarrassed. It’s my ‘power’ that I’m extremely forgettable.” 

“Oh, now. Who could forget a handsome man like you?” an older lady said, patting my knee in sympathy. I knew, from previous meetings, that everything she ate tasted like brussels sprouts.

“No, people literally forget that I exist once I’m not in their line of sight. It saves on paying the tab at a bar but it’s otherwise extremely lonely. Go ahead. Turn around.”

The older woman dutifully turned around in her chair, immediately couldn’t remember why she had done it, and turned back to face me.

“Oh! Hello!” she said, offering her hand for me to shake. “I’m Ruth. I don’t think we’ve met.” 

The group’s already somber tone turned even more melancholy. It was true, I was a bit of a bummer to be around, but I didn’t worry overly much about it. They’d forget their sadness the second they turned away. 

Since I had the floor, I told them about how my parents started forgetting I existed when I was only ten, and they couldn’t figure out where all their groceries were going. I explained how I’d never had a relationship, or even a best friend, because you can’t make a lasting connection with somebody who can’t remember you exist. I tried to make light of it, telling them that I was the ultimate hide-and-seek champion, because nobody ever remembered they were looking for me. I wasn’t invisible, but I may as well have been.

The meeting wrapped up fairly quickly after that, since nobody could top my story - they never could. I joined in the mantra this time, and was about to head out and scrounge up dinner when a tall woman with long, brown hair flagged me down. I’d never seen her at the meetings before.

“Wait!”

I waited. It’s not like I had anybody to go home to, or anywhere to be.

Her name was Alyss, she said, and her power was that she never forgot a face. 

“And how is this a shitty superpower?” I asked. “That seems pretty useful.”

“No, you don’t understand. I never forget. The kid in line at the grocery store, the lady on the bus, the guy who walked down the street past me for half a second. The entire crowd the camera panned over at a baseball game. I remember them all. It’s really annoying. I am constantly reminded about every single person. I’ll have a job interview and think, ‘Hey, you’re the guy who was picking your nose on the subway 7 years ago.’”

“Your brain must be pretty busy.”

“Like Grand Central Station.”

The meeting was closing up, so we headed upstairs and out into the cool night air, chatting about this and that, stopping for ice cream and sitting on a bench by the river to enjoy the view. 

I’d never had anyone to share things with before, never had anyone immune to my ability. We discussed whether it really was an ability, if you could really call it a power, if it was something you couldn’t ever turn off. 

“Not that I can think of a better word for it,” Alyss said, stealing a spoonful of my pistachio with sprinkles. “It’s sure as hell not a ‘gift.’”

For the first time in many years, I felt seen. It was an amazing feeling! Everyone has heard the expression “a stranger in a strange land,” but in my case, I was a stranger in a very familiar neighborhood. Not a single person knew me. Even my neighbors introduced themselves every time we crossed paths. 

“Well, it’s lucky for you that I never forget a face,” she said with a smile. “That’s actually why I don’t go outside much. My brain gets too noisy.”

We talked for hours, about her life and mine, powers and politics, childhood pets and favorite foods, as the sun set over the city skyline. The streetlights were making puddles of light on dark sidewalks by the time she finally said it was getting late and she should head home. I hated to let her go when we had made such a connection.

“Let me get your phone number, and maybe we can hang out again another time?” She dug in her bag to get her cellphone, spending a minute rummaging around to find it tucked at the bottom next to crumpled receipts and hair ties.

She stopped and looked up.

“Wait, why did I need my phone? Oh! Hi, I’m Alyss. I don’t think we’ve met.”