says he wants me to meet someone who knows him solely as his superhero persona (and still trusts him enough to invite him into her home), so our final stop before heading back for supper is a visit to a friend of Geist’s named Debbie. He met her after some serious flooding ravaged the local area, and they both volunteered time and material to help clean and rebuild. She lives a little bit out of town in a big house on a heavily wooded hill. As we approach it, a mangy but sweet-looking black dog with a gimpy back leg approaches the car, barking. The yard and house are covered with artsy-craftsy décor. Geist grabs a small stack of comics that he’s brought for Debbie’s grandkids, and we approach a screen door.
“Oh, hi!” comes a Fargoesque voice from within. “Come on in!”
The first thing I surmise on entering is that this is the first time Geist has met Deborah’s grandchildren. Instead of the comics-hungry little boys I was expecting, there are three stereotypically jaded teenagers, two of whom are girls, lounging around the living room and doing a horrible job of disguising their “I’m too cool to do anything but lie on the couch and laugh at old people” attitude. They don’t even bother to hide the sudden case of giggles that attacks them when Geist and I appear. I find myself getting a little put off by it, but Geist appears not to notice, so I let it go.
“So what’re you doing?” Debbie asks, after Geist introduces us.
“We’ve been giving some donations to the homeless…some food…what else?”
“The children’s home. Gave them some comics and some Pokémon cards and…and…what else?”
“Animal shelter,” I say.
“Animal shelter. Some stuff for the kitties and puppies.”
“Alright!”
“And we went to a lemonade stand where kids are raising money for the troops, and we had a couple of ten-dollar glasses of lemonade. They only wanted one dollar, but we didn’t want change.”
“Oh, you guys are so good!”
I feel a bit guilty about letting him pay for me. Then I remember the hundred bucks’ worth of gas it’d taken me to get here.
“This is my granddaughter Emily, and”—Emily gives a standard world-weary teenager’s head bob from her place on the couch—” don’t get up, Emily. And this is my daughter Sarah, and this is my granddaughter’s boyfriend Stevie. They’re down from the city for the weekend. And they’ve all heard about you, of course.”
Geist hands out cards to everyone and gives his stack of comics to Stevie.
“You can look me up on the web.”
“Stevie’s into superhero stuff,” Debbie says.
“So am I!” Geist says.
Debbie asks the teens if they want their picture taken with Geist, and they giggle noncommittally—even Stevie.
“No?” Debbie asks. “Oh well…this is Randy!”
A stocky, bespectacled man in his midthirties has entered the living room.
“This is my son-in-law, Randy,” Debbie says.
Geist gives The Spiel, and produces his ID copy of the City Pages. “I’m on the cover here, plus there’s going to be an article on MSN, another one maybe in Rolling Stone.” Geist opens the paper to the article and starts showing the pictures to a disinterested-looking Randy.
“This is my friend who flew in,” he says, pointing to a picture of him and another RLSH named Citizen Prime. “He has a four thousand dollar suit of bulletproof armor.”
Suddenly, Randy perks up.
“Alright! I’m a big Iron Man fan.”
With this, Randy rolls up his sleeve and displays one of the most awesome tattoos in the history of awesomeness. Thor, Iron Man, and other comic book heroes pose dramatically down the length of this arm while a slightly out-of-place-looking Yoda perches on the shoulder, overlooking them.
“Wow!” Geist and I say in unison, before launching into a discussion about how Randy has the good Iron Man on his arm, not one of the lesser, modern versions. I’m shocked at how quickly and easily my inner geek takes over. Apparently, my own little Geist is lurking just below the surface, and at this point, I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Everyone thanks Geist for the picture, and we prepare to head out.
“So, what’re you writing about this guy?” Debbie asks me.
“Good things. So far.”
“You gonna tell me who he is?” she says, whispering.
“Can’t. Writer/superhero confidentiality. It’s like talking to your priest.”
“I can never get anything out of him!”
“Well, we have to be headed back,” Geist says, possibly afraid I was going to crack under the intense pressure of Debbie’s questioning.
“We better see you at the ceremony!” Debbie says.
“I better start writing something, I don’t want to say anything stupid,” Geist says.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
“Oh,” Geist says, “I forgot. Debbie has nominated me for a local humanitarian award for my help after the flooding.”
“You didn’t say anything stupid at the other thing,” Debbie assures him. “Our senator was very impressed with you! He got up after you and said, ‘I couldn’t put it any better than Geist did.’”
Geist’s face lights up a little at this.
“I didn’t know that. I had to leave right after I spoke. I didn’t know that.”
“Hey,” I say, “you shut a politician up. You are a hero.”
“Geist for president!” Sarah says.
4:05 P.M.—EN ROUTE TO GEIST’S HOUSE
“I just wanted you to meet someone who knows me only as Geist, and she’s still, ‘Come on in!’” Geist says as we leave. “I wish more people were that excited to see me as Reginald. To tell the truth, I think I have lost friends over the hero thing…through one way or another. Obviously, my time and attention aren’t going into hanging out with my friends. I’ve got one, good, unlosable friend. He’s the best of the bunch. And he knows all about the Geist stuff. And he’s like, ‘You know, when we get together and talk about that stuff, you light up. That’s when you’re happy.’ He could think it’s completely nuts, but he knows if it makes me happy…he doesn’t care.”
The drive home is uneventful, mostly Geist regaling me with stories of being hot on the trail of a serial killer/child molester/rapist only to have the cops arrest him before Geist can close in on him. As we near home base, the de-Geisting process begins. By the time we reach his house, there’s no longer a superhero in the driver’s seat, just an oddly dressed
