Everyday I think about Ben.
It's not like I can't handle the fact that he's dead. We all have to die. We're all mortal, even me, like I found out last night. It hurt a little more that he chose to die, but I can even accept that.
It's a bit harder to get over the fact that it was my fault and I could have prevented it.
I sit in the living room, staring off at some abstract spot on the floor, feeling the silence of the house and hearing my own thoughts much too clearly.
Coming close to dying made me wonder how the hell Ben could do it. Standing on the top of a building, that Gotham wind blowing around him, almost threatening to toss him off whether he wanted to jump or not. Looking down over the edge and seeing the great mass of pavement and tiny little people, feeling the height and danger of where he was.
Hearing nothing in his ears but the screams of his parents and the smack of his father's hand hitting his mother's face.
And then to go up to the edge and simply take that final step that made that mass of pavement come rushing up to meet you- how could Ben have brought himself to do it?
I could have so easily prevented it. If I had kept it together, not pushed him into Robin, causing the last great fight Lydia and I would ever have, the fight that would end Ben forever.
But I was too concerned with the fact that Lydia messed up Robin, and consequently messed up Batman. It wasn't so much me that was upset with her. Batman, however, was enraged.
It sets one thought into my head, one that I could spend the rest of my life mulling over.
If I wasn't Batman, would my son have lived?
"Terry?" I look up. Lydia stands over me, grinning.
"Daydreaming again. How's your shoulder?" I try to ignore the stiffness in it, the fact that I can barely move it and smile at her.
"It's nothing Lyd. I've had worse." Lyd rolls her eyes and sits down next to me.
"Worse. You have your own definitions of what's bad and what's worse, and they don't come close to anyone else's."
"Neither do yours." I reply quickly. You have to be quick with her if you want to get a word in. She gives me that old glance she always gives when she underestimates me and leans her head on my shoulder.
"Every time I see you you're sitting somewhere, staring into space. And I doubt the sections of the wall or floor that you keep your eyes on are that interesting. What's going on in that head of yours?" Lydia's sole purpose now that she's older and realized that she has a perfectly good family is to try and take charge of everyone in it. Sometimes she sounds like my mom when she talks to me rather than my wife.
"I'm thinking. Or daydreaming if you want to call it that." Lydia rubs her finger on the gray areas of my hair, like they're specks of dirt that she can wipe away with her hand.
"What do you think about?" She says more softly, more in that confidential tone that you can't have with your mom.
"What I've done." Lydia narrows her eyes.
"You sound like a man who's condemned to die. You haven't done anything." Eh. I guess not. Only saved thousands of people daily from inevitable destruction, led a falling, corrupted international corporation back to its glory days, and raised a family.
"I mean the choices I've made. Or choices I haven't made."
"What are you talking about, Terry?" Lydia says, sitting up.
"I'm wondering if I've ever made my own choices, or if they've all been made for me." I feel the lost dreams, the unwanted realities trying to rile me into feeling sorry for myself. Lydia frowns.
"You have regrets?" She says in Italian. Lydia never once cared whether or not I understood what she was saying in her language. She would just say what she wanted to, and I could either learn to understand or ignore it.
Over the years I learned to understand.
"No, not regrets."
"But you wonder what might have been. What kind of a life you could have, if only certain things had not happened." It sounds so horrible and ungrateful when she says it, makes me out to be a brooding child that hates everything around him and was forced into all of it.
But I can't help it. If I hadn't taken the 49% at Wayne-Powers, if I hadn't continued being Batman, if I had quit, what would I be doing today? Where would Lydia and I be?
Would Ben still be with us?
"This isn't you. You've never given any of this a second glance or a moment's hesitation. Why are you so worried about it now?" Lydia says, watching as my eyes wander back to that familiar spot on the floor.
"I don't know Lyd. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I should have given it all a second glance. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to forget everything except what Mr. Wayne would have wanted." Lydia leans back on the couch, running her fingers through her hair.
"It's a little late for this midlife crisis, isn't it McGinnis?" It's easy for her to say. It only took the death of her son to make her get over the giant hurdling post in her life.
"It's not a midlife crisis. It's realizing what I couldn't when I was younger."
"You talk like you're a hundred years old." Lydia replies softly.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm a hundred years old." I answer back.
"You have a family Terry." This is the most important thing to her. And if I have a family, she can't possibly see a reason why I would be unhappy. Lydia takes my hand, studying it like the fantastically interesting relics she dug up for years in remote corners of the globe. "Your dreams were always to live up to what people expected of you. You wanted to be the good kid your parents wanted, to be the flawless Batman Wayne wanted. You've accomplished both. You're doing what you love." I get up from the couch and walk towards the window.
Gotham City seems like it never saw a day of sunlight. Like it lives perpetually in rain and darkness. The thunder and lightning outside, despite the fact that it's only 2 o' clock just proves my point.
"That's just it, Lyd." I reply, watching the rain fall.
"I'm not so sure that I love it."
It's not like I can't handle the fact that he's dead. We all have to die. We're all mortal, even me, like I found out last night. It hurt a little more that he chose to die, but I can even accept that.
It's a bit harder to get over the fact that it was my fault and I could have prevented it.
I sit in the living room, staring off at some abstract spot on the floor, feeling the silence of the house and hearing my own thoughts much too clearly.
Coming close to dying made me wonder how the hell Ben could do it. Standing on the top of a building, that Gotham wind blowing around him, almost threatening to toss him off whether he wanted to jump or not. Looking down over the edge and seeing the great mass of pavement and tiny little people, feeling the height and danger of where he was.
Hearing nothing in his ears but the screams of his parents and the smack of his father's hand hitting his mother's face.
And then to go up to the edge and simply take that final step that made that mass of pavement come rushing up to meet you- how could Ben have brought himself to do it?
I could have so easily prevented it. If I had kept it together, not pushed him into Robin, causing the last great fight Lydia and I would ever have, the fight that would end Ben forever.
But I was too concerned with the fact that Lydia messed up Robin, and consequently messed up Batman. It wasn't so much me that was upset with her. Batman, however, was enraged.
It sets one thought into my head, one that I could spend the rest of my life mulling over.
If I wasn't Batman, would my son have lived?
"Terry?" I look up. Lydia stands over me, grinning.
"Daydreaming again. How's your shoulder?" I try to ignore the stiffness in it, the fact that I can barely move it and smile at her.
"It's nothing Lyd. I've had worse." Lyd rolls her eyes and sits down next to me.
"Worse. You have your own definitions of what's bad and what's worse, and they don't come close to anyone else's."
"Neither do yours." I reply quickly. You have to be quick with her if you want to get a word in. She gives me that old glance she always gives when she underestimates me and leans her head on my shoulder.
"Every time I see you you're sitting somewhere, staring into space. And I doubt the sections of the wall or floor that you keep your eyes on are that interesting. What's going on in that head of yours?" Lydia's sole purpose now that she's older and realized that she has a perfectly good family is to try and take charge of everyone in it. Sometimes she sounds like my mom when she talks to me rather than my wife.
"I'm thinking. Or daydreaming if you want to call it that." Lydia rubs her finger on the gray areas of my hair, like they're specks of dirt that she can wipe away with her hand.
"What do you think about?" She says more softly, more in that confidential tone that you can't have with your mom.
"What I've done." Lydia narrows her eyes.
"You sound like a man who's condemned to die. You haven't done anything." Eh. I guess not. Only saved thousands of people daily from inevitable destruction, led a falling, corrupted international corporation back to its glory days, and raised a family.
"I mean the choices I've made. Or choices I haven't made."
"What are you talking about, Terry?" Lydia says, sitting up.
"I'm wondering if I've ever made my own choices, or if they've all been made for me." I feel the lost dreams, the unwanted realities trying to rile me into feeling sorry for myself. Lydia frowns.
"You have regrets?" She says in Italian. Lydia never once cared whether or not I understood what she was saying in her language. She would just say what she wanted to, and I could either learn to understand or ignore it.
Over the years I learned to understand.
"No, not regrets."
"But you wonder what might have been. What kind of a life you could have, if only certain things had not happened." It sounds so horrible and ungrateful when she says it, makes me out to be a brooding child that hates everything around him and was forced into all of it.
But I can't help it. If I hadn't taken the 49% at Wayne-Powers, if I hadn't continued being Batman, if I had quit, what would I be doing today? Where would Lydia and I be?
Would Ben still be with us?
"This isn't you. You've never given any of this a second glance or a moment's hesitation. Why are you so worried about it now?" Lydia says, watching as my eyes wander back to that familiar spot on the floor.
"I don't know Lyd. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I should have given it all a second glance. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to forget everything except what Mr. Wayne would have wanted." Lydia leans back on the couch, running her fingers through her hair.
"It's a little late for this midlife crisis, isn't it McGinnis?" It's easy for her to say. It only took the death of her son to make her get over the giant hurdling post in her life.
"It's not a midlife crisis. It's realizing what I couldn't when I was younger."
"You talk like you're a hundred years old." Lydia replies softly.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm a hundred years old." I answer back.
"You have a family Terry." This is the most important thing to her. And if I have a family, she can't possibly see a reason why I would be unhappy. Lydia takes my hand, studying it like the fantastically interesting relics she dug up for years in remote corners of the globe. "Your dreams were always to live up to what people expected of you. You wanted to be the good kid your parents wanted, to be the flawless Batman Wayne wanted. You've accomplished both. You're doing what you love." I get up from the couch and walk towards the window.
Gotham City seems like it never saw a day of sunlight. Like it lives perpetually in rain and darkness. The thunder and lightning outside, despite the fact that it's only 2 o' clock just proves my point.
"That's just it, Lyd." I reply, watching the rain fall.
"I'm not so sure that I love it."