The night was warm.
But he was cold.
He tried to shake her, tried to scream at her, but nothing worked. She didn't hear him, look at him, or acknowledge his presence in any manner. His hands passed through her as if she were thin air. As if he was thin air.
And that's when he knew. That's when the full shock and realization hit him – he wasn't really there. The truth kept biting him, but he wanted to resist it.
He didn't want to believe that it happened.
He touched his chest. The truth bit into him, as he felt no heartbeat.
Truth was bitter.
He cried out loud. Screamed at the top of his lungs, to the point his throat ached.
But no one noticed. Nobody heard his deafening wails.
How could this happen? How had this happened?
What was he going to do now?
He choked on his thoughts, suffocation running abound in his misery. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt them fall. With a tiny desperate hope, he looked down at the floor, searching for drops. But there were none.
Truth was bitter.
He went to her. She had her face buried in her hands, lost in some unfathomable misery. So was he. How could he be doing this to her? He tried to hold her hand. Pull it back from her face. Wipe away those tears. But his hands went right through hers.
"May!"
She didn't look up.
"May, please! Please, I'm here. MAY! Look at me! I'm here!"
This didn't seem real. He didn't want it to be real. Agony burned his heart as he tried to cup her face with his hands, but again felt no resistance.
"May! Can you not see me?"
How could this be happening? He was supposed to be enjoying TV with her right now. Her in his arms. Why the sudden change in events?
A knock at the door broke him out of his reverie.
It was Mary Jane.
And that's when he remembered.
He rushed upstairs.
He tried to pull at the doorknob, but his fingers passed through it.
He didn't want to, but he walked straight through the door.
Peter was at the far corner of the room, on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, hands wrapped around his head. He was quivering. Violently.
"Peter, I'm here," his voice was a staccato in the empty silence. "Peter, at least you can see me right? Please! And stop crying!"
Peter didn't listen. He had never been so disobedient. His sobs filled the stillness.
The door opened behind Ben.
She stood there. Irresolute.
She was looking at him. Looking through him at Peter. Her face was red, her eyes were swollen. Tears flowed down her eyes. But she wiped them using the back of her hands before Peter could notice.
"Mary Jane, please tell him," Ben begged.
Neither Peter looked up at him, nor did she.
"Peter," she said, kneeling down beside him, careful to keep her distance, "Peter…you…you need to be strong."
She seemed to be having difficulty finding the right words. But he knew that there were no words suitable.
"Peter, you've got to be strong." Her voice faltered. "Aunt May's downstairs. You need to go to her."
Her words fell to deaf ears.
"Peter. It's going to be okay." It was useless to say so. Because it wasn't okay.
"MJ," he rasped, and looked straight into her eyes. "How can it be okay? He…died!"
The severity in his eyes seemed to strangle her.
"I was…I was..."
She inched closer took his head in her arms, not saying anything.
"I was…so…rude…"
"Peter," she said, gently stroking his hair. "Peter?" Silence. Peter must have dived too deep into a sea of depression, or so Ben thought. "Peter?" No movement. "Peter, can you please talk to me?" Not a single movement.
"Hey Boss," Ben called Peter, leaning down.
"Oh my god," Mary Jane cried, "Peter! Peter!" But Peter didn't move. He didn't talk. Nothing. "Peter!" She shook him.
Her cries summoned people, and within seconds, the room was flooded with them. May was one of them.
"Somebody, get me water," May called as she approached her unconscious nephew.
Ben would have given anything to help at that moment. But he just stood there, too eager to help, but too helpless himself. Inaudible. Invisible.
No. He couldn't take this anymore.
He walked out of the room, and headed downstairs.
He couldn't see this.
In the living room was a body shrouded with a white cloth on a stretcher -His.
There was a cop beside his body, talking on his phone.
This wasn't how he had thought his evening would pass.
He sat on the floor beside the stretcher. Imagined his grave. Peter and May without him. What would they do? What would happen?
-o0o-
"So, she said 'yes'?" his younger brother Richard asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"When did you plan to ask her? You never told me, considering the fact that you usually do."
Richard was three years younger to him, and Ben considered the gap alright to share almost everything with his brother. Almost everything.
"I hadn't planned anything," Ben said, "Just felt the time was alright."
"But you've been together for just about a year!"
"You think it's early?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Are you sure you're ready?"
"I am thirty now. Am quite sure."
"So, you gave her a ring?"
"Yeah. And I gave her roses. She loves roses."
"Ben..."
"Yeah, what?"
"Just…don't rush."
"Am I?"
"You're always in a rush. You've always been in a hurry. Before time too."
-o0o-
"We found him," the radio crackled to life. The half asleep cop beside him jerked awake.
"Where is he?" someone on the line asked.
"Forty-fifth lane. Our men are after him."
Ben never realized when Peter emerged, flying down the stairs at incredible speed.
"Peter?" Ben called, but he was already gone. "Peter!"
Anna Watson had asked them to stay over at their house that night. May had considered declining, but agreed for Peter's sake. Eleven hours had passed since the incident yesterday night. Sleepless, however, she wasn't even in the least bit tired. She was seated at the dining table with a cup of red tea and biscuits before her. She hadn't in the least bit any appetite. She was amazed she wasn't even starving, despite an empty stomach. It somehow didn't seem to matter at all. Everything seemed black and white now. Whatever color her world had was taken away.
"May," Anna said, "You have to eat. You can't starve yourself!"
May sniffed. Tried to hold back irresistible tears. She picked up her cup unenthusiastically and took a sip.
That was when Peter had come. Came to her. Sat next to her.
"You hungry?" her voice was a mere whisper. A little cracked. Heavy. Sad.
He shook his head, all the while staring down at the table, not lifting his head one bit.
"You've got to have something," May said, feeling very hypocritical.
He didn't react.
Her cup was halfway to her parched, reluctant lips, when she put it down. She dipped a biscuit into her tea, and pushed it gently into Peter's lips. He bit it mechanically.
-o0o-
They were sitting outside in the verandah that evening, watching the low red setting sun.
"I don't like this." Four-year-old Peter whined, holding out the salted biscuit in his tiny hands.
"But why?" Ben asked.
Peter's likes and dislikes were still new to them, considering the fact that it had only been two days since he came to live with them.
"I only like cookies."
"Okay honey," May said, "I will bake some tomorrow, alright?"
"Okay," he looked dejected.
"Hmmn…here," Ben said after a while, dipping his biscuit into his tea, "Try it this way."
Peter hesitated.
"It's alright, son. It's just tea. No harm will be done. Just open your mouth."
Peter looked unsure.
"Come on boy! Open sesame! Open the cave now!"
"Okay."
He took a bite, and considered the taste for some time.
Ben had resumed eating when Peter said, "Can I have a little more?"
"Of course," Ben said, and forwarded his cup of tea to Peter.
wwiiten are Mom and Dad coming back?" Peter asked.
"They'll be home soon, son."
Peter stared at his food.
"Hey Boss, why stop eating now?" Ben said.
Peter gestured at Ben to feed him.
"He wants you to feed him, Ben," May said.
"Alright."
That was the beginning. Two years from that day, Peter would only eat when his uncle would offer to feed him. The same way. Every morning and every evening.
It had become a routine.
-o0o-
By ten in the morning they had returned to their house. House number thirty-four, The Parker Residence, as Peter had called it once. It was flooded with people, all dressed in black, some familiar, and some not. There were Peter's friends from school, which, surprisingly included Eugene Thompson too. There was Liz Allen, talking to Anna in her gravest face he had ever seen. Harry Osborn was there the whole time. His father had dropped a visit and had promised Peter he would be there at the funeral.
Ben had never had so many people at home all at once. Funny, he thought, how death of a dear one brings people together.
He started looking around for May.
He looked at the guests, but she wasn't there among them.
"Anna, where is May?" he said as she approached him. She didn't hear him. Just passed by him indifferently.
"May's upstairs, in the guest room," he heard her say after a pause, and turned to look at her, surprised at the fact that she had heard him, a tiny hope rising in him.
Only his heart sank when he realized she was only talking to Margaret Dawson, who was now headed upstairs.
He followed her into the guest room.
She was there, dressed in black, packing some of his belongings. She looked as beautiful and young as ever, like the day they were married. Now a widow. His widow, just at forty-five.
"Margaret," May said, her voice low, "This is Ben's stuff. His clothes, some books, and stuff. Ben had always wanted to donate these to the needy."
"That's nice."
"God! He was so crazy about it!" There was longing in her voice. She almost laughed at the last three words.
"It's time we went, May." Margaret measured her words. "Everything else is ready. The priest has arrived."
"Can I just finish with these?"
"Yeah Dear, sure." With that, Margaret went out of the room, closing the door behind her.
He realized he was alone with May for the first time since yesterday.
"Listen, May," he began, forgetting the fact that she couldn't hear him.
May pulled out some old clothes of his, and put them into the carton. She sniffed. Ben sat down on the bed beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder. But it went right through her.
She began to sob.
"May. May, you are killing me."
She went back to the wardrobe, and began messing with its contents once again. After a while, she brought out a chocolate brown coat which belonged to him. She kept staring at it, most probably deciding whether to put it into the box or not.
Then she buried her face in the coat and inhaled.
-o0o-
He had entered her room barefooted.
She hadn't the slightest clue of his presence.
Her back was turned to him. She was at her study.
He tiptoed to her, careful not to produce a single sound.
He was about grabbing her shoulders.
"Cute smell," she muttered, and inhaled.
Ben's hands froze midway in the air.
She turned around.
"Why?" she said, "You seem surprised, Sweet Heart!"
"How did you know I'm here?"
"I just knew."
"I didn't make a single sound!"
She got up from her chair and went close to him. She put her face into his chest and inhaled. Audibly enough.
"Your scent. That's enough. I can get it from over a hundred miles!"
"My scent?"
"Yeah, it's cute. Very strong to me. But cute."
"Hmmn, okay," He sat down on her bed. "So if you were given two similar shirts and asked to tell which one was mine, you could?"
"Yes, of course!" She was biting her pen. "I could! In fact, not only clothes. Anything that belongs to you."
-o0o-
"May?" he called to her, "Can you…Do you know I'm here? All the time, beside you? Can you get my scent now?"
All of a sudden she stood up. And went past him, out of the room, his coat still in her hand.
His chest hurt. His ribs felt like breaking. A thousand rocks were placed on him. He was running out of breath. Suffocating. The pain was crushing him. He put his head in his hands.
"Ben Parker?"
He looked up, surprised to see a man looking down at him.
"You can-you can see me?" he said.
"And hear you too. Yes."
Ben looked at the man. He was tall. Dressed in a black suit. His hair was neatly brushed backwards. He had a French-cut moustache.
"But how?"
"I just can"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Stephen Strange."
"But who are you? I mean…what are you? How can you see me? Nobody else can."
"I am a sorcerer."
"I don't know how I'm going to believe that."
"You'll have to, anyway."
Ben nodded. If there was someone who could see him now, this was either a dream or an astonishing reality. And to be able to talk to someone else instilled a whole new feeling. A slight comfort.
"I've just fought hard to keep you solid a little longer."
"Solid? I can't even touch things!"
"Then why do you think you can still walk on the floor? Climb stairs? Seat on chairs and beds?"
"I…I don't know."
"If I hadn't done this, you would have faded by now. And by the time your funeral was over, you would have completely disappeared, even from us sorcerers. But that's going to happen anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"All I mean is that I've done my best to hold you out for a little longer."He gestured out of the room. "Shall we?"
Ben followed the man downstairs.
"I thought I was doing you a favor keeping you out a little longer," Dr. Strange said, "But I see now that I've been only causing you pain?"
Ben didn't reply.
"Perhaps, it would be better if you just left?"
"No, I would rather like to stay," Ben said, amused by the man's rather straightforward manner of talking. "But why are you doing this? You don't even know me."
"Not you. Your nephew."
"Peter?"
"And your daughter."
Ben stopped dead on his tracks.
"My daughter? You knew about her?"
"Penelope, I assume?"
"How can it be?"
"It can," Strange said in a matter-of-fact way.
"She's…She's alive?"
"I can't find any trace of her yet. So I don't know. I only know of her birth. Don't know anything else, though. I'm not god."
Ben sighed.
"But I know your story, Mr. Parker. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned her."
"She…she went missing two weeks after her birth."
"I know."
"We never found her. Never. Peter doesn't know anything about her. Not even the fact that we had had a daughter."
"I understand."
"And how do you know him? I didn't know that Peter was friends with magicians."
"I am not a magician. I'm a doctor. Was…a doctor. But Spider-Man doesn't know me yet. Only I know of him."
"Spider-Man?"
"He was bitten by a genetically altered spider."
"What? A what spider? Tell me. Tell me everything."
And he told him.
-o0o-
He was looking into the eyes of a four-year-old.
His nephew.
Richard's son.
Peter.
"What's your name, son?" Ben asked, despite knowing it.
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
"That's a wonderful name! You know who I am?" Peter nodded. "Then who am I?"
"Uncle Ben."
The boy probably didn't know him. Didn't remember him. The last time Ben had seen him, Peter was just a year old.
"You look a bit like my dad."
"I do?"
"Yes."
"And do you know why?"
"'cause you're my uncle?"
"Yes, very good! I am your father's brother."
Peter started messing with Ben's watch.
"You're a smart kid, aren't you?"
He didn't reply. Didn't even hear Ben, maybe. He was busy with the watch.
Ben turned back to look at Richard and Mary talking to May, the gravity of the situation clearly displayed in their faces.
Mary, Peter's mother, had tears coming out her eyes. She looked at Ben. He understood.
"Hey, Peter," Ben tried to get his attention away from his mother, "Why don't you and I walk out a bit? It's a nice little place, you know?"
"Only if mom allows."
"Okay," Ben called out, "So will Mom give Peter and his uncle the permission to go out on a tour of the neighborhood?"
"Sure," Mary said
Before the kid realized what was going on, Ben opened the door and headed out, careful to make as much noise as possible to cut out Mary's sobs.
May and Mary were in the room that would now be Peter's, watching TV.
"So this is it?" Ben said to Richard.
They were in the living room, one seated at the side of the other.
"I'm afraid it is."
"You're just gonna leave him like that?"
"We have to, Ben, there's no other way."
"Nothing?"
"No."
"I don't understand, Richard."
"I know you don't. I hope you do one day."
"Tell me now."
"Right now, I don't have time."
"And what about Mary?"
"I'm afraid we'll have to stick together with this for a while, but then, I'll see if she can get back.
"What have you gotten into, Richard?"
Richard shook his head. "Rotten luck. I'm sorry all this is happening to you."
They went quiet for a minute.
"So you're pretty sure what's going to happen?"
"I am. And that's why we're keeping him out, Ben. But in you, he'll find a better father than he found in me."
Ben sighed.
Richard stood up.
"We'd better get going."
"Yeah."
"Take care of him."
Ben nodded. He would make sure of that.
"And take care of yourself and May," Richard said.
-o0o-
"Come on, Uncle Ben," Peter begged, "I'll teach you everything there is to know about chess. You've just to cooperate!"
"If you say so."
"Trust me!"
"Are you sure you can teach this old man, eh?"
"Pretty sure!"
"You two," May called out, "I'm out to the city. Be right back in two hours."
"May," Ben called.
"Yes, Darling?"
"Do drive slowly."
May chuckled. "Yeah, sure!"
"And stop at the red lights, okay?"
"I will."
"Don't turn the stereo too loud."
"No, I won't."
"Wear your seatbelt."
"Of course!"
"Adjust the rearview mirrors."
"Yeah, aren't you done, Mr. Parker?"
Peter chuckled. Ben shrugged.
"Wait Aunt May, he still has an entire book to read out."
"Huff, Mr. Ben Parker, anything else?"
"Yeah, do come home."
"Never."
"Bye Aunt May!"
"Bye Peter."
Two hours later, when she returned, she found them still at the table, playing.
"Hah," Ben cried out aloud, "How was that, Boss?"
"No, no, no! How did you do that?"
"And here goes."
"Again."
"Again. Check. Mate."
Peter sighed. "He won for the thirteenth time in a row since you left," he said to her.
"Only thirteen times?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I'm surprised. Two hours, huh? He should have won for something like the twentieth time."
"What?"
"Yeah! Ben's pretty good at it! Thirteen times either means you're good too, or he deliberately let you stay for a while."
Peter turned to look at Ben who was secretly smiling to himself.
"Really?" he asked in disbelief.
"Don't ask me," Ben chuckled.
"I thought you knew nothing."
"Proved you wrong, you know?"
"You only proved that I am a sore loser."
"Someday you might be as great as me!" Ben quipped.
"Show-off!"
-o0o-
She was in the kitchen, when she heard a manly scream.
She rushed upstairs, heart beating like a machine gun.
She heard fits of laughter when she reached the top end of the stairs.
She opened the door to the room.
"What the-"
There was Ben, half seated on the bed, Peter beside him, rolling with laughter. Ben was looking into the mirror Peter was holding out to him, his face smeared white with powder. His lips were bright red. Lipsticks? He wore goggles. His otherwise neat hair was now all messy and sticking to his forehead.
"What on earth do you think you two are doing?"
"Uncle Ben has just gotten some facial done."
"You'll never know how I felt when I saw in the mirror, May."
"Pathetic, I'm sure?" May said.
"He didn't even know what I was doing to him," Peter said, putting down the mirror.
"I was sleeping so peacefully!"
"Yep, he was snoring!"
"And then my bed shook and I woke up!"
"Yep he did."
"And first thing I saw in the morning was a clown!"
Peter burst out laughing again.
She shook her head. She knew Ben wasn't at all surprised. That Ben was just cooperating. That he knew what Peter had been doing. All that snoring was all made up. Just to let the boy have his fun.
"Peter?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"You're grounded."
"Why?" said Ben and Peter in unison.
"For finishing up my lipstick."
Peter grinned. "You bet I am."
"Yes," she said, and headed out of the room, pretty sure the two of them were grinning at her back.
-o0o-
Ben Parker
(3rd April 1964-15th May 2012)
Beloved Husband And Uncle
A Good Man
Who Will Be Missed
May He Find The Peace
That He Deserves
He watched all the rituals.
He watched them lower him to ground.
He watched himself being buried.
"Am I…am I fading?" he said to the man standing beside him.
"Yes. It's about time too," Stephen Strange said.
"Mr. Strange. Are you dead too?"
"No."
"Can they all see you?"
"No."
"Then what's this?"
"It's my astral form."
"Oh." Whatever that means.
"You seemed to be a good man, Ben Parker."
"Why do you say so?"
"Because that's a good excuse. A good reason, more likely. Because I did something I shouldn't have done."
"And what was that?"
"Keeping you out here a bit longer. I am not meant to meddle with these things."
"Then why did you it?"
"Because I know your nephew. And because you are a good man."
Ben didn't say anything.
"It's time I went, Mr. Parker. Listen. You don't have to worry about your family."
"Uh-huh."
"They'll be fine. I'm not saying they'll be fine without you, because they won't. They will miss you very much."
Ben sighed.
"So," Dr. Strange continued, "You rest in peace. You were a good man. Good enough to force me to act beyond my boundaries, which I don't usually do. That was rather really silly of me. Goodbye."
With that he walked away.
Ben looked into their eyes for the last time. Seeing May and Peter in this state was excruciating. Because they knew, as well as he, that their life would never be the same now. He wished he could stay there with them a little longer, that time would cease motion at least for a little while. He watched them staring at his grave, and then he faded and eventually disappeared.
I'm so sorry, Uncle Ben.
Peter Parker knelt down and touched his uncle's tombstone.
Forgive me.
There were flowers all over the place. There had been more people than expected. The thought tightened his throat. His face burned. Tears formed. Why wasn't he there when they had marked on the stone? A significant line was missing.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
He wished he had heard out what Uncle Ben had to say.
Somehow, if he had known that it was the last conversation he would have with him, he would have given anything to hear him speak. Things would have gone differently.
He knew what he had to do now.
He stood up. He felt the changes in the air movements.
He turned to look behind him. Aunt May.
"Funny how life is," she said. She put an arm around Peter. "One moment they are with you, and the next moment you don't know where they've disappeared."
Peter looked at her. "What do you mean?"
She didn't reply for a whole five minutes.
The sky had cleared and brightened.
"Just look how bright the sun's today," May said.
"Maybe."
"They must have welcomed him already."
"Really?"
"Duh!"
Peter smiled upon hearing his aunt sound so childish. "I just hope he forgives me," he said.
"Forgive you? Forgive you for what?"
He shouldn't have said that out loud. She wasn't meant to know. Couldn't know. Mustn't know. "If I did anything wrong. Said anything wrong."
"He'd never mind."
He turned to her. She smiled at him.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes Peter."
"I brought something." Peter said. "Don't know if you'll like it or not. I don't have anything very unique. Only, Aunt May would like this."
He produced a bright red rose from the inside pocket of his coat.
"Wow! Since when have you become the romantic type?" she said, a mischievous smile dangling from her lips.
"Always was."
"Well, I can't be surprised. Ben was a sugar himself."
"I know. Take it. It's for you."