For a second I want to yell back at the kid to mind his own business. What
the hell does it matter that I was Batman? I'm not anymore.
It takes a minute for the fact that this kid I've barely met KNOWS I was Batman. I feel the first degrees of shock ripple through my body.
How does this college doctor know my deepest secret? He can't possibly be as intuitive as all that.
More importantly, just what does he want out of it?
Just lie. Play dumb, stupid, withering old man and pretend you have no idea what he's talking about.
I take in a deep breath and turn around.
"What?"
"You heard me. That's got to be the reason you've degenerated into this." He says disgustedly. Oh no. Not an idol. I can't stand that hero worship, that ignorant reverence people hold for a guy who dresses up and spends every night beating up criminals.
That and his tone has a certain degree of disappointment, like his idol wasn't what he expected him to be.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not Batman." It's technically not a lie. I'm not. Not anymore.
"You were."
"Just where did you gather this conclusion from?"
"I did my senior thesis on Batman, Mr. McGinnis. With today's technology and the right amount of persistence, it's not too hard to trace things back to where they came from." Jake replies.
For a second I feel the self-loathing that comes when you know you've failed yet again.
Wayne rarely ever worried about being found out because he rarely ever was. How is it that there are nearly ten times more that know about me? What do I do wrong? How is it that people can find out my secret so much more easily than Wayne's?
I guess the number of mistakes I made in my youth doesn't help.
I stand in silence for a second, wondering whether to keep up the farce of lying to the kid or to just admit it so I can figure out what he wants and get rid of him.
I choose the latter. What's one more going to hurt when I've already given up being Batman?
"What is it that you want, Jake?" He senses my guard going down and walks over to me.
"When I heard that you were in the hospital, I took the assignment because I knew I could help you." Why can't this kid realize that he can't help me?
"You don't go out there anymore." Jake continues. "Why not? You're not that old."
"Why do you care? What's your big stake in what Batman does?"
"Batman's protected this city for over a hundred years. People feel that it's safe to walk the streets. He stands for everything good in this world, the good that people die for, live for. He's the crutch this city stands on. If he disappears, the city will fall again." I try the best I can to contain my laughter, but it starts to break out, in little spasmodic bursts and then back into that holding-your-sides-and-crying roar.
Poor kid. Poor, stupid, misguided kid.
I was like him once. Full of that same heroism and awe of Batman. Then I learned that being Batman meant that you would sacrifice everything, gain nothing, lose what you loved most, and in the end die alone.
Sacrifices like that make you forget the hero worship pretty quickly.
Jake stands, anger growing in his face, but saying nothing, waiting for me to stop laughing.
"You don't understand, Jake. You can't possibly understand." I say in between laughs.
"No, I don't understand. You had no reason to quit. You had no right to quit, to leave the city just hanging like that in a gigantic crime wave. You were Batman, the protector of millions. People looked up to you. It was your duty to protect them. And now look at you. Just some blithering old man feeling sorry for himself." For a second I get that primeval sense of rage that I had in the cave a couple months ago. The cold, unreasoning strength that could make me tear this kid limb from limb, bury his body in the yard, and then go out to lunch with my daughters. How dare he?
I decide to refrain from killing him and instead whirl around, sensing how red my face has already gotten.
"What right do YOU have to come in here and lecture ME about duty? To tell me that I have a responsibility to millions of STRANGERS, that despite whatever happens in my life, I'm supposed to just press on and keep fighting a battle that will never be won? Where do you get the balls to tell me that I have no right to quit? You don't know where I've been, Jake! You have no idea what hell is like!" This all I scream, bellow, shriek into his face at a volume that could possibly wake the dead. The kid doesn't move. He looks scared, frightened out of his mind, but he doesn't move.
I shouldn't be yelling at him. The kid doesn't know any better. How could he know? How could I know, back when I was 17, that one day I would degenerate into THIS?
I sit back down on the couch, rubbing my temples.
"Why would you quit?" Jake repeats, his voice hoarse and cracking at first.
"It takes everything away from you, Jake. My wife, my son, any ambitions I might have had, my entire life was consumed by it."
I feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: half of me is shaking its head in shame, wondering the eternal question; What Would Wayne Do? You're ruining the trust he placed in you.
The other half is beating its brother to death, screaming over and over; Who Gives A Damn What Wayne Would Have Done? He left a horrible, horrible curse for you to live out until you die.
"Didn't it make you feel like you were helping someone? Didn't it make your life worthwhile?" This kid is too blind. I'll have to tell him the story. He'll have to know, and then maybe he won't fall into the same trap.
I sigh.
"It took everything worthwhile from me."
It takes a minute for the fact that this kid I've barely met KNOWS I was Batman. I feel the first degrees of shock ripple through my body.
How does this college doctor know my deepest secret? He can't possibly be as intuitive as all that.
More importantly, just what does he want out of it?
Just lie. Play dumb, stupid, withering old man and pretend you have no idea what he's talking about.
I take in a deep breath and turn around.
"What?"
"You heard me. That's got to be the reason you've degenerated into this." He says disgustedly. Oh no. Not an idol. I can't stand that hero worship, that ignorant reverence people hold for a guy who dresses up and spends every night beating up criminals.
That and his tone has a certain degree of disappointment, like his idol wasn't what he expected him to be.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not Batman." It's technically not a lie. I'm not. Not anymore.
"You were."
"Just where did you gather this conclusion from?"
"I did my senior thesis on Batman, Mr. McGinnis. With today's technology and the right amount of persistence, it's not too hard to trace things back to where they came from." Jake replies.
For a second I feel the self-loathing that comes when you know you've failed yet again.
Wayne rarely ever worried about being found out because he rarely ever was. How is it that there are nearly ten times more that know about me? What do I do wrong? How is it that people can find out my secret so much more easily than Wayne's?
I guess the number of mistakes I made in my youth doesn't help.
I stand in silence for a second, wondering whether to keep up the farce of lying to the kid or to just admit it so I can figure out what he wants and get rid of him.
I choose the latter. What's one more going to hurt when I've already given up being Batman?
"What is it that you want, Jake?" He senses my guard going down and walks over to me.
"When I heard that you were in the hospital, I took the assignment because I knew I could help you." Why can't this kid realize that he can't help me?
"You don't go out there anymore." Jake continues. "Why not? You're not that old."
"Why do you care? What's your big stake in what Batman does?"
"Batman's protected this city for over a hundred years. People feel that it's safe to walk the streets. He stands for everything good in this world, the good that people die for, live for. He's the crutch this city stands on. If he disappears, the city will fall again." I try the best I can to contain my laughter, but it starts to break out, in little spasmodic bursts and then back into that holding-your-sides-and-crying roar.
Poor kid. Poor, stupid, misguided kid.
I was like him once. Full of that same heroism and awe of Batman. Then I learned that being Batman meant that you would sacrifice everything, gain nothing, lose what you loved most, and in the end die alone.
Sacrifices like that make you forget the hero worship pretty quickly.
Jake stands, anger growing in his face, but saying nothing, waiting for me to stop laughing.
"You don't understand, Jake. You can't possibly understand." I say in between laughs.
"No, I don't understand. You had no reason to quit. You had no right to quit, to leave the city just hanging like that in a gigantic crime wave. You were Batman, the protector of millions. People looked up to you. It was your duty to protect them. And now look at you. Just some blithering old man feeling sorry for himself." For a second I get that primeval sense of rage that I had in the cave a couple months ago. The cold, unreasoning strength that could make me tear this kid limb from limb, bury his body in the yard, and then go out to lunch with my daughters. How dare he?
I decide to refrain from killing him and instead whirl around, sensing how red my face has already gotten.
"What right do YOU have to come in here and lecture ME about duty? To tell me that I have a responsibility to millions of STRANGERS, that despite whatever happens in my life, I'm supposed to just press on and keep fighting a battle that will never be won? Where do you get the balls to tell me that I have no right to quit? You don't know where I've been, Jake! You have no idea what hell is like!" This all I scream, bellow, shriek into his face at a volume that could possibly wake the dead. The kid doesn't move. He looks scared, frightened out of his mind, but he doesn't move.
I shouldn't be yelling at him. The kid doesn't know any better. How could he know? How could I know, back when I was 17, that one day I would degenerate into THIS?
I sit back down on the couch, rubbing my temples.
"Why would you quit?" Jake repeats, his voice hoarse and cracking at first.
"It takes everything away from you, Jake. My wife, my son, any ambitions I might have had, my entire life was consumed by it."
I feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: half of me is shaking its head in shame, wondering the eternal question; What Would Wayne Do? You're ruining the trust he placed in you.
The other half is beating its brother to death, screaming over and over; Who Gives A Damn What Wayne Would Have Done? He left a horrible, horrible curse for you to live out until you die.
"Didn't it make you feel like you were helping someone? Didn't it make your life worthwhile?" This kid is too blind. I'll have to tell him the story. He'll have to know, and then maybe he won't fall into the same trap.
I sigh.
"It took everything worthwhile from me."