Hero

“Can your hero be your cat?” I asked my friend Liz one day as we sat down to eat some orange slices her mother had cut up for her for her lunch. Every day, Liz had a new piece of fruit to munch on and she always shared it with me.

“I guess so. Is your hero your cat?” Liz asked me.

We had gotten into a discussion about heroes in our rabbit hole jump into talk of our favorite bands and musical geniuses that had influenced our short yet but what felt like already long-lived lives.

We were old souls.

“Well, sometimes, Oliver really is. I mean, he is always there for me when I need a hug or a cuddle,” I said.

“Then there’s your answer. Yes, your cat can be your hero. But what about me? Wouldn’t I be your hero then too?” Liz asked in a shy tone of voice. She nudged me in the side with a touch and I could never get a real feel on her and what she was thinking. But to be honest, I could see where she was going with this point, as she was always there for me and always down for a hug or a snuggle too.

I laughed out loud, a small chuckle coming out of my mouth. I think she wanted to have “Oliver” status in my life as well. Little did she know, it was already there. I smiled.

It was deep discussion time on a lazy school lunch period in 1997 and so far, all I had recited was that the lead singer of Tool, my favorite band was my hero, but why couldn’t my best friend be as well? And my cat.

I guess I had a lot of heroes when it came time to think about it.

Liz was so cool. She always had some snacks to share, and she had great musical taste too! She always had a good bit of self-talk to help me feel better about myself. I struggled with low self-esteem. I knew she did too, so I always tried to boost her ego with great things I loved about her, but she never tended to believe them.

I meant them all, which is what makes it sad sometimes.

I mean, I guess our parents’ little comments at us and their nit picking never making us feel good enough; they added up. Her dad was always saying mean things to her, as though he had her to be his own personal punching bag.

Her mother was nothing like the man, thank goodness. Instead, her mother cut up fruit for her high school lunches daily. She made sure Liz (and me!) were eating right and getting a natural sugar kick for our fast-paced high school afternoons.

I wondered if I was a hero to Liz at all, and I hoped I was. But if I’m thinking this through critically enough, if she was sharing her fruit slices with me, I think I already made it into the better parts of Liz’s life.

Sadly, Liz died from suicide in 1999. She stayed with me though, and always will as one of the heroes of my life.

I cherish that.

BIO: Laura Winterbottom is a former journalist who now writes in her free time. She is currently finishing her memoir based on her struggles with mental health and growing up in a fast-changing society that didn’t welcome everybody. She works for an animal rescue based out of Philadelphia, PA and she loves snuggling with her 2 favorite feline friends. She can also be found by her piano practicing her rendition of Fur Elise. She hopes to release her memoir in 2026.