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Of Black Men And Super Powers

Sometimes, I hate my life. Seriously. My name is Stephen L'Atelier. I was born in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec, on the seventh day of February 1989. My father, Jeremie L'Atelier is White, of French-Canadian descent. My mother, Annette Jean-Francois, is Black, of Haitian descent. She moved to Canada from the City of Cap-Haitien in Northern Haiti three years before my birth. My parents lived together but were never married. They split a year after my birth. My father later married Nicole Chang, an immigrant woman from the region of Shanghai, China, and my mother had a long string of romantic failures with men of all races, before settling into a lesbian relationship with Big Bertha, this Australian-born construction worker who runs a company in Sherbrook. How's that for an origin tale? Wait, it gets better.

A lot of people born under the sign of the Aquarius think they're special, but I'm actually worth the hype. You see, I am kind of different. My mother has a secret, one she's never told anyone. She comes from a long line of Witches. Actual Witches. She can do all kinds of stuff, from moving objects with her mind, a power called Telekinesis, to communicating with the Spirits of the Dead. That sounds pretty cool, right? I wish I could say that I inherited my mother's powers. They're pretty cool. Nope. My condition is much worse than hers. Every time I get really angry or scared, I...change. What do I change into? I'm not one hundred percent sure, exactly. I turn into an ape-like, massively muscular bipedal creature covered in thick reddish fur. A creature with yellow eyes and wicked, seven-inch claws that can slice through Titanium. A creature of superhuman strength and speed. A monster.

I call my alter ego The Freak, because that's what it is. The scary part? Whenever I change into The Freak, I am still myself. I always remember everything. It's my body that changes, not my mind. According to my mother, The Freak is my true self and my human side is the disguise. When she told me that, I really freaked out. I refuse to believe that this creature is my true self. I consider my true self to be, well, me. Whatever that means.

In my normal state, I'm nothing special. A five-foot-eleven, skinny guy with light brown skin, curly Black hair and pale green eyes. A lot of people ask me if I'm Hispanic because of my skin color but I consider myself Black. I don't consider myself biracial. I embrace my Black heritage and show it with pride. My mother and I have had problems because of that. When she lived in the island of Haiti, my mother was married to a guy named Claude. Apparently, he was really mean to her and abused her. The thought of any man abusing my magically powered mother kind of shocked me, but she assured me that domestic abuse could happen to anyone regardless of their level of ability in any domain. She loved this Claude guy and he beat her. This disgusted her with Black men in general. That's why she mainly dated White guys, Hispanic guys and the occasional Chinese guy before she met Big Bertha. My mom can't stand Black people, especially Black guys, and thinks White folks are the saviors of the universe. The fact that her only son considers himself one hundred percent Black irks her to no end.

For this and many other reasons, I left the City of Montreal when I graduated from Saint Guillaume High School in 2008. I thought about studying at various schools, from the University of Toronto to Carleton University, two of the best schools in the nearby Province of Ontario. Instead, I decided to leave Canada altogether. I always wanted to live in the United States of America. So, I applied to various schools in the only place I ever visited in the U.S. I'm referring to the City of Boston in the State of Massachusetts, where my aunt Cecilia Jean-Francois, my mother's older sister, lives with her Haitian-American husband Louis Magloire. We visited them when I was younger and I remember how friendly they were and how nice the City of Boston looked. I applied to various schools in the Boston area. Finally, I got accepted with a scholarship offer to Boston College. Apparently, they heard about my prowess as a football player at my old school in Montreal-Nord. Cool. I tried out for the Boston College men's varsity football team as a walk-on. And I made it!

During the fall of 2009, I proudly donned the Boston College Eagles football team. I opted to study business administration at Boston College. Originally, I thought about studying Law but laws in Canada are very different from American laws. Besides, with a business degree you could work anywhere. I embraced my new life in Boston. Sure, I missed the City of Montreal, but Boston became my new home. I made a lot friends on campus. There are a lot of international students at Boston College. Guys and girls from places like India, China, Brazil, Tunisia, South Africa and Japan. I joined the African-American Students Association or A.A.S.A. even though I'm a Black Canadian and not an African-American. I wanted to connect with my fellow Black students. My mother always steered me away from Black people. She didn't think much of either sex, both Black men and Black women were no good in her eyes. At Saint Guillaume, I befriended other Haitian guys and gals and learned to speak Haitian Creole from them.

At Boston College, I ran into a person who changed my life forever. Lucy Dorsainvil. A six-foot-tall, gorgeous young Black woman with dark brown skin, an athletic figure and sharp features. Lucy is of Haitian descent and grew up in the City of Atlanta, Georgia. She transferred to Boston College after two years at Spelman College. I found Lucy fascinating. This chick was pretty, friendly and totally awesome. Oh, and she's the President of the African American Students Association at Boston College. The gal who ran the show. I showed up at a meeting, and charmed the six guys and nine gals in the room with my French-Canadian accent. I'm fluent in French, English and Haitian Creole but people in the Quebec region of Canada have a distinct accent when they speak English. I didn't sound anything like the locals in Boston. If anything, I sounded like a Haitian! Fortunately, Lucy liked my accent, along with a lot of things about me.

I befriended Lucy, and through her I met various other people of Haitian descent attending Boston College. I had no idea there were so many Haitians at the school. Lucy smiled when I said that, and reminded me that visually, Haitians didn't look any different from other Black Americans. This charming young lady introduced me to the wonders and pleasures of Boston, a world-class town all the way. They don't have any Tim Horton's restaurants down here but I find Dunkin Donuts tolerable. I see Starbucks are really everywhere, overpriced bozos that they are. I was starting to really like my life in Boston, and Lucy was a big part of it. One day, I worked up the nerve to ask her out. And she said yes! I remember exactly where we were. Just having dinner inside the Copley Mall's Food Court after catching a movie at Loew's movie theater near Boston Common. I looked into Lucy's lovely brown eyes, gently touched her hand...and uttered those simple words. Will you go out with me? Lucy smiled and didn't say anything. Instead she kissed me.

Man, when Lucy's sweet lips touched my own, it was a magical moment. So completely unexpected. I've never really been good with women. I always wondered if she liked me but I guess the signs were all there and I just missed them. Well, I felt really good as we walked out of the mall, hand in hand. We're officially a couple! That night, I felt so proud and strong. With this beautiful, smart and simply amazing young Haitian-American princess by my side. I felt like I could do anything. Lucy and I took the Green Line train back to Boston College at the station underneath Copley Square, and I escorted her back to her dorm. All the way to her door step. This time, I kissed HER. How about that? I can feel my natural shyness melting away. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm feeling GOOD. I waved goodbye to Lucy, and walked back to my residence with a song in my heart.

I so didn't plan for what happened next...I heard a scream. Like the brilliant guy that I am, I ran into the direction of said scream. In the darkness, among the trees found everywhere on our well-kept campus, a young lady struggled against an assailant. A large man. He wore a ski mask, and he was taller than me. When I jumped in to stop him, he shoved the young woman, a pretty blonde, aside as if she were a doll. Then he turned to me, and beat me to a bloody pulp in mere moments. I should mention that I've lost every fist fight since grade school. I just never learned to fight. It's just not my thing. I don't know why. I'm tall and fit, so I should technically fare better but I'm missing the fighting gene. When the burly attacker tossed me into the foliage and turned his attention back to the blonde damsel in distress, it triggered something inside of me.

Um, I lost my cool. And next thing I know, I wasn't a five-foot-eleven, 160-pound, quiet and unassuming Canadian gentleman anymore. I became an eight-foot-tall, 400-pound monstrosity with red fur, yellow eyes and shiny Black claws. I made short work of the thug who attacked the lady, knocking him unconscious with a single blow. Too bad my appearance didn't exactly reassure the blonde woman I rescued. She screamed even louder at the sight of me. I rolled my eyes. Time for me to high-tail it out of there. I ran away. I raced through the darkness, and it took me several minutes to calm down enough to morph back to my human form. I returned to my dorm feeling sad. I always hate it when I turn into The Freak. Tonight, it proved useful, though. I was a hero, albeit an unsung one. I went to bed feeling dubious about the whole thing. I thought of Lucy, and smiled. I can't wait to see her again. The other stuff doesn't matter.

When I woke up, my world was changed. You see, there are cameras all over the Boston College campus. And they recorded the attack on the young lady, and my not-so-heroic rescue. And last but not least, The Freak was caught on camera attacking the masked thug, and then fleeing as the blonde chick started a screaming marathon. The whole thing ended up on CW56, Boston's top news program. And it got a million hits on YouTube in one hour. Yay, I'm famous! Or half of me is. When I went to class, everybody was talking about the incident. Two officers from the Boston Police Department, a pretty redhead named Margie Langston and a tall Asian guy named James Yamamoto, asked to speak to me. I told them the truth, or my version of it. I was escorting my girlfriend Lucy back to her dorm when I heard a woman scream. I ran into that direction, saw a big guy attacking a little lady, and we got into it. The guy made short work of me, and I ended up unconscious. I didn't remember anything else. The blonde lady who got attacked, Boston College grad student Cheryl Lawson, couldn't stop blathering on about the monster. And she'd already given interviews both to CW56 reporters and online news outlets.

Fortunately for me, nobody saw me transform into The Freak. The only possible witness, Cheryl Lawson, couldn't stop raving on and on about Big Foot. She didn't connect the dots. As for her would-be robber/rapist/whatever, a bozo named Matthew Sylvester from Watertown, Massachusetts, he got arrested. Apparently, he's got restraining orders against him by two ex-girlfriends and a history of violence against women. The cops were happy to get him. When I finally sat down after the detectives left, I checked my Blackberry and saw that I had five calls and eight text messages, all from Lucy.

Oh, shit. I called her right back. She was going to be pissed. Amazingly, she wasn't. On the other end, Lucy's voice sounded concerned and soothing. She was worried about me. Wow, she cares! I assured her that I was alright. She told me she was skipping her afternoon classes to come take care of me. I started protesting, then thoughts of my sexy Haitian-American princess in a nurse's outfit filled my head, and I stopped protesting. In fact, I told her I felt really bad and needed some bed rest. Lucy assured me she was on her way. I hung up, and rushed back to my residence. Leave it to a smart guy like me to turn any eventuality into an opportunity. As I lay in bed waiting for 'nurse Lucy', I smiled to myself. The story is probably going to blow over. Already folks online were saying that the monster looked fake and had to be a guy in a suit. Nice. Wish I could encourage such thoughts. At the time, I didn't know that my furry alter ego was going to be the subject of a nationwide manhunt. Or rather, beast-hunt. Shows you how fate can really bite a man in the ass for a good deed. But that's a story for another time.

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