Star Wars metaphors are wonderful. The idea of people having superpowers that although untrained, hidden and suppressed still can be seen or felt by others is a common theme in fiction. It's a theme in the new Harry Potter film too, where the superpower (in this case Magic) becomes an uncontrollable monster (no spoilers but it's a film worth seeing). What happens with real life superpowers? Is suppressing them always bad or are they impossible to hide?
I was beginning to get worried about my own superpower of invisibility. I've been in lots of places this December with different groups of musicians and have provided music at quite short notice when other people are sensible and drop out. People have smiled at me and occasionally thanked me (not always, which is where I sometimes feel that the uncontrollable beast of rage might emerge) and I was starting to think people might know who I am.
However, it appears that the force of invisibility is particularly strong in me. I turned up at a venue I had been to a few times that week and smiled at Clifford, chatted a while about the perils of being the technical wizard in a church, got the piano key and had a little practice .
"Oh, you know your way around then? That's good," he said, scratching his head. The vicar turned up and blessed me for standing in at such short notice. I think being blessed is the same as being thanked so the beast was abated for a while. I mentioned something about it not being a problem and apologised for the fact that it was me again. "People will start to get sick of looking at the back of my head," I joked. There was a long pause, a sharp intake of breath and a mental glossing over the confusion before he took my hand, squeezed hard and blessed me again.
The mayor was at this event. This year, I have been working closely with the Mayor to put on a charity concert. When he arrived, I smiled and greeted him by name and the thought that he hadn't recognised me crossed my mind. I was with a different group, although at least four of the children were the same. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't use my name or that he looked blankly at me that made me think this but it was an unshakeable thought.
As I was leaving the concert I was feeling particularly visible. People had come to tell me how great the choir were. They had recognised me from the back of my head and the feeling was making me a little anxious and sweaty (or it could have been a hot flush). I stopped to talk to the Mayor and his wife who were shaking hands and making polite conversation by the door. I asked how their last charity event had gone. "Oh, not too bad," she gushed, telling me about the people that were there, the money they raised and how many chips she'd won at the roulette table. She went on to advertise the other events that they had coming up. I looked at the Long Suffering Husband, who was now deep in conversation with Mr Mayor about golf. They looked like they had been besties since birth. Mrs Mayor talked about a curry night which, "you simply must attend," and told me about a charity concert with a fabulous local orchestra that they have coming up. I shifted from foot to foot for a while, wondering whether to say anything, while she continued to extol the praises of the orchestra.
"Oh yes, I know about them," I decided to say.
"You know them? How wonderful. They really are the most amazing group of children, led by really wonderful people - all volunteers."
Awkward.
Still, it's good to know my force field is strong.
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