“There
is one notion I’d like to see buried. The ordinary person. Ridiculous. There is
no ordinary person.”
-
Alan
Moore
Step right up, take a load off. Get comfortable, so that I
may regale you with the legend of how I got my nickname.
Alright perhaps legend is a bit of an overstatement…
As you may know, they call me Doc. No
it’s not the Doc of which you are thinking; also the name wasn’t earned through
the hallowed halls of higher learning. I’m far too austere for an undertaking
that demanding.
At any rate I suppose I want to get
this story off my chest, but may be reluctant. Hearing it rattle around in my
brain stirs up memories of who I was, and just how disconnected I could be.
Ahh, but tell it I must. What harm
could there be? To judge is to relate after all.
Once upon a time in a relationship
far, far away there was an argument between a couple. They were severely
inebriated. One of these days I’ll run out of stories steeped in booze. One
day, though not any time soon…
Words were exchanged, some hateful,
several slurred, all set ablaze by a fuel of alcohol.
“Fuck it, I don’t care.”
“Have you ever?” She posed a fair
question, it was masterfully simple.
“I did, but I don’t anymore. Things
shouldn’t be like this.”
Instead of arguing the inarguable,
she went on the offensive.
“You’re a monster, that’s what you
are. You, don’t even care about me as a person.”
She said this, and I thought about
it. I actually had to think about it.
I responded, thoughtfully, calmly,
“No, that’s not true. We can’t coexist, it’s not fun, and it’s certainly not
love. And…I just don’t care.” My words were blunt, heavy handed, slurred. Not
at all me. I sat back, thought, and tried to anticipate her next remark. Not so
that I could put an end to this argument, but so I could outwit her, cut deeper
than she had.
It was her turn to be contemplative.
She paused, trying to brush back the veil of alcohol that clouded her thoughts.
And with what I tell you now, my biggest fear is that I may lose you in
translation.
Now what was said bears a bit of
explaining. The words she chose were personal. The character she references,
near and dear to me.
The quote was exact, and although
the relationship had forced me to the point of not caring, I was proud that she
remembered the words. “You really don’t give a damn about human beings. You’re
drifting out of touch Doc. God help us all.”
In the film and graphic novel
Watchman, a character by the name of The Comedian (himself a deliberately
immoral mercenary) utters this phrase to Doctor Manhattan, after the good
Doctor (a near omnipotent superman) stands idle as The Comedian guns down a
Vietnamese woman who is pregnant with his child. Both versions of this work
seek to display a world where superheroes are the real and fundamentally flawed
beings that they would be if they existed.
You might imagine my reaction to
this statement. Again, this movie, this book being something that had become
deeply personal for me, I was appalled at her feeble effort to taint it for me.
It didn’t take long for me to adopt
the moniker.
It wasn’t until I began telling the
story to friends and acquaintances that the nickname rose in popularity. People
found the story typical; representative of a relationship that went south. For
those that knew me, there was a sardonic humor that it encapsulated. And it
stuck. I made sure of it.
I began introducing myself as Doc,
instead of David. Funny thing was it began to feel natural quickly. Funnier
still, people began using it. It happened so fast that I wouldn’t, at first, turn
my head towards the name being called. For awhile I took pride in that.
Looking back, the pride I had turns
my stomach.
Needless to say that relationship
and all its pitfalls ended. Once that happened the sharp teeth of dishonor came
with anytime someone would refer to me by that cursed name. I learned to cringe
when it was called. When asked to tell the story of its origin, I’d shy away,
change the subject, or when feeling particularly froggy, make up stories about
how it had been bestowed.
At this point you might be thinking
guilt was playing a part. That wouldn’t be all true. Regret and ignorance were
right there as well. It was a reminder of the fact that maybe I hadn’t done all
that was in my power to turn things around for the greater good. Here I was
carrying around the name of this indestructible superman, and I let that name
be tainted after all. For I had been ignoring how the story ended. The
character arc of Doctor Manhattan takes is largely a positive one. Realizing
that human life is miraculous after all, albeit while making or abiding by
difficult decisions, in spite of seeing and reacting to extreme circumstances.
To
distill so specific a person from chaos. It’s like turning air into gold.
Then two of those people meet. In
some moments that may be bad, it may be hell, or at least seem in the same
neighborhood to those have never set foot through the gates. However, if
survived it leads to betterment. This I believe for both sides of the problem.
These days the name has taken on a positive
spin, and so much more. My affinity for characters both fictional and
fictionalized have grown into the name as well. Holliday, Rictofen, Schultz.
While the experiences that led to
the nickname are certainly not ideal, the aftermath is a positive one.
A
miracle. Now dry your eyes and let’s go home.
