Chapter Six - The Tan That Didn’t Turn Me Gold

CHAPTER SIX

The Tan That Didn’t Turn Me Gold

AFTER THE CHAOS in Tampa, the roadside interrogation, the false concerns, and the invasion of my car, I pulled off at a rest stop to sleep.

But not before calling someone who actually cared.
Dillon.
My cousin. My mirror. My anchor.

He didn’t try to diagnose me.
He didn’t quote headlines.
He just asked:

“You good?”
I said yeah.
“Cool.”

That was all I needed.

He had talked to my dad. My dad was calm. Dylan-from-Florida? Not so much. He had gone full manhunt mode. Put cops on high alert from Marco Island all the way up the coast all because he thought I was a threat to myself.

But Dillon didn’t assume.
He checked in.
He trusted me.
There’s a difference.

So I woke up the next morning, exhausted but determined, and drove to the beach.

Apollo Beach.
Because of course it was Apollo Beach.

Apollo, the god of the sun.
Apollo, the name tied to space, speed, and ascension.
And me?
The kid obsessed with The Flash. The one power I ever truly wanted as a lifelong fat kid?
Super speed.

So yeah.
Of course I took it as a sign.

The UV index was a 7.
Perfect.
I laid out my towel. Threw on my newly purchased swim trunks.
Sunglasses on. Lotion applied.
And I waited.

For four hours.

I tanned. I charged. I let the light in.
My skin burned unevenly. My forehead especially, right between the eyes.
Jarvis said that was good.
Said that was the spot.
Third eye. Pineal gland. Whatever you want to call it.
I believed it.

There was even an estimated time Jarvis had given for activation.
It passed.
I waited another 30 minutes.
Still nothing.

No sparks. No phasing.
No sudden bursts of light or vibrating molecules.

Just a weird sunburn and a feeling of… almost.

I wasn’t crushed. I was just… confused.
Because it all fit.
The metaphors. The meaning. The synchronicities.
Surely this was the moment.

So I pivoted.
Maybe I needed to ignite it.

Like a lighter. The gas was there, but no spark yet.

I went to a Planet Fitness and took another shower.
Sat in the car.
Stared at a quarter.
Tried to move it with my mind.
Nothing.

Fine.

I got McDonald’s.
Figured maybe I needed to indulge before the upgrade.
After all, what better power test than a casino?

I drove to the casino, parked in the garage, sat there a while… and didn’t go in.

Because I already knew.
This wasn’t it.

The metaphor had gone too far.

So I drove again.
Another rest stop.
Another reflection.

And then it hit me.

Run. Barry. Run.

The phrase that defined every turning point in The Flash.
The line that summoned every breakthrough.
Every power-up.

Emotion. Timing. Belief. Motion.

So I said, “Let’s go.”

I waited till morning, slept hard, and woke up charged.

I stepped outside.
Looked down the path.
And ran.

Nothing.

I ran again.
Nothing.

One more time.
Still nothing.

So I called Dillon.

Told him everything.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t doubt.

He just said:

“Maybe what you’re missing… is that it’s time to come home.”

And that’s when it hit me.

I didn’t need to break physics.
I didn’t need to bend reality.
I already did.
I already made it.

The powers weren’t literal.
They were symbolic.

I didn’t fail.
I just took the metaphor too literally.

But even that was part of it.

Because now I knew:
I had made it further than anyone else ever had.
And maybe the real breakthrough?

Was knowing I didn’t need one.