By Midge Wood
Disclaimer: This story is based off the 2004 Columbia Pictures film "Spider-Man 2," which itself is based off the comic book created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko. The characters and situations are being used without their permission. No money is being made off this story.
Author's Note: Contains spoilers for "Spider-Man 2." Special thanks to beta and fellow geek Apple QB, who I heart, ancarett, who said this fic was "great" (blush), and hymnia for her insightful review. :)
I remember that hot day in New York City like it was yesterday. It was so hot that soft drinks looked nasty to everyone but us kids. Water bottles were the hottest thing on the market, and more than a fair share of venders were cashing in on people's thirst. I had five bucks to spend on a hot dog and soda. My parents had given my little brother some cash, too. As long as I didn't get us lost and came back to the designated spot at the designated time, we could buy as many hot dogs and sodas as we wanted to.
Well, as much as we liked the idea of having a free reign around the city for fifteen minutes, we didn't want to get our parents angry, so we found the closest hot dog stand and waited in the long line like the good boys we were. Course, my little brother complained the whole way through, but he knew just as much as I did that waiting was better than getting lost. One thing I couldn't blame him for complaining about was the guy standing ahead of us. I wanted to complain about him, myself. Every time I moved my head to look at the price list, he moved his in the same direction. I couldn't see past him or his red helmet, so I couldn't find out if I had enough money for a hot dog and soda!
It got to the point where I had to do something drastic: Talk to him. My brother had been begging me to do it for a good minute. So I walked up to the guy and tapped his leg. "Excuse me, Mister?" I said. "Could you tell me what the price of a hot dog and soda is? I can't see the price list from here.
He said, "Sure," and told me the price list, all the while I'm thinking that I'd heard his voice somewhere before. I was trying to put a name to the voice when the guy looked down at me and said something. I didn't move a muscle.
We promised we'd never tell a soul. It'd been hard trying to keep the identity of someone like Spider-Man secret, but like I said, we were responsible kids. We kept our word. But I'll tell you it was hard not to blurt out anything just then, what, with Spider-Man in the flesh standing right in front of my brother and me. It must've been God Himself who kept both of our lips sealed. We just stood there and stared for what must've been a good minute before he asked me if I was all right. I told him, "Yeah.
Then something happened I thought would never happen in a million years: He recognized me. He recognized me. Can you believe it? Out of all the people in the city he saved he recognized me, some kid who happened to do him a favor. Yeah, okay, I guess in hindsight he wouldn't forget the people who stood up for him and tried to protect him that day on the train, but I figured that when you've met and saved so many people you start to forget their faces. That's at least what I was thinking then, so you can only imagine my surprise when he asked if I was "that kid on the train.
If I had it in me to say anything I would have said it. I didn't, so I just nodded like a bobble head in an earthquake. He smiled at me and laughed, like I was a friend of his or something. He asked if I'd told anyone. I shook my head. "Nobody," I said. Then he started looking real funny. He was thinking about something. He looked down at the money in his hand, then looked to me and asked me what I wanted.
I didn't believe it! He was going to buy me food! Before I knew it, I was walking away from the stand with a hot dog and a cold soda, completely flabbergasted. "What about you?" I asked. He said he wasn't hungry. He was going to scoot away on his bicycle when I asked, "Hey! What's your name?
"Peter Parker," he said.
I hesitated for a moment. There was a lot I could have said to him, and in hindsight I wish they all could have come to me at that moment. But all I could say was, "Thank you, Mr. Parker.
"Call me Peter!" he said, and he got on his bicycle and went away. That was the last time either of us saw Peter Parker. We went back to the bench where our parents told us to meet them, smiling like a couple if madmen. And when our parents asked us what we were smiling about, we just shook our heads and told them nothing. Like I said, we were good kids. We didn't tell and never told a soul about Peter Parker.