Author's Note: More.
Progress
Amber and I are skating through Gotham Central Park. It is a hospitable day for such a physical activity, although her insistence we hold hands and navigate the park in tandem makes it more difficult. She is not unskilled at the discipline, but is remarkably slow. In the time it has taken us to perform one loop, I could have easily managed four at my usual speed. Still, Alfred has advised me to appease her since it is the gentlemanly thing to do. So I am doing so, barely. Mercifully, she stops when we reach the next available bench. We sit and watch other patrons cycle and waddle their way past us. Then she speaks.
"So, I'm guessing I'm your first girlfriend then?" I look at her in bewilderment.
"Girlfriend? Do you believe us to be courting one another in such a fashion?" Her reaction of frowning at me suggests displeasure.
"What did you think this was?"
"I thought we were simply friends. When did this turn into something more…romantic?" I do not believe such a word has ever willingly passed my lips. Even now, I am loathe to express such drivel aloud. She raises her eyebrows in surprise, leaving me more bewildered. I cannot imagine what passes through her mind from one moment to the next: the lack of predictable behaviour baffles me.
"Like three or four dates ago? You have noticed we're holding hands a lot more and always kiss each other goodbye, right?"
"I thought you merely suffered from acute vertigo and needed constant support. Aren't I too young for you?"
"The difference is less than eighteen months and, for an eleven-year-old, you're really mature…and sweet."
"But I do not even attend your school."
"If you went to Bristol, I'd probably never talk to you. There's just too much pressure to ignore you in a place like that. Here, we can just be honest…and ourselves. If you don't want to be my boyfriend…"
"I'm not sexually experienced…"
"Oh, and I am? Jeez, relationships aren't all about sex, Damian. At our age, they're really not supposed to be. That all comes later. Sometimes a lot later. So do you want the gig or not?" I am unsure how to articulate a response to such an ultimatum. This territory is all so alien to me. Still, I try to say something.
"I…I never thought…a girl would ask me to be her partner…"
"Boyfriend, Dami, boyfriend's the word. And of course I'd ask you: you're a great guy. Smart and witty and cute…with a kickass body to boot. Heh, I made it rhyme too. That means we should at least try it for a while."
"I fear I would only disappoint you, Amber. Sexual inexperience notwithstanding, I am still somewhat lacking when it comes to the emotions of others."
"Do you want me to make this into a challenge? Would giving you a goal help? Like, I dare you to go out with me for a month. If you don't stick it out, you have to sing in your underwear in front of parents while we're having lunch. If you do manage the month, I'll sing in my underwear for you. Does that help?" I never take the threat of humiliation lightly, no matter the source or the cause. I am not losing such a contest, particularly with a prize like that. My bewilderment at the situation subsides with the introduction of familiar ground. If I only need to be her…boyfriend for a month to earn such an accolade, I can do so. I nod my head.
"Actually, yes. We have a wager. One month." I say offering my hand. She rolls her eyes and grins.
"In this century we call it a bet, but sure…" She shakes my hand, "game on."
When I return home, I seek out my father for advice. I find him in his study upstairs, perusing some financial report or other and making handwritten notes in the columns. For a billionaire, his attention to detail with regards to his company is admirable. He looks up when I enter the room, frowning slightly.
"We agreed you would knock before entering my father's study, son." His persistence on protocol is grating. However, I am willing to apologise if it means obtaining counsel. I incline my head.
"I am sorry, Father. I have an announcement to make." The old man's reaction of putting his documents to one side so all his focus is on me is somewhat daunting. But I am Damian Wayne and I push forward. "I have a girlfriend, Father. Amber is…now my girlfriend." Father smiles in lieu of a verbal response. He nods his head and brings his hands together on the desktop.
"That's wonderful, son. Have you told Alfred?"
"No. I have a question."
"Yes?" He invites me to take a seat in front of the desk. I do so reluctantly.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
"In terms of moving forward?"
"Yes. How should I proceed now we are…an item, I believe the expression is here."
"In my experience the general practice is to continue as before. Romantic relationships naturally mature into deeper attachments as they progress. Try not to feel pressured into more intimate behaviour now you have the label of being a couple. Often such actions only end in disappointment or a breakdown in the relationship itself." He says, speaking from a point of obvious experience in the field I can only imagine. My curiosity is piqued.
"How many women have you dated, Father?"
"Numbers are unimportant. Just know that I speak from experience, both good and bad, and that I want what's best for you." He mulls on something briefly. "Embrace what you have with her now. Don't savour it only when it's too late." He offers with an ominous tone I feel is unwarranted. I clear my throat.
"We are not planning to marry, Father. She is just my girlfriend…for the time being." I state in clear terms for him. He holds up a hand in apology.
"Yes perhaps I was somewhat…strong in my sentiment just now. It's just that I…have often found myself lamenting things that should not have been left unsaid…at the end." I have the distinct impression he is not simply speaking of romantic entanglements: he is talking of all his relationships. I understand his concerns. I am his son: I would not want the same…oversights to cost me similar misfortunes. Still, that is for the future. I am eleven, not old like him or desiccated like Alfred.
"Can we agree that my problems and yours differ, Father? You may have difficulty maintaining relationships, but you can always salvage them, no matter the damage. However my problem is less than earthshattering. But I appreciate your advice. May I be excused?" I say. He gestures to the door.
"At your leisure." He has returned to his financial reports before I have exited the room. I linger at the door for a minute and watch him. He continues with his work for a few moments and then realises I am still here. He looks at me with a frown. "Is everything alright, Son?"
"You said I could leave at my leisure, Father. Is this too relaxed a pace for you?"
"No. You are just not known to linger when you have things to accomplish."
"I don't like when you adopt a morose attitude…and are alone. It…worries me." Father's eyebrows raise in more than mild surprise following this. It is evident he did not expect concern from me regarding his mental health. It is something of a surprise to myself, one of many I am finding in the past few weeks: until now, I considered his mental state akin to a block of granite.
"I'm not alone or morose, Son, merely factual in what I said to you. But I appreciate your concern." He says. I believe I just experienced what is known colloquially as having 'chills' up and down my spine. We are more alike than I thought. "Until later, Damian." He says after a few moments of awkward silence between us.
"Until later, Father."
I am back at the Gilt household and once again embroiled in backyard wrestling politics. This afternoon finds me in a handicap match against both Jack and Ralph. Some sort of progressive thinking as taken place during my absence from the ring. Instead of cavorting around in our underwear like druids or drunks, everyone now sports athletic gear and is employing 'characters' instead of simply playing themselves. This time I am not ignorant of why they are doing this.
In preparation for another bout of this 'pretend-fighting' I have researched several WWE broadcasts on the television over the fortnight to broaden my understanding of the craft. Alfred habitually conducts double-takes when walking past and discovering me watching matches, presumably because he cannot believe I am entertained by something so inane. As much as it pains me, I do find a certain limited appeal to the spectacle of professional wrestling, specifically its lack of realistic violence. How you can emerge victorious in battle without hurting someone is astonishing.
While the characters on the broadcast are painted with generously broad strokes but grounded in reality, Jack and Ralph's efforts are not. Jack is a dragon. Ralph is a robot from the distant future. And these are meant to be my peers. In absence of no better word to describe the potential of fighting a fire-breathing beast and advanced android – apparently capable of firing lasers – in this inflatable ring, they are creative. Amber, now playing the role of one of the Sith from some space soap opera she enjoys so much…star-something-or-other, stands on the outside with a black bath towel over her head. Kyle has allegedly absconded to a friend's house for the weekend. I almost wish I had joined him at this point.
"Are we going to start timekeeper?" I ask Mattie who is wearing a tiger onesie and leaning on the apron. He shakes his head.
"Nope."
"Why?"
"We can't start until you're announced like Bowser and the T-1000." The youngest Gilt informs me with an air of indignation at my perceived rudeness. I frown and shrug.
"So announce me."
"What's your character name?"
"The same as it always is." I say whilst turning towards my opposition, "Robin." Ralph scoffs at this choice.
"Robin can't beat Bowser and a T-1000, dumbass. He's only a little kid in a mask."
"Yeah. He kind of, doesn't stand a chance without superpowers." Jack says agreeing with his twin. He seems to be the more intellectual of the two, although their physiques are both athletic.
"He's taken down Killer Croc before." Amber offers in defence of my character choice. Ralph is quick to scoff again.
"Only with Batman holding his hand." I am beginning to grow annoyed with his dismissal of my skills. The event they are referring to, the apprehension of that reptilian circus freak, was a joint effort between Father and myself. And he has never held my hand. Never. But I know I cannot become too heated about this issue. It will only arouse suspicion. So I grit my teeth and try a different tact.
"If that is the case, perhaps one of you can recommend a suitable opponent to battle such powerful creatures." I respond, drawing closer to the pair. Jack looks over at Ralph after only a split second of thought.
"Mario?" He says only for his brother to sneer.
"Against a T-1000? He'd be destroyed."
"Not if he was Super Mario or had a fire flower."
"Nah, then he'd be too big. He could be Sonic."
"Sonic against a T-1000? And you thought my idea was dumb?"
This debate is clearly going nowhere. And if this is the kind of conversation that dominates playgrounds at recess, I am very glad not to attend public school. I have no interest in video games or science-fiction dreck. Even if the things they are arguing over actually existed, there is little chance they would be able to best me and Father in serious combat. I roll my eyes.
"Let him be Robin!" Amber calls from the side-lines, "It's not any stupider than Bowser and a freaking terminator teaming up in a wrestling ring." This criticism visibly stings the pair. Ralph pouts whilst folding his arms.
"Fine. You can be Robin."
Amidst fire breath and wayward lasers, I first succeed in grounding both of them face down, courtesy of Judo and Jujitsu grappling techniques. Following this, I hold Jack with my knees in the small of his back whilst flipping Ralph and pinning his shoulders to the floor with a technique wrestlers call a 'baseball slide'. Mattie, acting as referee today as well as everything else, counts the fall and sounds the bell to end the contest in under four minutes.
"Hah, Robin just paddled your butts!" Mattie laughs as I release and move back from the twins. Jack and Ralph do not seem to want to look at one another. Their teamwork was very poor. Even if it were the opposite, I would still have won handily. Jack reaches over and taps Ralph on the shoulder as they continue sprawling on the floor. Ralph barely raises his head to look at him in reply. His expression is one of disgust and is solely directed at his twin brother. He clearly believes Jack is to blame for their joint defeat. Instead of offering withering contempt in reply, I am perplexed as Jack grins at him in amusement.
"Think I'd be faster without it?" Jack asks him whilst clutching the right side of his abdomen, roughly where his appendix is located. Ralph's expression morphs from disdain to the same amused grin as his counterpart.
"Well obviously. You run like you've swallowed a brick." Ralph retorts, prompting Jack to laugh. Soon both of them are laughing at some mental image or other.
I lean down to speak to Amber at ringside. "When did Ralph have his appendix removed?" I ask in a confidential whisper. She offers a grimace before a verbal reply.
"When it exploded. He was eight and he barely survived." The Gilt household two years ago does not sound like a particularly inviting place. Between her anorexia and a burst appendix I do not envy her parents. I look back to Ralph still giggling on the floor with Jack and consider.
"Is that why he's so…abrasive?"
"Believe or not, 'dumbass' to him is a term of affection. If he really thinks you're stupid, he'd literally say 'stupid-ass' instead." Amber informs me before sighing. "He's still pretty sensitive about it though. So he's always trying to prove how tough he is. And if anything goes wrong, he likes to blame Jack which is funny. Isn't that kind of what you do with Tim?"
"Tim is a literal moron." I say swiftly. She laughs.
"No offence, Dami, but most boys are literal morons. It's kind of cute how you all think you're different from the boy next to you. Jack gets it. That's why he can defuse Ralph, even if he gets really pissed off. You know what?" She says pulling the bath towel off her head, "Enough wrestling for the minute. Let's go watch a movie."
"Should I tell your brothers?"
"Nah. We've done the family interaction thing. Now it's time for the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. Just remember the bet and you'll be fine."