Only two more chapters left in this soon-to-be-classic remake of a classic. Happy reading!
Chapter 11: Breath, by Peter Parker
"I see nothing in your eyes
And the more I see the less I like.
Is it over yet, in my head?
I know nothing of your kind,
And I won't reveal your evil mind.
Is it over yet, I can't win."
Breaking Benjamin, "Breath"
What society needs is a twelve-step program for infatuated persons. I'll call it Partners of Toxic People Anonymous. This organization would supply members with wise advisors, like Alcoholics Anonymous sponsors, when they are tempted to to associate with those who would harm us but look so hot and sound so charming doing it. If you can get someone to come over and talk you out of making that phone call, sending that email, scheduling that date with a dangerous person, that would be a great idea.
If the fruit tastes good but you bleed after eating it, you'll just have to dine elsewhere or be drained all the time. You have to see people as they are, not as you want them to be. If they're truly evil, callous, and cruel, if they're a chronically selfish person, you aren't going to change them, no matter how hard you try.
Too bad I learned that too late. Too bad I didn't follow the advice I gave to my aunt. Too bad I'm not listening to my spidey-sense, screaming louder than a crowd of thirteen-year-olds at a Kelly Clarkson concert.
And finally, we reach the culmination of my story, sitting in uncomfortable silence with my wedding-gowned aunt nervously fidgeting with the lace on her sleeve, my future uncle lounging on the helicopter seat adjusting a trenchcoat over an off-white double-breasted suit, and my girlfriend in her lavender strapless dress running her fingers through platimum blonde hair.
The silence is broken by Aunt May. "If you look out your window right now, Peter, you can see Rosslyn Island."
Felicia and I oblige. "Wow," she says. "It's beautiful."
"Hard to believe it's all mine," Otto—I mean Oliver, of course, ha ha—tells me. "Someday it might be yours. May wishes it to remain in the family."
"So what's on this island?" Felicia asks. "A summer cabin with a sauna in the back? Just think, anytime you wanted to, you could go to the ocean and swim or boat." Felicia starts to rhapsodize on the myriad pleasures of owning your own family island.
"I wouldn't swim if I were you," I whisper to Felicia. Octavius is chatting away on his cell phone. "Or at least do it on the other side of the nuclear plants and the uranium mines. And fishing isn't a good idea either—I wouldn't want to know what three-eyed fish taste like."
Octavius snaps his phone shut. "The minister has arrived. He's waiting for us at Nathan's summer cabin. It's just on the other side of the island from the corporate facilities."
You mean the facilities you just can't wait to get your six slimy arms on, "Oliver." You must be pissing your pants at the anticipation.
"You know, Aunt May," I say, "isn't it bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding?"
"Oh, that's just a superstition," she chides. "Ben and I held to every tradition before our wedding, but times change and so do people."
"Do you happen to know the reason why most weddings are held in June, Parker?" Octavius addresses me.
He doesn't wait for my answer. "It's another superstition. In the days of the old Roman Empire, couples would marry in June to seek the blessing of the month's namesake, the pagan goddess of marriage Juno. Put that in your pipe and inhale. Speaking of—" He pulls out a cigar and a lighter.
"Oliver," May says, "not in the helicopter. Smoking's a filthy habit anyway."
"I'll put it out for you." He flicks it out the window. "Another foolish superstition concerns the wedding veil. Do you think your little girlfriend's going to put an evil eye on my May?"
"I wouldn't test me on that," Felicia snaps. "You never know."
Finally, the helicopter lands near the summer cabin. The helicopter was Nathan's, too; the front bore the symbol of Rosslyn Energy Alternatives, the five-petaled rose. I think I remember seeing the symbol in The DaVinci Code as some sort of pagan sacred feminine symbol. That movie has a lot of pagan sacred feminine symbols.
I inquire of Aunt May, "Do you have the keys to the cabin."
She pulls them out. "The cabin has a bathroom, right?" I ask her. "Because I do hate to have to water a tree."
"Of course it does."
I step into the bathroom. Swanky, compared to my rathole sweet rathole back in Queens. It actually has real deluxe Charmin on the rolls and a real bathtub.
Perfect to put my spider suit on under my penguin suit. Right now, they don't notice me. I can hear Octavius ordering around the caterers. "Spread the tablecloth down there! It's supposed to look like a picnic, except it's a wedding reception and ten times better than an actual picnic!"
Outside, while slipping on my costume's red spiderwebbed socks, I can hear the buzzing of saws and the hammering of a wedding gazebo. Octavius turns his ire on the construction crews. "I don't tolerate stupidity in others," I hear him shout, "especially when I'm paying for their services!" May tells him to calm down and remember his heart condition. I've heard of Bridezillas before, but I seem to be dealing with a far rarer phenomenon—a superpowered Groomzilla.
Black Cat and I seem to have our work cut out for us, and speak of the devil...
"How did you get in here?" I turn around and ask.
"If I didn't know how to pick a lock, I wouldn't be a cat burglar, would I? I wanted to change into my costume, but my clothes seem to be less forgiving than yours. I'm staying in here. You can tell them I feel air sick but didn't want to toss cookies all over your new uncle."
"What do we have planned?" I ask. "Octavius can't be allowed to marry May. He'll get everything if she does. He'll get the reactor. And Heaven help us if he does."
She smirks. "A wedding might mean the end of the world," she says. "Don't worry. I have something really big planned."
I step outside to the gazebo, where May waits. "Felicia's in the powder room, she gets sick on airplanes and the Rosslyn helicopter didn't have barf bags. Should I attend to her?"
"Oh, Peter, I needed you to give me away to my husband," she tells me. "You were the man of the house, you know."
"I thought we were bucking tradition," I smile. "Perhaps Felicia and I should take care of the catering and honeymoon details. I'll be preparing the honeymoon bed and cleaning the cabin. You and Oliver should have the private wedding you wanted, witnessed only by God and His servant. I wish you only the best and I'll see you at the reception." For the finishing touch, I hug her tightly. "I love you, Aunt May."
"Are we ready to get to business, my lovely bride-to-be?" Octavius beams. He soon yanks me aside, out of Aunt May's earshot. He whispers his message through gritted teeth. "She's going to be mine soon, and I would much appreciate you staying quite far away, understand?"
My reply is just as gritted. "Yes. Sir. Uncle."
"Are we ready to proceed?" the minister asks. I wait by the cabin in my costume. This is going to be the longest wedding I've ever attended. Wait—this is the only one I've ever attended. Well, after I attend some more weddings, I'll still say it's the longest.
"Maybe I should run over there right now," I tell Felicia.
Outside, the minister says: "...we are called here to witness the joining of May Parker and Oliver Octavius in holy matrimony..."
"No!" Felicia stays my hand. "You can't do it now. You have to wait until a certain time."
"What time? There's a mad scientist out there getting precious seconds closer to getting his own nuclear reactor!"
"Everybody knows," Felicia scoffs, "you're supposed to wait until this one part in the ceremony. The minister will say, 'If there's a good reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,' and then you stand up and say something like, 'I object, the groom is a gold-digger out for the bride's uranium mine.' Haven't you ever seen a chick flick?"
"I'm not a chick," I say. I tap my toes, impatient. The groom starts tapping his foot as well; he's also impatient to get his hands on Rosslyn, all six of them. He's also tapping what looks like a watch.
"You wait until the minister says, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace,' and then you run up and say 'I object.' Understand?"
"Yeah, of course." I crane my ears forward.
Finally, I hear the third sweetest words I've ever heard in my life. "If any person has a reason why this woman and this man should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace..."
I charge headlong onto the gazebo. "I object! I object! May Parker cannot be allowed to marry this man!"
Suddenly, four adamantium tentacles burst into view, coiled above his tuxedo. "This wedding will take place, Spider-Man—over your dead body!"
Just another day in the life of Peter Parker, called Spider-Man.
