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Real Thoughts

"It isn't fair to you and, Dick please try to understand, I'm just not ready. Please."

I remember taking a breath, sucking it up, nodding then getting my jacket and helmet before I, with restraint, quietly closed the Clock Tower's door.

That was that.

I knew she wouldn't change her mind or reconsider.

We were done.

Yes, of course we'd still work together, Nightwing could and would call Oracle whenever work required but Babs and Dick were finished.

The childhood crush had grown and changed, evolving for me until I knew that I was in actual, complete love with her.

In hindsight, I know now that I was an idiot. Self-deluded, living on wishful thinking and with both feet firmly planted in Fantasyland while keeping at least one hand in Dreamland.

The age thing was never a problem, not really, not for me. She's five years older than me and while that might have mattered when I was nine, in our twenties it stopped being a factor or an excuse.

Excuses. There were a lot of them. Okay, some of them were mine but the other ninety percent? Hers.

The big one was the wheelchair and, by direct leap, her injury and handicap. I tried every way I could think of to tell her that it didn't matter, that I didn't have a problem with her being in the chair.

The chair wasn't her, she wasn't the chair.

Then there was the whole thing about sex—or rather, lack of sex. I knew she was reticent about my dealing with the scars and the catheter. She was embarrassed that she couldn't do the things we used to and that I was, by default, almost always the dominant partner and generally instigated things. I knew that, a blind man would have known it. It upset her that she probably couldn't have kids, not that she was ever sure that she wanted them; it was knowing that card was off the table which upset her, it was another negative, another thing which set her apart.

I didn't care. Well, okay, it upset me to be rejected time after time with another lame-ass excuse but I understood, or thought I did. Sure, I wanted to sleep with her, for the closeness, the release and the connection. I wanted—want—kids someday. Sure. But the thing is that I wanted her anyway. I understood that it was all a package deal and that there was good and bad in the box. I was okay with that and she either didn't believe me or pretended she didn't, used it as another excuse.

I knew, I know that the real problem was that she saw herself as damaged, and couldn't get past the idea that I didn't see her that way, that set up the lack of trust she had for me and anyone who didn't make a big deal out of her injury and if someone did make a deal over it, she's be pissed. No win. It was there, of course, but it didn't define her, not for me but clearly it did for her and as time went by it became more and more of an obstacle. It grew and grew until she'd built a wheeled wall twenty feet high no one could get through.

We both knew the problems weren't physical, but mental. Barbara couldn't accept that I wanted her whether she could go dancing, go jogging or have kids.

She refused to consider that I wanted her, not her legs, not her gene pool—just her.

And my own good health, it was a slap in the face to her, watching me do so easily what she used to love so much. Never admitting it, she resented my legs, my being able to walk, jump, fly. I tried every way I knew how to make her understand that I loved her for her brilliant, incisive mind, her beauty, her humor and accomplishments and the simple pleasure I felt when I looked at her or sat beside her.

Her frustrations and anger were finally directed at me and I began to feel guilty about my own good health. What had been a good relationship was mired in pain on both sides and I had no idea how to fix it.

I still don't.

Now, seven months later my feelings are changing and I hate the fact that I'm resentful of the way things happened between us. I feel as though I was used and jerked around and know that, if that's true, it was done with my permission.

I can't help thinking that if she was serious about getting past what happened, of accepting it, she would have gotten the therapy—physical and otherwise—which might have provided the closure I doubt she'll ever reach.

She's defining herself by her limitations and I can't deal with that. It's self defensive, self defeating and self indulgent bullshit and I speak as someone who's been there.

When my parents were killed I could have done the same thing, crawled into a hole and covered my head with a blanket of self pity. Okay, for a while I did but then I was given the channel of being Robin to work through the new reality of my life. 'Made lemonade out of the lemons, if you will.

She's stronger than this, she's smarter than this and she knows better.

Maybe, anyway.

But there's another maybe here, another possibility even I have to think about; maybe she really just doesn't want to be with me. I mean aside from all the crap about the Joker and the wheelchair.

Yeah, could be. It's not like there was ever a time when she wasn't ready to put me down, insult me, patronize me. Yeah, I noticed. I noticed all those stupid nick-names she used to call me and which I always hated; 'short-pants' 'anything- boy wonder', FBW and all the rest. They were patronizing, condescending, insulting and annoying as hell added to the fact that she enjoyed my discomfort when she knew she'd gotten under my skin yet again. Sometimes I'd say something, ask her to knock it off and sometimes she'd even agree but she'd always start up again within days.

I used to wonder why she kept it up; because she liked to tease me? Because she needed to keep me in my place? Because she was getting out some passive aggression? Because she liked to insult me? Because I was an easy target? Because she wanted me to go away? All of the above?

I wonder why she agreed to marry me, why she took the ring.

I used to think that it was because she loved me, wanted to be with me, make a life together, share ourselves with one another and all that. I know I sure as hell wanted to believe that and even did believe it for a while.

Now I think she meant it when she said yes but then realized what she'd gotten herself into and put on the brakes, back-peddling for all she was worth.

Why?

I can think of a dozen reasons and they all boil down to she simply didn't want to marry me. Maybe she didn't love me enough. Maybe she didn't believe the chair didn't matter to me. Maybe she didn't think she was ready for marriage, maybe she didn't think I was. Maybe she didn't want to put me through dealing with a handicapped wife, maybe she thought I'd resent the limitations. Maybe she...

Who the hell cares? She backed out, cut the cord and closed the door. Case closed. Period.

But 'you want to know what pisses me off? Okay, it's being jerked around all those years.

On/off. Hot/cold. Yes/no. In/out. Black/white. Up/down.

Whatever else was going on, she played me, she jerked me around and—okay, I think I'm not too far off with this—she played me like a damn violin. And you want to know the truth? I think she did it because she could, because I was a fucking puppy, waiting for her to call, waiting for any crumb she felt like tossing my way—or not.

My fault, I accept that. I was the one who took it for years but she was the one who handed it out. It's like old Eleanor Roosevelt said, right? No one can take advantage of you without your permission. True talk. My fault.

Bitter? I guess, maybe a little, but who wouldn't be? I thought I had it all worked out, at least as far as being with Barbara went, anyway. I loved her, she loved me. We'd get married, set up a home somewhere, she'd be Oracle, I'd be Nightwing. It would be great. I'd chase bad guys, she'd be the brains behind me and everybody else in the business and then I'd come home to her after winning or losing another one.

Dammit, I'd loved her since almost the first time I laid eyes on her. I remember her father telling me—after seeing the look I'd given her—to 'forget it, Boy Wonder'. I didn't forget it, I built on it and she grew on me and I was young and stupid and naïve enough to thing that it was reciprocal. She was the only woman who mattered to me for years. Later I fell hard for Kory and that was great but I think even I knew it couldn't last; too many differences, too many problems for it to happen.

But Barbara—it was like it was meant to be, or that's what it seemed to me. When Kory and I fell apart she was there for me. She seemed to know what I was going through, knew how broken I was about that so she said all the right things, the stuff I wanted to here and we took it from there.

But she kept me at arm's length. I'd try to get close and she'd laugh or pull back. I'd withdraw and she'd call to see if I was all right, ask where I'd been, what I'd been up to. It was like a game except that she was making up the rules and I hadn't read the book.

Back and forth, hot and cold, on and off.

Finally she took the ring and I thought we were set. I came back from Bruce's trip around the world to find ourselves or whatever we were supposed to be doing and—bang—it was over.

She'd rethought everything, thanks, have a nice day and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

That was it. Finished and done.

Sometimes I think I was a kid with a crush, a very big crush and thought it was the real thing. Sometimes I think it was the real deal and she's too screwed up to admit it; in fact I think that a lot.

There are days when I want to pick up the phone, stop in with Chinese food and see what happens and then think I'm just looking to get kicked to the curb again and, truth be told, I really rather not, thank you.

I don't know what the answer is. Time heals all wounds, right? That's what they say and maybe it's true to some degree. I know I'm not actively looking for anyone right now but I haven't ruled it out, either though I suspect Barbara might have and that's...what is that? Stupid? Self-defeating? Whatever. I think it's a mistake.

I do know that I'd like what I thought I had with her but I'd like it for real. I'm open to it, she may not be but I am and I think it's her loss.

4/5/11