Your character meets one of his/her heros
What would it be like to meet your hero?
Write a story where you main character gets to investigate the answer to that question. This can be as realistic or as “Twilight Zone” as you like.
What if you met your hero?
Go!
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My character is my alter-ego, Victoria, or Vickie to her friends. She is smarter, prettier, and more sarcastic than I. She is very opinionated and seems to find humor in the most dreadful or mundane events. Even though Vickie is having more fun than I could ever imagine and, someday, her lack of vocal filter will be her demise.
Any hero of mine that Vickie should meet would be ever so wary of her. She could possibly be the nemesis, known as Cheeky Girl. I’d like her to meet Katniss from The Hunger Games. While Katniss is determined and practical, she does have a defiant side which is very commendable for one so young and bereft of material objects. Vickie is also a survivor, but it’s her wit that helps her to endure. This wit is not often understood or welcomed by others. They could become friends only if they are from the same district. If not, then I will cheer for Katniss to quiet that little evil snarky individual permanently.
I like your story, but I think you are being very hard on your alter-ego. I’ll bet she would welcome your friendship, and she might help you some day!
This is not exactly a hero worship story. But here it is.
Waiting
I am with a friend, Jane, in a restaurant waiting for another friend to join us for lunch. We are sitting at a small table with chairs similar to what would be seen in an old- fashioned ice cream parlor. There are large windows all around the restaurant. It is very light and airy. It reminds me of a train station from the Victorian era.
We are chatting amicably and having a good time.
We are waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
‘Sue,” says Jane, “Do you think something is wrong? Donna is never this late.”
“I don’t know. I’ll try to call her on my cell phone.”
“There is no answer. She must be on her way.”
We wait some more. No Donna.
“I’m really worried now,” said Jane. “I’m going to call her sister. Maybe she knows where she is.”
“Hello, Evelyn? This is Jane Johnson. Your sister, Donna, was supposed to meet me and my friend, Sue, at the Old Train Café for lunch. She hasn’t come and doesn’t answer her phone. Do you happen to know where she might be?”
“No, she mentioned her date with you all last night when she left my house. I haven’t seen her or heard from her today. I’ll run over to her apartment to see if something is wrong. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”
We wait some more. The phone rings.
“Jane, this is Evelyn. I’m at Donna’s apartment. Her car is not here, and there is no sign that she has been home. Can you come over here? I’m going to call the police.”
Jane and I drive to the apartment in Jane’s car. My stomach is feeling sick. I can hardly breathe. “Something has to be wrong. This is not like Donna at all,” I say.
“I know,” says Jane. “I’m scared.”
When we get to the apartment, Evelyn answers the door.
“Hi, Y’all,” says Evelyn. The police say they can’t do anything until she has been missing for 24 hours. I’ve called our brother, Tom. He’s on his way.”
When Tom arrives, Evelyn and Jane tell him the story. At his suggestion, we call the hospital and the Highway Patrol. There have been no reported accidents and no young women have been admitted to the hospital. Tom suggests that he and Evelyn drive slowly along the road she usually takes home from Evelyn’s house. In the meantime, Jane will call as many of our mutual friends as we can think of. I’ll stand by her land line phone in case she calls or to wait for a call from Tom.
I hate waiting. My mouth is dry. My stomach is sour. My hands are cold and clammy. I just know something awful has happened. I try to pray, but I am mute. My legs feel like rubber. My hands are shaking. What could have happened?
The landline phone rings.
“Hello…Sue, we have found her. Apparently, her car skidded off the road. We can see it but can’t get to it. We are about three miles from her apartment on Highway 39. We’ve called an ambulance and the rescue squad. If you want, y’all come on over and wait with us. Watch out for the rescue trucks. My car is parked on the side of the road. You can’t miss it.”
Jane and I throw on our coats and jump into her car. When we arrive on the scene of the accident, the rescue squad is already there. They have backed a crane to the site and are in the process of lowering a stretcher and two medics to the car. Each of the medics has a radio and the crane operator has one, too. We hear a static filled message:
“She is breathing, but not conscious. We need a torch to cut her out of the car. Has the ambulance arrived?”
We hear a siren.
“Yes, it is coming now. We’ll send a torch down in the basket.”
We wait and wait and wait. I hate waiting.
After what seems an eternity, Donna is carefully lifted up the side of the hill in the stretcher. She is strapped in and there is a brace on her neck. The ambulance crew receives her and loads her into the ambulance still on the rescue stretcher. The ambulance leaves the scene with sirens blaring.
Evelyn and Tom drive off in his car and Jane and I go in hers.
“At least, she is still alive,” I say.
“Yes, I am so thankful,” responds Jane.
When we arrive at the Emergency Room, we are told to go to the waiting room. Evelyn and Tom are already there.
We wait and wait and wait. I hate waiting.
“Are you family to Donna Hunt?” asks a nurse.
Tom and Evelyn say, “yes.” They are ushered to her cubicle.
Jane and I wait and wait and wait.
Finally, Tom comes back to tell us, “Guys, she is beginning to wake up. The doctor says she’ll be very sore for a few days. She has a broken left shoulder and she has had a concussion, but she should be OK. They are going to keep her here over night. She’ll be able to go home after they are sure her head injury is not progressing. There is no skull fracture and she seems to know us. She’ll have one hell of a headache, but she should be ok. She can’t have any visitors today except family, but you can see her in the morning after 10:00.”
Tom’s eyes became teary. “Evelyn and I don’t know how to thank you enough for calling when she was late for lunch. She might have died if we had not found her in time. We’ll be forever in your debt.”
Jane and I threw our arms around Tom, and we began to laugh and cry together.
“We’ll be here in the morning,” I said. “Tell Donna we love her.”
Jane and I go back to her car and return to the restaurant to get mine.
As I drive home, I say to myself, “Maybe waiting is not so bad after all when things turn out OK. I won’t mind waiting until tomorrow to see Donna. Thank you, God.”