Seems like I spend half of my time in graveyards.
I'm either watching someone get buried, or visiting someone who was buried.
But I should be used to it by now. Hell, I've been visiting this particular grave for 35 years.
"I still don't understand why you want to do this every year." Lydia murmurs. "He's probably laughing at you right now for standing over a pile of dirt and mourning him." Lydia shares the same distaste for cemeteries that Ben did.
Ben might be laughing at me, but it's never going to stop me from making my yearly visit.
I stare at the gravestone for a second more, then stand up and turn to Lydia.
"We can go now." Lydia wipes a strand of gray hair out of her face and pulls her coat tighter around her.
"We have to meet the girls soon anyways." I follow her to the car and we go back to Wayne Manor. Somehow the old castle is still standing up, even though it's seen centuries of death, bad weather, and just plain use.
Eh. I've seen just as much and I'm still standing, even at the ripe age of 65.
"Where have you guys been?" For a second I try to figure out which one of my daughters said it, but then I listen to the demanding quality of the voice and I know immediately that it's Molly.
"Out." Lydia responds. Molly doesn't question it. She and Lydia think on the same wavelength, whatever wavelength that might be.
"I'll take your coat, Dad." Rose, my other daughter, says, rushing over to take it off for me.
Sometimes I don't know where Rose came from. She might be Molly's twin, but she's about as different from Molly as a person could get. She's nothing like Lydia and she's nothing like me. Nothing about Rose is any kind of human quality. She's like some angel who decided to grace our dysfunctional family with her presence.
They're both 34 by now, and I've missed the majority of their lives too. This time around, though, Lydia wasn't on me everyday about it. And I made sure it wasn't everyday too.
"Take a seat." I murmur. Rose immediately does so, but Molly roams around the room, inspecting things like she hasn't spent half of her life in this house.
"How's the baby?" Lydia murmurs. Rose smiles down shyly at her stomach.
"Fine."
"And your husband?" Rose blushes. Sometimes she acts like she's fifteen.
"He's fine too." Molly laughs loudly and unexpectedly.
"And what about your-" Lydia pauses, searching for a word. She decides not to finish, her eyes narrowing. Molly glares out the window.
"I don't need him and neither does Warren." The name of her son was about the only thing Molly decided to take from her family. Lydia glances at me, shaking her head. We only recognize our own faults when we see them in someone else.
"Why wouldn't Warren need his father?" Rose asks, staring at Molly. Molly stares back for a minute, then starts laughing again.
Rose is naïve and selfless. She married someone naïve and selfless, and her children will be naïve and selfless. But I love her because she's the embodiment of what I fight to protect.
Molly, on the other hand, didn't marry, probably never will, and rejected Warren's father as soon as he made one mistake.
"So, Dad, I saw Batman make another triumphant victory last night." Molly says, making a swift change of subject, a devilish look in her eye.
We decided the hell with hiding Batman: they would have found out at some point anyways. But we both resolved- me included- that neither one was allowed to have any part of it. Which was fine with them. Rose hates violence even if it's in the name of justice and Molly just thinks the entire thing is the wrong way to go about catching criminals.
Wayne would have thought they were uncooperative, stubborn women. I think they're both half-right.
"I wouldn't call it triumphant. Routine, maybe."
"Don't you think you're a little old to still be playing that game?" Molly says.
Game? There's nothing playful about that job.
"I almost got hit by a couple of stray bullets. I wouldn't call it a game." Molly sighs, about to launch into her tirade about the absurdity of it all.
"You wear a costume, Dad. You fly around like you're half bat and break the law more than the criminals you catch do. What's worse, you act like you enjoy getting the crap beaten out of you every night and try to get us to be glad that you do."
Sometimes Molly irritates me because she's exactly like Lydia used to be.
"Well don't worry. You don't have to be glad for me and you'll never have to be involved." I sigh.
"And I don't want Warren involved either. Don't you try and lure him in with your exciting tales of adventure and crime." Molly adds, half- jokingly. I find myself glaring at the floor because I can't bring myself to glare at her.
They don't know how Ben died. They don't know that he was Robin. All they know is that they had a wonderful older brother, and he died tragically, but we never told them just how.
"I'll never try to make anyone live that life. Ever." I answer in a low voice, and even though Molly never thinks she's wrong, she senses that perhaps she's said the wrong thing.
An uncomfortable moment of silence passes.
"Well, we'll see you at the end of the week." Rose says softly. She doesn't say much, but when she does it's exactly what's needed to be said. They both rise and exit the house. Lydia moves closer to me on the couch.
"Maybe we should tell them." I shake my head.
"No. They wouldn't understand."
"He made the choice to be Robin Terry. You didn't make it for him." Lydia says the word 'him' like its some higher being, the way priests talk when they speak about God- always capitalized.
"I know." I reply, getting up to go down to the cave, to begin another night of dressing up in a costume and running around acting like I'm half-bat.
But I just lied to Lydia. I don't know that I didn't make the choice for him.
I don't even know that I made the choice for myself.
I'm either watching someone get buried, or visiting someone who was buried.
But I should be used to it by now. Hell, I've been visiting this particular grave for 35 years.
"I still don't understand why you want to do this every year." Lydia murmurs. "He's probably laughing at you right now for standing over a pile of dirt and mourning him." Lydia shares the same distaste for cemeteries that Ben did.
Ben might be laughing at me, but it's never going to stop me from making my yearly visit.
I stare at the gravestone for a second more, then stand up and turn to Lydia.
"We can go now." Lydia wipes a strand of gray hair out of her face and pulls her coat tighter around her.
"We have to meet the girls soon anyways." I follow her to the car and we go back to Wayne Manor. Somehow the old castle is still standing up, even though it's seen centuries of death, bad weather, and just plain use.
Eh. I've seen just as much and I'm still standing, even at the ripe age of 65.
"Where have you guys been?" For a second I try to figure out which one of my daughters said it, but then I listen to the demanding quality of the voice and I know immediately that it's Molly.
"Out." Lydia responds. Molly doesn't question it. She and Lydia think on the same wavelength, whatever wavelength that might be.
"I'll take your coat, Dad." Rose, my other daughter, says, rushing over to take it off for me.
Sometimes I don't know where Rose came from. She might be Molly's twin, but she's about as different from Molly as a person could get. She's nothing like Lydia and she's nothing like me. Nothing about Rose is any kind of human quality. She's like some angel who decided to grace our dysfunctional family with her presence.
They're both 34 by now, and I've missed the majority of their lives too. This time around, though, Lydia wasn't on me everyday about it. And I made sure it wasn't everyday too.
"Take a seat." I murmur. Rose immediately does so, but Molly roams around the room, inspecting things like she hasn't spent half of her life in this house.
"How's the baby?" Lydia murmurs. Rose smiles down shyly at her stomach.
"Fine."
"And your husband?" Rose blushes. Sometimes she acts like she's fifteen.
"He's fine too." Molly laughs loudly and unexpectedly.
"And what about your-" Lydia pauses, searching for a word. She decides not to finish, her eyes narrowing. Molly glares out the window.
"I don't need him and neither does Warren." The name of her son was about the only thing Molly decided to take from her family. Lydia glances at me, shaking her head. We only recognize our own faults when we see them in someone else.
"Why wouldn't Warren need his father?" Rose asks, staring at Molly. Molly stares back for a minute, then starts laughing again.
Rose is naïve and selfless. She married someone naïve and selfless, and her children will be naïve and selfless. But I love her because she's the embodiment of what I fight to protect.
Molly, on the other hand, didn't marry, probably never will, and rejected Warren's father as soon as he made one mistake.
"So, Dad, I saw Batman make another triumphant victory last night." Molly says, making a swift change of subject, a devilish look in her eye.
We decided the hell with hiding Batman: they would have found out at some point anyways. But we both resolved- me included- that neither one was allowed to have any part of it. Which was fine with them. Rose hates violence even if it's in the name of justice and Molly just thinks the entire thing is the wrong way to go about catching criminals.
Wayne would have thought they were uncooperative, stubborn women. I think they're both half-right.
"I wouldn't call it triumphant. Routine, maybe."
"Don't you think you're a little old to still be playing that game?" Molly says.
Game? There's nothing playful about that job.
"I almost got hit by a couple of stray bullets. I wouldn't call it a game." Molly sighs, about to launch into her tirade about the absurdity of it all.
"You wear a costume, Dad. You fly around like you're half bat and break the law more than the criminals you catch do. What's worse, you act like you enjoy getting the crap beaten out of you every night and try to get us to be glad that you do."
Sometimes Molly irritates me because she's exactly like Lydia used to be.
"Well don't worry. You don't have to be glad for me and you'll never have to be involved." I sigh.
"And I don't want Warren involved either. Don't you try and lure him in with your exciting tales of adventure and crime." Molly adds, half- jokingly. I find myself glaring at the floor because I can't bring myself to glare at her.
They don't know how Ben died. They don't know that he was Robin. All they know is that they had a wonderful older brother, and he died tragically, but we never told them just how.
"I'll never try to make anyone live that life. Ever." I answer in a low voice, and even though Molly never thinks she's wrong, she senses that perhaps she's said the wrong thing.
An uncomfortable moment of silence passes.
"Well, we'll see you at the end of the week." Rose says softly. She doesn't say much, but when she does it's exactly what's needed to be said. They both rise and exit the house. Lydia moves closer to me on the couch.
"Maybe we should tell them." I shake my head.
"No. They wouldn't understand."
"He made the choice to be Robin Terry. You didn't make it for him." Lydia says the word 'him' like its some higher being, the way priests talk when they speak about God- always capitalized.
"I know." I reply, getting up to go down to the cave, to begin another night of dressing up in a costume and running around acting like I'm half-bat.
But I just lied to Lydia. I don't know that I didn't make the choice for him.
I don't even know that I made the choice for myself.