The light remained red as he pummeled the steering wheel of the Buick. The car had been the recipient of many an outburst before. However this time, the vehicle got revenge as the driver's hand missed and struck the dashboard. "SHIT! I think I just broke my wrist! GODDAMIT! Mother-effen-sonuvabitch!"

Even bundled up against the cold with ear muffs and hats, even with the car windows rolled tightly up, even being two cars away, pedestrians in the crosswalk could hear the tirade coming from within the dark sedan. They hurried across, lest the driver got mad enough to do something other than scream.

His hand laid on the horn even before the light finished the nanosecond needed to turn green. But no one moved. Letting his left arm rest on his lap until he could get to a hospital, he continued to pound the living daylights out of the horn with his right fist. It wasn't until a cop tapped on his window with his nightstick did the driver see that he couldn't go anywhere due to a gridlock. Reaching over, he rolled down his window, wishing he had the push-button-electric kind.

"Yes, Officer?"

"What's your all-fired hurry?"

The man with the intense light blue stare floundered a bit, trying to come up with a viable excuse. Only after hesitating did he lift his left hand, "I was on my way to the hospital, I think I broke my wrist."

"Well, you're not going to die from that injury. As soon as the traffic opens up, cut across and make a right. City General is just a couple blocks down. I'll ask the other drivers to wait and let you cross over."

"Thanks, Officer."

After he rolled up his window his rant returned, but not at the volume it had attained previously and without the aid of the horn. "Right? That'll take me in the complete opposite direction that I want to go in. I NEED TO GO LEFT! I gotta find that damn cab."

He looked up and noticed that the cop had opened up a path for him to make a right turn and was impatiently waving him on. With the urging of his swelling wrist, he decided he might as well go to the hospital. He'll just have to catch up to his girl later.

X x x x x

Parker was thankful that there was a bus-stop bench just outside the grocery store. The two block walk took everything out of him. He thought that he had never felt so tired before, and then snorted a laugh when realized that he couldn't recall if he had or not. He sat forward on the bench so as not to put pressure on his still aching back. He was wearing the sweats that Juan lent him and one of his coats. New York winters can be callous when it came to the cutting winds that sliced in and about the buildings.

A deep depression brewed within him. He knew absolutely nothing; where he lived, if he had family, his name, not even where his own clothes were. Would anyone be worried about him? Come looking for him? Mourn for him? As he sat, he moved his elbows to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pummel something, someone. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Hey, kid. You alright?"

Parker lifted his head.

"You was moanin."

The young amnesiac saw the face of a concerned older man, a mechanic by his appearance. "Uh, yeah. I have a bad back and just moved wrong. That's all. Thanks for asking."

The auto jockey shrugged and sat down to wait for the bus. "Where're ya headed?"

"What?"

"I said, 'where're ya headed?' What bus you getting on, boy?"

"Oh. No, I'm not going anywhere. I was just resting. I'm going in there." He thumbed the grocery store.

"Well, sonny, don't rest too long. When school lets out, them juveniles like this corner to hang out. They's mean ones, they is."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

Parker rose stiffly, nodded to the old man and entered the store.

When the mechanic looked at the now vacated spot on the bench, he raised an eyebrow. There were handprints embedded in the wrought-iron seat. He looked back at Parker, raising the other eyebrow.

X x x

Juan grabbed the railing and swung down into the darkened stairwell, then held his breath. A lone drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

"Where'd he go?" Several pounding feet passed above on the sidewalk. Afraid that they'd hear him exhale, the boy slowly let the air of his burning lungs. Once he realized that they were gone, he gasped for the frigid air.

"Shit."

Bending over, trying to increase his air intake he was glad that he was an athlete. He just barely outran that small band from the Los Hermanos gang. The problem was getting serious now, and he feared that they were not going to invite him to a Sunday afternoon tea party, but make him an example to those who refuse to join them. He probably won't have been singled out if it weren't for his now ex-best friend who had joined them and pushed for his induction.

The chase left him shaky and he sat down on one of the garbage cans sitting on the bottom landing. He waited just a few more minutes to make sure the hoodlums didn't double back before he slipped onto the sidewalk and jogged in the direction of his home. Again he wondered if his guest would be able to get him out of his troubles.

X x x x x

As Parker entered the apartment, Margarite's smile faded. He looked so haggard; she shouldn't have sent him out in this weather just yet. 'But it was only two blocks.' "Oh dear, you look exhausted, I shouldn't have asked you to do anything yet, it's too soon. Sit. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Parker nodded as he sat with a plop. When she handed him the steaming cup, he grasped her hand and looked up at the attractive woman, his eye's shimmering on the verge of tears. "Who am I, Margarite? At least tell me about Spider-man. Everything you know about him. I have to know something about myself. Anything!"

She sat down next to him. "Let's see, you showed up, ummm, about nine years ago. I think. You just showed up one day, out of the blue."

"Doing what?"

"Pretty much what you do now, catch bad guys. I don't know how you know where to go, how far away you go, and how you chose which crime to stop. I still read in the papers where there was a mugging uptown while you were crosstown breaking up a jewelry store robbery."

"How do I get to a crime scene so fast? Do I sprout wings or something weird like that?"

"Webbing. You swing from webbing, kinda like Tarzan. I don't know where that comes from either. Juan has seen you a couple of times."

"Webbing? Oh great." He lifted his arms and looked at his sides, "Do I grow four more limbs?"

"Not that I know."

At that moment, Juan burst in through the door. "Hi, Momma. Hi, Spider-man, uh I mean Parker. Whatcha all talking about?"

She slid her hand from beneath his before her son noticed. "Parker wants to know more about Spider-man."

JP looked at the young man, "Hey, we can go to the library and look up old Bugle newspapers…" He caught his mother frowning.

"…on second thought, that might not be such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"The Bugle prints mostly lies. The editor has a problem with you for some reason. Don't know why."

"But, there could be some truth to that, wouldn't there?"

"I'll think of something Parker. Don't worry, we'll find out something. Hey, I heard that if you got amnesia from being whacked on the head, another whack fixes it."

"Juan Pedro Eduardo Tomas Noguerras!"

"What? That's what I heard."

"We are NOT going to hit this young man!"

Parker sat there, eyebrows raised, wondering if indeed someone was going to 'whack' him in the head.