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Flyboy
Fourteen Years Ago
"Dick, I swear, if you're late getting back your father will wear you out and you know it. Please, don't lose track of the time—please!"
"Mom, c'mon, that was once and it was forever ago."
"It was twice and it was last month, now please make sure you're not late."
"Okay, okay."
He took off on his bike for the local library in whatever town they were in this week—he wasn't even sure of the name but then they'd be moving on again come Monday. It wasn't really worth the effort to remember and the towns all looked alike anyway. Stopping at a gas station on the corner, he asked and was told the library was about three blocks ahead on his right and should be opened now. Great.
The nice thing about using a public library during the day when all the local kids were in school was that he could use the free computers without being bothered or having to get off after fifteen minutes. Even his parents didn't know he'd signed up for a free e-mail account; they just thought he was going to read or something—or that's what they said they thought, anyway. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't but he was just talking to some of the friends he'd made while they traveled around. He liked keeping track of his friends—it wasn't like he was surfing porn or anything he shouldn't be doing. He really wasn't. He may have only been eight, well almost nine, but he knew he liked having friends around, even if they couldn't always get together in person.
He logged in. There were seven e-mails for him, five of them just spam, which he deleted. One was from Uncle Emmett and was just asking how he was doing with practicing his juggling and there would be a test when they were together over Christmas for that big show in New York and then there was a message from Lisa.
Lisa was great, maybe his best friend even though he hardly ever saw her. Okay, he'd only really seen her once, when they were in her town about a year ago. She'd asked for an autograph and picture after the show and somehow they'd ended up talking for a couple of hours and then exchanging e-mail addresses. He hadn't seen her again after that but she was practically the only person he told a lot of stuff. It was easier when you could just type when you wanted to say and didn't have to really look at the other person. Her being almost a total stranger helped, too. It was almost like a diary except she talked back to him.
"Hey Dick. I got a sno board for my birthday. My parents said that we could go out west this over Christmas vacashun to try it out. Maybe we culd get together? Ask your parents, ok? It would be awesome."
He hit reply:
"We always work then and I think we're going to be in new york. Sory."
An answer came back almost immediately;
"Where after that?"
"Hi. Florada. We always go there in winter."
"??"
"It's vacashun for us. No shows. We have a huse there. It's little."
"Oh. Show tonight?"
"Yes."
They chatted for a little while, filling each other in. She'd joined the Brownies and he'd perfected the quad and it was a part of the act now. He looked up at the clock over the librarians desk, almost three, time to go.
"L8r."
"L8r"
The local kids would be coming in soon and he had to start getting ready for tonight's performance. Logging off, he picked up his sweatshirt and headed back to the fairgrounds—a vacant lot on the outskirts of Gotham City and near the train station—it made the load in and out easier if they were close to the tracks. The main show moved by train—all forty cars worth and sometimes the Grayson's loaded their truck and caravan on one of the flatbeds and just rode to the next gig. Dick always loved listening to the rails clicking away…
"Dick, is that you? Good—right on time. Now get in here, you have some math to go over before we get ready for the show." Sighing, he did as he was told.
Three months later:
"Dick, RU ther? Haven't heard from you in a whyle. Is this acount still good?" There was no response.
Six months after that:
"Dick, I guess your acount isn't any good anymor but my e-mails aren't bouncing or getting Mailer-Demoned or whatever it is. R U mad at me? My Mom sez we may go to Disney n that's near U'r winter place. Will you B ther?"
Three weeks later:
"Lisa—No, won't be there. Stuf happened. My parents got kiled in a acident and now I live in Gotham with some guy. I hate it. I wish I culd C U."
"I kind of new that because my Dad saw it in the paper a while ago. I'm relly sorry. R U OK? Is the guy OK?
"He is seryous all the time and theres an old guy who does the coking and he never smiles and tells me to use a napken and a ferk. It's a big huse N I have my own room. I miss my parents and the circus. I can't fly anymore N I miss it. He seys that I have to go to a regulr school and I hate it—I have to sit all day and theres no way I can fly anymore. I miss my parents lots—all the time. I have nightmars and my rom is too big. I hate it."
"I'm relly relly sorry—maybe you culd com live with us? Is he mean to U?"
"No, he trys to be nice but I miss my parents and the circus. I sometimes think abut runing away and finding them."
"Relly?"
"I thinik abut it but I won't. Prob not. Its getting beter. I'm ok. Dinner. L8r."
A Year Later:
"Hi Lisa. 'Sup?"
"Nothing much. I joined the cheerleading squad at school. You ok?"
"OK. Yes."
"The rich guy okay?"
"He's okay."
"Stil miss your parents, right?"
"Yes. Lots."
"I asked if you could live here. You want to?"
"I'd like to but I have to stay here. I asked and they sed it's all legel so I can't. Hes sort of like my father now, even tho he isn't anything like my dad."
"Sorry."
"He's getting beter. He's ok." "you hapy there?" "I am I guess, mostly. I miss the circus, tho. You ok?" "Yes, ok. Maybe we culd see each other. I'd like that."
"yeah."
"Maybe we culd go be in the circus together."
"yeah." That was the first night in months Dick had a nightmare about his parent's deaths.
A year later. Dick is eleven.
"Hi, Dick. U there?"
"Yes. Hi ."
"What are U doing for Chritmas?"
"B wants to go sking somewear. U?"
"Cruse to the Caribean. Boring."
"I wish I culd see u so we culd talk."
"I don't. This is good. We talk and can say what we want. No probs. U can be my computer boyfriend."
"That's dumb. I'd rather be your real BF."
"Not if you live in Gotham."
"I can anyway Lisa."
"No. Dick that's stupid."
"No its not. Someday I'll C U."
"Maybe. You do sports in school? I'm doing LAX now."
"LAX sucks."
"Does not. What are you doing? Sports?"
"No. No ttime. I have all this stuf I have to do after school."
"Like chores?"
"Sort of. Hew ants me to help him werk."
"Stuped. U're a kid."
"Yeah, but he's teeching me. It's ok."
"Sounds stuped."
"its okay."
"Sure."
"Really."
"uh huh."
Three years later.
"Master Bruce, are you aware that the young Master spends an inordinate amount of time on that computer? I really do wish that you would speak to him about it—I'd very much prefer that he spend his time a bit more productively."
"Maybe he's dong his homework, Alfred." The look on Alfred's face was enough to put paid to that idea. "You think he's going to sites he shouldn't?"
"I suspect that he might be exploring areas which would be best left unexplored for the time being, sir. I remind you that he's still a child."
"Yes, but he is Robin and he does have a wider world view than most kids his age." Seeing the continued look on Alfred's face, Bruce nodded and reluctantly got up to talk to the boy. He was in junior high now and starting to think about girls and that sort of thing—but he worked with Wonder Girl and didn't seem to have any problems with her…well, maybe because she was a co-worker or something. Whatever. There was no reason to let the boy go astray if a simple word to the wise would suffice. "Dick?"
There was no answer to his knock, but the door swung opened and he peered inside. It was your typical teenaged boy's room, if the child lived in a three room suite outfitted with all the current accoutrements. CD player, state of the art computer, TV with DVD player, phones, recording devices, clothes enough to stock a store, sports equipment, books—name it and it was here somewhere—except Dick was missing. Guiltily looking around, Bruce saw the monitor on. An IM from someone named 'Prettygirl920' was still in the message box.
"U there? I have to talk to U. Can U come here? It's really important. PLZ."
"'Sup?"
"In person. IMPORTANT!!"
"Where R U?"
"Home."
"Can't 2nite."
"D--PLEASE"
"Y?"
"YOU HAVE TO. PLZ!!"
That was the last message and now Dick was gone and his window was opened. Dammit. Going down to the cave he booted up his own computer and looked for the tracking chips he'd placed in all of Dick's clothing. There—the blip was still on the property, Dick was wandering around, taking a walk the way he did when something was bothering him. They were supposed to patrol this evening, Dick knew that—if the boy brought it up, then fine. If he decided to keep whatever the problem was to himself, then well, Bruce would wait and see.
The patrol was routine, Robin didn't bring up anything out of the ordinary and so the matter remained at rest.
A month went by.
"Hi. U there?"
"Yes. 'Sup?"
"Homework. U?"
"Same. U going to be in Gotham Xmas?"
"Don't know. B wants to do something. Lucius says he needs to spend more time with me and so he wants to bond or something. Y?"
"We're going to do shopping and shows there between Xmas and NY's."
"GR8T"
"brb"
…
"You ok after last month?"
"Yeah. Ok. Thks for the . Big help. I'll pay you back."
"Doesn't matter. But y'r ok?"
"Yes, good. Steve pretends he doesn't know me. Asshole."
"His loss. Asshole."
"Yes. My loss, 2."
"U'll do better."
"I guess. But U okay? U never talk about U"
"I'm good."
"the truth."
"That is."
"BS"
There was a long pause and Dick thought that, perhaps Lisa had to eat dinner or was on the phone or something but then another message came through:
"What about U? U never talk about u'rself. All we ever talk about are my probs—Y? U don't tell me things."
He was surprised by that—sure he talked about himself, all the time, in fact. "I do—what do U want to know?"
"Do U have a GF? Do U still work? Ever go to see the old circus people? Who R u're friends? What do U do all day? U never tell me anything, just talk in generalities. Annoying. Secrets?"
He was taken aback by the obvious irritation in the last message. But he did tell her things—some things, anyway. "Okay, U're right, I do forget to tell you things sometimes. Sorry. Really M sorry...no, no GF now, too busy. I almost never see the Haley people but last year I guested for a two week run in NY and NJ with Ringling as a flyer—loved it. Miss it."
"Miss your parents or miss your old life?"
"yes."
"Want to go back?—U could."
"No. Too complicated. Can't. Not now. 2 late. Bruce wants me to do other things."
"What do U want?"
Hard question—what did he want? "I want…" He stopped."What do you want, D?"
"I want to make…" He stopped again. He wanted to make wrongs right. He wanted Justice—as boy scout as that sounded. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to matter. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to count. He wanted to…he wanted to make things better. And the thing that upset him was that he did miss his parents, but not everyday anymore. He missed them when he thought about them, when something triggered a memory. Usually he was too busy being Robin or Dick Grayson, perfect ward or leader of the Titans or something. He missed them, but that life was fading and that upset him. When he thought about it.
"Don't you know?"
He started typing again. "I do know, I don't know if I can."
"Because of Bruce?"
"Because of me. Bruce wants me to do what he does, wants me to follow him, become him I think. I don't think that's 4 me. I want to work with him but I want to do it my way. Does that make any sense?"
"Of course." A pause, then, "And U will."
"Maybe."
"U will."
TBC
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