I watch a spider make its web. It connects the long, white fibers from my
bed to the wall, looking so precariously balanced and yet the spider never
flinches. Slowly but surely it forms the intricate net, knowing every
curve, painstakingly crafting every inch.
Stupid spider. Why go through the trouble when it's never going to make a difference. Doesn't it know that with one swift kick, it's beautifully designed net can be demolished, all that work gone in an instant, and his own life finished without any dignity, without any pride, simply by being stepped on by someone bigger than him?
These are the kinds of thoughts you have in the hospital's psych ward.
They don't trust me with reading material; I might get ideas. They don't let me eat with utensils; I might harm myself. They don't give me as much as a single stick figure to look at. Too afraid I'll start thinking again.
I guess I have to agree with them. I'm so beyond everything that I don't even think I'd recognize a rational thought if I had one.
"Mr. McGinnis?" I glance up. One of the many faceless nurses stands in my doorway. I can't tell any of them apart. They come and go and go and come and I just nod and smile.
"You have a visitor." I resist a groan. Not Molly. Not even Rose. I can't take Molly's constant glare, knowing that she thinks I'm weak, stupid, irrational, and a waste of time. I can't even tolerate Rose's entirely selfless, naïve, and innocent concern for my well being.
To my slight surprise- nothing truly shocks me anymore- A young man enters my room.
"Mr. McGinnis?" He says in one of those college boy accents, slightly cock-sure and slightly unnerved.
Well. Here's some entertainment.
"Do you notice anyone else in the room?" The young man keeps the slight smile on his face, despite my sarcastic attitude.
"I'm Doctor Jake Doyle." He says, with more than a hint of self- righteousness at his title. I stare at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll be your personal psychiatrist." He adds, a bit more hesitantly. I still stare at him. He finally gives up, blows a puff of air up against his brown hair, and seats himself in the chair next to my bed.
"I see from your file that your daughters visit you a lot." He's bright, cheery, trying to boost my spirits. Hah. I'm almost cheered up by the thought that this kid can try as hard as he can but he won't cheer me up.
"Do you visit your father?" I murmur.
"I-"He seems slightly taken aback by the question. "I don't talk to my father." He says father like he's never muttered the word before, as unfamiliar to him as a foreign tongue.
"You should. You might be gone before he gets a chance." Wow. I even sounded insane to myself with that one.
"Mr. McGinnis, I-"
"Terry. I've been called McGinnis enough in my life."
"Terry. We're not here to talk about me." I half want to laugh and half cry for this kid, barely late twenties, trying as hard and pathetically as he can with his obvious first assignment. Too bad he got stuck with me.
"You're absolutely right, Jake. We're here to talk about why I was found slitting my wrists." The fact that I can treat it in such a blasé manner almost frightens me.
Almost.
"So why were you?" Jake replies directly. Even if this kid's nervous and messing up at every turn, he's evidently determined not to let me push him around. Good. Maybe we'll have a coherent conversation then.
Even if his asking was about as graceful as ax-murder.
"No reason. If I had had a good enough reason, I assure you I wouldn't be sitting here." Possibly because the silence in Wayne Manor drove me crazy. Possibly because I'd throw myself out a window if I had to sit through one more meeting with the Wayne-Powers Board of Directors. Possibly I felt the sting of finding myself in a destroyed cave every night out of habit, possibly because I have the memory of my son and my wife following me around everywhere I go.
Nah. No good reason.
Jake Doyle whips out his pad of paper, writing furiously like every word I say is a possible part of my cure.
"I understand your wife died a few months ago." He says, glancing up at me.
"6 months. If you knew her or me, you'd know that I'd never attempt this because of her." Like I'd attempt to kill myself, the greatest weakness in the history of man, over Lydia's death. She wouldn't be waiting for me in heaven. She'd swear at me in Italian for being so ridiculous and sent me straight back down to hell.
"Well I don't know her or you." He replies. I smirk.
The spider crawls towards the open window, ignoring its finely drawn web, going towards bigger things.
"But hopefully I will get to know you Terry." Jake continues. "You've been allowed to go home, but the doctors want you under constant supervision. My supervision."
A strong gust of wind blows through the window, nearly knocks the spider down. Does the spider care? No. Spider keeps on going, keeps crawling on the edge of the window.
"I've heard stories about you, Mr. McGinnis." Jake continues. "How you were the great successor of the legendary Bruce Wayne, how you single- handedly brought his corporation back to its glory days, and all when you were younger than I am."
Spider clings to the edge of the window, realizing now that he can't fight the breeze like he can fight it while in the security of the room, the security of the web.
"I know that you have two daughters, and you had a son. Somehow we'll find out why you've sunk this low."
Spider can't hang on anymore. Keeps trying, if only just a little stronger- Nope. Breeze picks up the spider, tosses him out the window. Gone from his perfectly symmetrical web, lost forever because he could not fight something stronger than him.
"Hmmm?" I murmur, looking back up at Jake. Jake Doyle sputters for a moment, staring back at me.
"That's enough for today. I'll be at Wayne Manor tomorrow afternoon to continue." He finally says, with the dignity of a wronged professional. He gathers up his belongings and exits the room.
I laugh. It starts as that low chuckle that was the only Wayne would emulate, then it grows louder and louder until there's tears running down my cheeks and I'm holding my sides in pain.
Poor kid. He doesn't know there's no saving me. He doesn't know, like I've learned, that there was no way to save Wayne either. Batman's taken over our lives, our souls, sucked every root of ourselves out of us.
Wayne never batted an eyelid when I said he was old, weird, obsessed, cracked up in the head. Probably because he knew that I would end up the exact same way.
Stupid spider. Why go through the trouble when it's never going to make a difference. Doesn't it know that with one swift kick, it's beautifully designed net can be demolished, all that work gone in an instant, and his own life finished without any dignity, without any pride, simply by being stepped on by someone bigger than him?
These are the kinds of thoughts you have in the hospital's psych ward.
They don't trust me with reading material; I might get ideas. They don't let me eat with utensils; I might harm myself. They don't give me as much as a single stick figure to look at. Too afraid I'll start thinking again.
I guess I have to agree with them. I'm so beyond everything that I don't even think I'd recognize a rational thought if I had one.
"Mr. McGinnis?" I glance up. One of the many faceless nurses stands in my doorway. I can't tell any of them apart. They come and go and go and come and I just nod and smile.
"You have a visitor." I resist a groan. Not Molly. Not even Rose. I can't take Molly's constant glare, knowing that she thinks I'm weak, stupid, irrational, and a waste of time. I can't even tolerate Rose's entirely selfless, naïve, and innocent concern for my well being.
To my slight surprise- nothing truly shocks me anymore- A young man enters my room.
"Mr. McGinnis?" He says in one of those college boy accents, slightly cock-sure and slightly unnerved.
Well. Here's some entertainment.
"Do you notice anyone else in the room?" The young man keeps the slight smile on his face, despite my sarcastic attitude.
"I'm Doctor Jake Doyle." He says, with more than a hint of self- righteousness at his title. I stare at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll be your personal psychiatrist." He adds, a bit more hesitantly. I still stare at him. He finally gives up, blows a puff of air up against his brown hair, and seats himself in the chair next to my bed.
"I see from your file that your daughters visit you a lot." He's bright, cheery, trying to boost my spirits. Hah. I'm almost cheered up by the thought that this kid can try as hard as he can but he won't cheer me up.
"Do you visit your father?" I murmur.
"I-"He seems slightly taken aback by the question. "I don't talk to my father." He says father like he's never muttered the word before, as unfamiliar to him as a foreign tongue.
"You should. You might be gone before he gets a chance." Wow. I even sounded insane to myself with that one.
"Mr. McGinnis, I-"
"Terry. I've been called McGinnis enough in my life."
"Terry. We're not here to talk about me." I half want to laugh and half cry for this kid, barely late twenties, trying as hard and pathetically as he can with his obvious first assignment. Too bad he got stuck with me.
"You're absolutely right, Jake. We're here to talk about why I was found slitting my wrists." The fact that I can treat it in such a blasé manner almost frightens me.
Almost.
"So why were you?" Jake replies directly. Even if this kid's nervous and messing up at every turn, he's evidently determined not to let me push him around. Good. Maybe we'll have a coherent conversation then.
Even if his asking was about as graceful as ax-murder.
"No reason. If I had had a good enough reason, I assure you I wouldn't be sitting here." Possibly because the silence in Wayne Manor drove me crazy. Possibly because I'd throw myself out a window if I had to sit through one more meeting with the Wayne-Powers Board of Directors. Possibly I felt the sting of finding myself in a destroyed cave every night out of habit, possibly because I have the memory of my son and my wife following me around everywhere I go.
Nah. No good reason.
Jake Doyle whips out his pad of paper, writing furiously like every word I say is a possible part of my cure.
"I understand your wife died a few months ago." He says, glancing up at me.
"6 months. If you knew her or me, you'd know that I'd never attempt this because of her." Like I'd attempt to kill myself, the greatest weakness in the history of man, over Lydia's death. She wouldn't be waiting for me in heaven. She'd swear at me in Italian for being so ridiculous and sent me straight back down to hell.
"Well I don't know her or you." He replies. I smirk.
The spider crawls towards the open window, ignoring its finely drawn web, going towards bigger things.
"But hopefully I will get to know you Terry." Jake continues. "You've been allowed to go home, but the doctors want you under constant supervision. My supervision."
A strong gust of wind blows through the window, nearly knocks the spider down. Does the spider care? No. Spider keeps on going, keeps crawling on the edge of the window.
"I've heard stories about you, Mr. McGinnis." Jake continues. "How you were the great successor of the legendary Bruce Wayne, how you single- handedly brought his corporation back to its glory days, and all when you were younger than I am."
Spider clings to the edge of the window, realizing now that he can't fight the breeze like he can fight it while in the security of the room, the security of the web.
"I know that you have two daughters, and you had a son. Somehow we'll find out why you've sunk this low."
Spider can't hang on anymore. Keeps trying, if only just a little stronger- Nope. Breeze picks up the spider, tosses him out the window. Gone from his perfectly symmetrical web, lost forever because he could not fight something stronger than him.
"Hmmm?" I murmur, looking back up at Jake. Jake Doyle sputters for a moment, staring back at me.
"That's enough for today. I'll be at Wayne Manor tomorrow afternoon to continue." He finally says, with the dignity of a wronged professional. He gathers up his belongings and exits the room.
I laugh. It starts as that low chuckle that was the only Wayne would emulate, then it grows louder and louder until there's tears running down my cheeks and I'm holding my sides in pain.
Poor kid. He doesn't know there's no saving me. He doesn't know, like I've learned, that there was no way to save Wayne either. Batman's taken over our lives, our souls, sucked every root of ourselves out of us.
Wayne never batted an eyelid when I said he was old, weird, obsessed, cracked up in the head. Probably because he knew that I would end up the exact same way.