Brooklyn Bridge
Barbara Smillen had spent the better part of her eighty three year life serving others. She had goodness in her heart that was always at the forefront of her outward appearance. Whenever there was a trouble, Barbara responded with a youthful smile that transcended the wrinkles on her face, just the right words and a genuine concern that had a habit of vanquishing sorrow.
So that Sunday evening under the soft light, Barbara spent her time boxed inside the kitchen with the warmth of the stove, and the strong scent of onion and sharp cheddar as she prepared onion soup and ham sandwiches, a mealtime favorite of a tear stricken grandchild seated at her kitchen table, his older brothers arm at his shoulder.
"He said he just wanted to see him…" Little Bobby gulped the words back doing his best to stifle the tears, face as red as his long curly hair, lighting up the countless freckles. He didn't want to look like a crybaby in front of his older brother; he was almost twelve, after all. But Jake was five years older and five years wiser, he shared the ginger curls and most of his earlier life with Bobby, he knew he was no crybaby. He also knew how much his younger brother had loved that frog. He'd been with him when he rescued the thing from the pond out back, watched him nurse it back from a broken leg, fashion a little environment of sticks and leaves in a pail, feed, water and play with it, he'd even given it baths. Then Jake had watched from the window as the neighborhood bully, Ben yanked it from Bobby's hands and stamped it on the pavement.
By the time he'd made it out of the house, Bobby had taken a punch to the chin and Ben had taken off laughing, shouting something about freckles. The freckles were a picking topic Ben chewed at with regularity. Funny, the jerk had more freckles under his red mop than Bobby, probably why he chose him.
"He was… bigger than me." His eyes had welled up again as he looked up at Jake, his hero. Jake looked down at Bobby, the spitting image of himself in photographs five years prior and ran a hand through the thick red curls.
"I know, bud. It's ok."
Jake felt like garbage. He should have run out there the second he'd seen the waste of skin lumber over, but even then, there'd have been no time. He'd swiped it and stomped it without a moment's hesitation. "It's ok" wasn't cutting it. That was when Grandma Barb finished her soup stirring, poured a few bowls, brought them over with the sandwiches and took over.
"Would you like to hear a story about bullies?" Her voice was soothing in combination to the rich aroma of the onion soup wafting right under his nose, but Bobby shook his head. One bully had been enough for the day. She yanked the hairnet off, gathering the long brunette strands into a ponytail and tried again.
"A poor choice of words, dear," She tucked a napkin in his lap and set a plate of sandwich down in front of him, "Would you like to hear about how a very brave man stood up to a bully and saved your brother's life?"
Both boys were all ears, albeit, Jake a little confused. He didn't recall his life being saved once. But they knew that tone Grandma used when she talked about a very specific brave man. Their hero. New York's hero.
"You mean?" Bobby whispered, blowing on his soup. Barb nodded.
"I suppose you boys are old enough to know by now anyway," She shrugged, but dropped her voice as if she was telling a very important secret, "But this has to stay a Grandma secret from dad, or else I'll get in trouble. No tattling on Granny when he picks you up tonight, got it, mister?" She winked at the younger boy who'd forgotten his tears enough to wink back.
"Grandma secret." They locked pinky fingers.
"Alright. It was over fifteen years ago, on the Brooklyn Bridge…"
The sky was clear and blue that afternoon, the bridge, a tin can jam packed with vehicle sardines as far as Barbs eyes saw. Every so often, some impatient driver would voice their opinion with the honk of the horn and a chorus of honks would erupt in response, dying out periodically only to start up again minutes later.
Not Barb, she appreciated the slower pace, gave her time to enjoy the view. There was a relaxing element to bridges; she'd loved them ever since she was a little girl. The wish wash of the water as it splashed, the boats slowly dragging a wake for more ripple pleasure. For a moment, she was young again. There was an element of nostalgia to this bridge in particular; she could still see her middle aged self holding her son's hand, feel it sticky with cotton candy as they watched the boats sail by below.
"Bullies don't get joy out of the same things we do."
Another chorus of horns, longer than the last. Didn't seem to bother sweet little Jake, fast asleep, strapped into his booster seat on the passengers side. A morning of tag along shopping had taken it all out of the little tyke and by the time they'd gotten through the selection of shoe's, the tedium of measurements at the hemming shop and finally groceries, he'd been blowing tiny snoring noises in her ear as she carried him back to the car. He was all blanketed up in a bundle his little face tucked away. Barb smiled. So peaceful. Then a car exploded.
The rumble of the distant explosion rocked Barb's car gently as bright red and yellow flame rose into the air.
"They either can't, have forgotten how, or don't care to, altogether."
Jake snoozed on. The honking refused to stop at this point, but Barb's attention was on the thin figure making his way down the bridge toward them.
"So they find a different way."
He looked ridiculous, marching in between the cars clad in yellow and green tights, like an out of place circus performer, but that face, twisted beyond anger made her feel sick.
Electra… Electron… Electro…
She pieced it together, recognized him from some old front page of the Bugle floating far in the back of her memory. Now she was panicking. Electro kept a steady stride, seething.
"They find out what gives others joy,"
Before the next explosion, Barbara swore she saw a flicker of blue sparks hover over his shoulders. A minivan and SUV erupted in his wake, billowing smoke and fire, hiding their occupant's fates. The villain took no notice.
"And they take it."
The teenage girl in the small car in front of Barb had finally torn her face away from the phone in her lap to see the smoke, the fire, and the strange man no more than a car length away. She must have recognized him too, those youthful eyes grew wide, darting every which way as she unbuckled and made for the door handle. Sparks twitched at his finger tips. Her car exploded and now the girl couldn't be seen for the fire. The sickening stench of seared flesh and choked smoke began to seep through the cars vents as the man's silhouette appeared through the flame. Barbara's heart sank as the monster set his gaze on a man in the car beside him desperately trying to unbuckle his two young children from the back seat.
He strode fast, with conviction, reaching the vehicle in seconds, slapping his hands down hard on the hood. What happened next stuck with Barbara all her life.
The sparks popping and fizzing around the villain began to grow, speeding up with violent crackles till they had become large bright yellow electric arcs, encircling his body like live serpents. Without a moments notice, he sent them all through the hood and into the vehicle. Many details of the story Barbara left out for her grandchildren's sake: the smell of searing flesh, the agonizing look on the father's face as he screamed till his skin bubbled and eyes popped like grapes. The children in the backseat were too little to be seen behind the car door.
Barbara sat in silence, frightened out of her mind. This man had no clear motive; he was picking off civilians at random. The thought of picking up Jake and making a break for it sounded like nonsense bouncing around in her head. He'd kill them for sure. Predators always chased down prey when it ran. Now he'd locked eyes with her. That twisted, angry face, it smiled.
He took a step towards her.
No…
She looked down at poor Jake, barely two years old, not a care in the world. Fast asleep.
Please, no…
Just a baby. Maybe she could open his door discretely and push him out before she exploded. No, the fall alone might kill him, regardless; he'd still be too close to the blast. A few more steps and he'd be upon them. To her horror, she watched all the hairs on her arm stand up, felt the hairs on her head do the same.
Please…
It was hard to say exactly what happened next. A streak of grey shot through the air down at the man. He stumbled.
"But that can't be enough to stop you, no."
Whatever it was had wiped that nasty grin off the murderers face as he got back up. Barb dared to poke her head a bit higher over the door and saw a grey, sticky looking web like substance splattered on the man's right foot. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Taking's what they do. If you quit, they'll find something else to take."
A long strand of the stuff shot down from somewhere out of view, sticking onto the man's chest. Suddenly it was yanked down with force and the villain followed suit, smashing face first into the asphalt.
He was in a rage now, scrambling back up to his feet, wiping the blood and tar off his chin. He let out a scream and the electric current returned. A flash of red and blue swung down from another strand high up in the bridge and kicked him square in the chest.
Now standing next to Barb's car, was a peculiar sight. A man covered head to toe in red and blue spandex, small black lines of a web like design over the whole thing. Spiderman, the Dailey Bugle called him. The large white diamonds that made up his mask's eyes glanced at Barb just for a second, to make sure she was safe. Then he got to work.
Before the villain hit the pavement, he shot another long strand out from his wrist, catching the man at the shoulder. With a fierce-some tug, he brought the villain hurling back toward him, cracking him in the head with a mighty punch.
Barb had seen Spiderman on the TV enough, even seen a few spectacular battles go down overhead between sky scrapers to know this wasn't his style. He was all flashy moves and sarcastic quips, but not this time. He was angry, he wanted it over quick.
People began exiting their vehicles, making a break for it in every given direction, trying to get far away from the struggle. The grounded foe grimaced as he lit up again, firing a stream of bolts at Spiderman, but the hero leapt out of the way with a graceful flip, the bolts going wild, hitting a bridge strut and dissipating. Next, Electro set his aim on a man shielding his daughter under his coat, fear in his eyes as they made their way away from the mess. Before he could discharge, Spiderman shot another gob of web mid-flip, turning Electro's hand into a sticky grey ball. He landed in real close, sidestepping the wide hook the villain threw and with two more socks, the electric menace was down on the ground.
"You have to show them,"
He held the struggling villain to the ground by the neck, webbing his arms and legs for when the cops came to pick him up. The look in the villains eyes as he stared up at his victor, something more than hate and disgust altogether.
"No matter how much they take,"
With one last surge of electricity around him, he blew up a pickup truck, sending one more couple to their graves. Spiderman cracked him in the jaw a moment too late, but the murderer's eyes stayed closed.
"They'll never take who you are."
Barb watched as he stayed to put out the flames with intricate nets of webs he weaved until the firemen arrived and relieved him. She sat there, waiting till her son showed up, the red and blue lights blearing on the top of his car, six others behind him. She watched her grown up son dressed in blue talk to the hero, his head hanging down in shame. A minute later, he shot out another string and took off swinging down the bridge.
On the way home, Barbara asked her son he'd said.
"Thank God you were there. You saved a lot of lives today."
All Spiderman had said was, "I wanted to save them all."