Powerhouse sat in the back row at Reverend Jones’ funeral. His black Jimmy Olsen finally finished the epic poem he’d written in Jones’ honor and pointed at the audience. “Powerhouse.”
He jumped up. Him? Sure, everyone else had been called on to participate, but—oh, why not? “Reverend Jones was a very fine man. He cared for people and for this community. I could tell that though I only knew him a short time.”
That was too short a tribute; Jones deserved more. “He wore a size 11 shoe, I know that much, and he had this really ugly scar on his left leg. It was very distinct, just as he was. That scar was the story of his life, no, the story of all mankind.”
The congregation looked at each other with puzzled frowns.
Powerhouse launched into “You Light Up My Life.” Half way through, he forgot the rest of the words and finished with “O Danny Boy” instead.
The congregation exchanged more confused looks, but applauded.
During the procession past the casket, Jimmy Olsen broke down crying. “Who will take care of us now?”
Powerhouse slipped in from behind and placed a hand on the young shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jimmy, Powerhouse will handle everything.”
Outside, Powerhouse powered up his jet pack with focused visualization, and took to flight over the inner city projects. He shook his head. Most of the funeral-goers seemed at peace, even rejoicing. He’d never seen anything like it. They all believed Jones had gone to a better place. It would be his job to fix things here on Earth.
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