Even after all this time, I still have no idea how it happened. How a first generation immigrant could go from the girl next door to a masked vigilante in one night. At first, it was only a joke, just a late-night dare conceived by caffeinated and sleep-deprived adolescent minds. My best friend Jaida's caffeinated, sleep-deprived mind, to be exact.
"Come on! How hard could it be? The Justice League does it all the time!" had been her slogan.
"Yea, but in case you haven't noticed, we're not the Justice League. We don't have fancy superpowers like Superman or Wonderwoman," was my reasoning. Of course, Jaida would not have been Jaida without her air-tight comeback.
"Neither does Green Arrow, or the Bat family! They all had to have started exactly like us; a couple o' civvies wanting to better the world," she wheedled. "Don't you have any sense of adventure?"
My tone turned sarcastic, a not-so-rare occurrence for myself. "Oh, sure, I can picture it now: Robin and Batgirl are hanging out in Rob's bedroom, just chilling, when Batgirl suddenly leaps up and exclaims, 'Let's put on spandex and intimidate criminals!'" Jaida is quiet, so I continue, "Besides, I thought you just wanted to go up on the roof and try to spot Kid Flash, not save the world."
For a moment I think I've won, but then J turns and gives me a devious Mona Lisa smile. "Emmi, it's my turn to give a dare, right?" She asks the question as though our mini debate had never happened, and my stomach flutters worriedly. It is her turn, having successfully phoned our class's head jock, Seth, and professed her undying love- anonymously, of course –but with her current mindset I fear that she'll make me actually do something in line with her thoughts.
"Yes, it's your turn," my voice is wary, dejected, and now her smile transforms into that of a very satisfied jackal.
"Well, then, I dare you to become a vigilant for the night. A proper vigilante, mind you- you'll need a name, and a costume."
It's just as I thought, maybe even worse, and a groan puffs out of my lips. Jaida and I have been playing Truth or Dare for as long as we've known each other, one long continuous game that has only gotten more complicated with each sleepover. But rules are rules, and if I back out, I have to be Jaida's servant for an entire week, which is a pure nightmare, she always takes full advantage of it. "Fine. Jaida Huyen Pham, I accept your challenge. But… Only if you do it with me."
As I should have figured, Jaida was not put out by her inclusion, instead she was excited.
"Perfect! First, we need to think of a name, so we can match up the outfits." Her brain on overdrive, she mutters random words to herself, "Diva? Cleopatra? Nightingale? Yea! I like the sound of that. From now on, I shall be known as 'Nightingale' to the crime-fighting community. Da-da-da!" She scoops a blanket off my bed and ties around her neck, running in circles so that it billows behind her. Surrendering to her enthusiasm, I jump up too and proclaim,
"And at her side will be her trusty partner, um…."
"Nurse!" Jaida supplies, and collapses, giggling. She knows how much I've always wanted to be a doctor, so her name isn't all that bad of an idea. In principle.
"No, no, that has a terrible ring to it… When you're in pain, you don't call for a nurse, you call for a doctor! I'll be The Doctor!"
And on the night went. Jaida tore apart my closet for the perfect costumes, and they really were great. For her, she used her own leather jacket, an old pair of black leggings, and a ridiculously short black dress that I didn't realize I owned. Her black converse would suffice as footwear, and she added black craft feathers to an old Halloween mask for the 'Nightingale' effect, a name almost certainly chosen for its similarity to Robin, Jaida's future husband by her account. For me, she found a red skirt that I thought had been lost in the wash months ago, white spandex leggings from last year's track season, and a white t-shirt that she made a large '' on the chest with red duct tape.
"It's your insignia," she said, "like how Batman has his bat, and Superman has his 'S' thingy."
I could understand her thinking: it was the symbol of the American Red Cross, the same thing you see all over hospitals and on first aid kits. When people see it, they think medicine, they think help. And if I'm a doctor, well, it makes sense.
To add to the red-white theme, she pulled out some elbow-length red gloves I forgot to hand back to the drama director after the last performance of Chicago, and used a single layer of gauze to obscure my face. It was loosely woven enough that I could see through it easily, and as we stood in front of the mirror, I was unsure whether to laugh or to shiver at the thought of the next step: actually going out catching a bad guy.
That was part of the dare; we had to find someone breaking the law, and stop them. It was also the craziest part, not to mention the most dangerous. Even with Batman and family running around, kicking butt, Gotham's violent crime rate is high, and no one walks around after sundown without a good reason. There's also the curfew to think of: at twelve o'clock all minors are supposed to be inside for the night, so by leaving on our little mission to stop law-breakers, we would be breaking the law as well. Some kids in my position would also be worrying about sneaking out, but with my attic bedroom and deep-sleeping parents, I could have snuck an elephant with a toothache in and out with no trouble.
As I had been thinking, Jaida had been going through my drawers, looking for tools. Lengths of rope came from our secret emergency supply kit, as well as zipties and a can of pepper spray for Jaida. I refused to take weapons, planning to enact the age old defense of fleeing in case of danger, despite Jaida's cajoling. But then, as she busied herself with deciding if she wanted her hair up or down, I opened my extensive first aid kit and pulled a few little syringes pre-filled with heavy pain killer, along with some bandaids and other bandages.
As I had been thinking, Jaida had been busy accumulating a pile of supplies from my drawers.
"Superhero tools!" she gasped, dumping a jumbled assortment onto my bed. There was rope, from our secret emergency kit, and zipties and pepper spray, binoculars and granola bars.
It never hurts to be prepared.