Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk - they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what I strive for every time I open my mouth - that impossible connection.
-From "Hiroshima" by Sarah Kay
The cotton candy was bright pink-a shade that normally made Hawkgirl nauseous. The sugar crystals melted in her mouth, causing even the tough Thangarian warrior to forgive its offensive color.
"Good?" Flash asked.
"This food is altogether baffling," Hawkgirl articulated, chewing. "But admittedly good."
"When in doubt, anything pink lemonade flavored will pull you through. Oh, and wait until you try the funnel cakes," Flash assured, munching popcorn.
The Thanagarian woman did not miss the looks in the eyes of the people she passed. "Why do the children seem afraid?"
"Dunno, maybe it's that giant mace you have with you."
"Where I'm from, it is not strange to carry weapons in public display," she scoffed.
"Where I'm from honey, you're lucky if you can sneak a can opener in your backpack."
"How tragic."
"Tell me about it. I had to wait until I got home from school for that can of beefaroni." The popcorn kernals shook in the now-emptied bag. "But I digress. So, what do you think?"
"This Linder of whom you speak-"
"Shhh! Keep it down. And it's Linda. Like Lafawnda, but with Lin as a prefix."
Hawkgirl rolled her eyes (an Earth habit she picked up from John). "Wally, Superman is the only one with superhearing here, and I doubt he would eavesdrop on conversations such as this. Although, she must like you a lot to make you look this nervous."
"Who said I'm nervous?"
"I didn't."
" 'Cause I'm not. She wants an interview with the Flash, is all," he replied lightly. "Standard reporter slash hero chat. Nothing more."
"Really." Her green eyes widened in realization. "Oh, I know what this is about."
"This is about a girl. Duh."
"No, this is about you. She's meeting the Flash, but you want her to meet Wal-er, someone else."
Flash stopped in his tracks. That nagging feeling, that worry put into words. He smiled weakly. "She likes the Flash. The heroic guy in the limelight. No way small-town Wally West stands a chance on his own."
Hawkgirl studied the cowled face at her side, noticed the tensed jawline. Despite his joking good nature, Shayera knew her friend had a serious side he rarely revealed to anyone.
"You protect this people and planet on a daily basis. You are kind and noble and good. Not the mask you bear. You. If she doesn't see that she's a fool indeed, worthy only to be maced in the foot."
Anyone else and he'd think they were joking, but no. Thanagarians always mean what they say.
"Wow. Forget Oliver. You give the best advice."
"Don't spread it around. I have a reputation."
"Got it, ginger sister."
An exasperated voice resonated above the din of the nearby fryer: "No, we do not have fry sauce. This is America! We have ketchup and peanut butter. If you want fry sauce, go to Idaho!"
"Sounds like Ralph needs a hand." Wally smiled at his winged friend, radiant with gratitude and love. "Thanks for the pep talk, Shayera. You know, if the Justice League gig doesn't work out, maybe you should consider being a hockey coach."
And he zoomed north, his red blur returning south seconds later confronting Ralph with a huge plastic container labeled "Fry Sauce."
"Hockey, huh? Seems like your kinda sport."
John Stewart floated down in green cloud.
"Still on security patrol?"
"Sort of. I'm keeping an eye on Gardner. The mayor was pretty upset."
The ex-lovers' laughter quickly tuned into silence. They watched Flash sit with a girl in a wheelchair. He must have made a joke, because the girl giggled. John shook his head in wonder.
"I don't understand it."
"What? Fry sauce? I've never heard of it."
"Not that. Flash. The kids I can see falling for the lame jokes and goofy grin, but even the villains - excuse me - 'rogues' - adore him. Maybe the water in Central City is contaminated." Lantern recounted the experience with James at the front gate. Hawkgirl looked pensive.
"Says something if even the kid's enemies admire him. Or it says something about his rogues. Maybe they're crazier than Lex Luthor and Bizarro combined."
John bit back a laugh. "Must be. Have you met the Ultra-Humanite? Or Captain Boomerang? He throws a stick for crying out loud."
The crowd drowned out their conversation. But not after a certain someone heard the tail end. The Australian man passing waited until he was out of earshot to scowl.
"What's so humorous about the boomerang? A simple, yet elegant weapon if ever there was." Oh, see if they laugh when they see the damage ole Digger can do. Pull off this job for the boss and the guys at the pub wouldn't laugh again. Captain Boomerang's fantasies of the mighty Lantern and Hawkgirl begging for mercy distracted his thoughts from the child at his side. The little boy's helium balloon blocked the man's vision.
"Eh, what?"
"I said, where's my money mister? I pretended to be your son, I get fifty bucks, square deal."
"Here's ten."
"Hey, that's not fair!"
"You want fair? Try going up against a guy fifty thousand times your speed, then talk to me about fair."
The boy's eyes filled with crocodile tears.
"Fine, take the lot ya nose miner."
The little boy skipped away, fake tears all but forgotten. Sheesh. Kids these days, Digger scoffed. Feel entitled to everything. He checked the wrist watch counting down the minutes until showtime.
Mary gave the signal. Captain Marvel peered around the corner, serious as could be. It was time. Zooming behind the bouncy house as only one with the speed of Mercury could, he let the shadows cloak his marvelous form.
"Ready?" Mary Marvel asked, her look serious.
"Ready."
"On three. One, two, three. . ."
SHAZAM!
A crack of thunder pealed above the cloudless night. No one noticed Billy and Mary Batson entering the bouncy house.
"Yeah! I've been waiting for this all day!"
"Me, too!" Mary quite literally bounced with glee. "Billy, this is so fun!"
In front of the happy scene, a whitish-red blur zoomed by. A reddish-blue blur zoomed by, meeting the former blur head on. If you slowed down the scene, you would have seen the form of Supergirl. Much to her credit and level head, she kept her cool as her equally as speedy cousin caught up with her, putting a hand on the teenager's shoulder to stop her. In all honesty, Supergirl would have preferred flying so far into space not even he could follow - but Kara was at heart a sweet girl and not-so super at rudeness. So, however angry she was, her respect for her cousin won out. She waited for him to speak, but she turned her back and crossed her arms in a universal symbol of anger.
"Kara, don't leave. Not like this."
"Like what, Kal?" Kara's tone rose in accusation. "You clearly don't want me to have any semblance of a life."
"Hey, I was protecting you - "
"From what? Dylan?" Kara scoffed. "I'm the one with near invulnerability here, and you think he's dangerous."
When she put it that way, his logic did seem flawed. "In a way. . .yes."
"You threatened to melt him into a puddle if he ever kissed me again - "
"And I'll keep that promise. The boy clearly took advantage of you! Now your face will be smeared all over the internet all so he could make a media gimmick of you and that, that Dylan. If that's even his real name."
Kara's eyes widened in shock. "Maybe he kissed me because he likes me." Her sky blue eyes filled with tears.
Her cousin, for all his large size and infinite power, winced. That's not what he meant. "Kara - " He held her thin shoulder.
Kara shook his hand way with all the force of a raging supernova. Her eyes burned a dangerous red. "If you really love me, Kal - leave me alone."
Like a shooting star, she streaked into the sapphire recesses of quietude.
The dart, in a mighty arc, struck the bulls eye.
"Nice shot Mr. Wayne," Phoebe marveled. "How did you get so good?"
Slinging batarangs at Gotham's slimiest every night tends to improve your aim.
"I practice," was the dry reply. "Now for the ultimate choice: The pink or blue bear?" Mr. Wayne motioned for the little girl to choose a prize from the near-empty wall.
"Oh no, you winned the game."
"I insist."
"Hmmm. How about..." Phoebe's little brow wrinkled in meditation. You'd think she was faced with a life or death situation, but to someone her age it might as well be.
"The blue for sure. It's not just a boy color, you know."
Phoebe turned to the green-clad man to her side. He was a little distracted staring off into the distance, but the little girl turned to him anyways. "That was a neat game Mr. Robin Hood. Sorry for when my dart accidentally hit your foot. Mother Francis says a band-aid will cure anything."
Phoebe waved farewell, skipping away into the open quad. "I never dreamed to have a Teddy this pretty," she said with a wide smile, hugging the new bear like a long-lost relative.
Since Warren seems just as difficult to track down as the League of Doom,
thought Mr. Wayne, it's the least I could do. If he really wanted to, he could have asked Kyle at the front gate or the ever-vigilant John to help search. Yet there was something about Phoebe. An ongoing mystery, like how one goes to a little candle burning bright, dispelling the darkness in a storm. It was no wonder the evening fireflies danced around her.
Fireflies twinkled in the approaching clearing. The crowd surrounding the odd pair gave way to the rising lights of the carousel. Horses and elephants and tigers rose and fell to the rhythm of breathing upon a breathless sight. Phoebe snatched at the passing fireflies, catching their little lights for no more than a second before they blinking away in an endless chase.
The girl's brow, as if struck by a sudden thought, furrowed.
"What's wrong, Phoebe?"
"Well, remember when I was lost and scared? And we looked for Warren and ate funnel cakes and ice-skated and here's my beautiful Teddy. I had the most lovely time, and it all started when it was the worst."
Phoebe tugged Mr. Wayne's sleeve. He knelt down to eye-level.
"Thank you so very much sir."
"For what?"
"For finding me when I was lost." Phoebe kissed Mr. Wayne on the cheek, singing to herself and dancing in the carousel lights. For one of the bravest and brilliant human beings in the world, Bruce Wayne had no idea what to say or do.
That quickly changed.
A shrill cry cut the night.
"Phoebe?!"
A boy no older than twelve years with messy red hair, glasses, and a Gotham orphanage wristband entered the clearing, tugging the arm of an older woman, a nun by her distinct dress. Warren (as we deduce he must be) engulfed his little sister in a relieved embrace.
"Looked everywhere for you! Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?"
Phoebe remained calm. "Hello."
"Can't believe I let you out of my sight! All for a stupid teddy bear. I'm the worst big brother, huh?"
"Yes. But you're also the best." Phoebe patted Warren on the head. "Besides, Mr. Wayne got me a Teddy anyways."
"Mr. Who?"
"Nonsense sweetie, an important person like him wouldn't be here." The older nun, a large woman with red cheeks, fanned her perspiring neck and head. She was good-natured, but Mother Francis wasn't used to doing so much walking. At her side, a young, good-looking man proffered a handkerchief from his coat pocket.
"Thank you, dearie."
"Mother Francis, I presume. You come well recommended."
She mopped her sweaty brow. "Indeed I am, how did you know-?" And stopped. Turned to face the person 95% of the population of the Western world recognized from the news and countless celebrity gossip magazines.
"Oh! G-good evening M-Mr. Wayne sir."
"Please, call me Bruce."
With an elegant sweep, Mr. Wayne kissed the old nun's hand, a gallant act at which reception lesser women would have fainted. But Mother Francis was stalwart and stood her ground.
"Mr. Bruce, I see you found little Phoebe."
"Quite the contrary. She found me."
"Her parents passed this time last year. Warren tries his best to be
Mother Francis tried to return the handkerchief, but Mr. Wayne insisted she keep it. She was soon put at ease by his earnest manner and unaffected demeanor. Nothing the television portrayed him to be. He politely asked her about the orphanage and its upkeep, and the old nun felt less starstruck as the conversation wore on and more like they were old friends. Phoebe and Warren could recognize boring grown-up talk a mile away, and occupied themselves chasing the trailing flies in the night.
". . .The kids are packed in tight, but the mayor said we should get a new building wing by summer. Thank God for the Justice League."
"If a God did exist, we wouldn't need the Justice League."
He hadn't meant to say that part out loud, least of all to a nun. But Mother Francis was not like most people who would have only caught the dry humor in that remark. She looked Mr. Wayne in the eye with a look similar to Alfred's, as if she could see into his soul.
"Mr. Wayne, alone me to share a story: Once there was a man. Kind, privileged, powerful and good. Like we all must, he passed from this earth life to the next. Falling to his knees, he met the Lord and sobbed: 'There is so much toil and hurt in the world. Why did you not send help?' The Savior paused and replied: 'I sent them you.' "
Mother Francis watched the young man's eyes flicker, for the littlest moment, in understanding.
Phoebe's voice floated by. "Hey Mr. Wayne, look it! I catched one! Oh no. It flewed away."
As if shaking off the feeling, Mr. Wayne laughed as one might simply to please another whose convictions did not affect.
"With all due respect madam, it's just a story."
Mother Francis's eyes twinkled. "They say the Bible's just a story. Or the Batman. Goodness knows I believe in both."
This time he didn't have to fake the laugh that escaped his mouth. "Honestly, I've never heard them paired in the same sentence."
Phoebe danced by, missing another firefly. "They are tricksy little guys."
"It's okay," Warren assured his sister. "One minute it's here, the next it's gone. You think he's over here, when he's really not."
"Here," Mr. Wayne knelt next to the little girl. He waited for the greenish-yellow light to show itself. "He wants to be seen, not found. So you must wait and. . .there. Where you least expect him."
Inside the hand buzzed the glowing prisoner. Phoebe's face glowed in the eerie green. "One minute here, one minute there. Fireflies are everywhere." Phoebe continued in a sing-song chirp. With a release, the firefly cloaked itself in night.
And that's when it clicked.
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night. . .
The green-yellow phosphorescence slowed and blurred.
He wants to be seen, not found. . .
Mark McFly. Gary. Where it all began.
Where you least expect. . .
The world sped back into real-time. Mr. Wayne stood, calculating the speed and distance to downtown Gotham in his head.
"Mr. Wayne? Is something wrong?" came her worried voice.
"I'm late. Very late," he muttered, shouldering through the approaching group of Japanese teenagers.
"But - wait - "
Too late. He was gone.
Phoebe looked up.
"Mr. Wayne?" came her tremulous whisper.
"I didn't get to say goodbye."
The sights and sounds that were so joyful now haunted his running steps. Running, dodging, shoving, Batman was once again on the case. Past the camera crew, past Lois Lane exclaiming "Watch it buddy!" as he so rudely shoved past. Certain pleasantries and manners were put on pause as he clicked a wrist watch communicator, activating the special feature no other wrist watch could boast. Miles away in the Batcave, the Batwing's engine fired its inferno.
All he had to do was make it past the gates, beyond the parking lot. There. The car. Make it there and hope the plane is fast enough. . .
"Where's the fire, dude?"
Batman skidded to a halt, the Flash catching him a thousand times faster than it would have taken him to fall. He also spoke about five times faster, looking like a mix of shock and sincere happiness to see his friend. "Man, John didn't think you'd show. Guess who owes me ten bucks."
Every time he tried to move, Flash was there at his side, bombarding him with questions he didn't have time to answer.
". . .Where ya been lately? I left like fifty million messages with that butler dude. Why are you wearing a trench coat in this weather? Whoa man, is that your Rolls-Royce?"
At this Flash actually put himself on pause, kneeling beside the expensive car.
"No way. Phantom model. Aluminum space frame custom-made via hydroelectric power. Custom-made finished in Goodwood, West Sussex. Rear-hinged doors, referred to 'coach doors' by Rolls-Royce, though known as the style of 'suicide' everywhere else. For a brooding kind of guy, you have quite the style."
Flash shook his head free of the nostalgic glint in his eye. "Whoa whoa whoa, wait a sec. I know what's going on. You're skipping out early on a mission, huh Bruce-man?"
"Quite the detective. Congratulations." Come on Batwing, where are you? Batman asked the sky. Flash's face once again filled his vision.
"Dude, you can't go."
"Watch me."
"Not without a Tumblr pic!" Flash hit his friend on the shoulder, firing up his shoulder injury aflame. He winced. Flash though oblivious to the mounting urgency in his companion's voice, could not deny the wince and shudder of pain.
"You all right?"
"I'm fine," came the curt reply.
"Right." Flash squinted, looking him over in concern. "In that case, I'm definitely coming with you."
"This isn't the time -"
"Ooh, does this mean I get to ride in the Bat-plane?"
"No, Flash."
"Or is it the Bat-jet? Whatever you call it."
"No."
"Too easy. We're in, we're out - "
"There is no we - "
" - Come back with a boss story for Linda, and boom! Back before the fireworks."
"What part of no - "
"Come on - "
" - don't you understand?"
" - I'm the fastest man alive, what could happen? Let's rock and roll!" Flash grinned.
Jason grinned.
"Come on Bruce, we're on patrol, not selling Girl Scout cookies. Time to rock 'n roll!"
He swung on the grappling line, down, down into the heart of Gotham, crowing. As if he were invincible.
If only.
Something in Batman snapped.
"Would you shut up for once and get out of my way!"
The words, so full of fresh anger and past hurt, split the night like lightning. Batman's next words rushed out all at once.
"The big kid act is really getting old, Flash. You may live in this fantasy land of rainbows and roses and butterflies. Time to wake up. This is the real world. This is not a game. So quit embarrassing us all with the golly-gee-whiz wisecracks and do us all a favor - grow up."
An eternity of seconds passed. Flash, the fastest man alive, was not fast enough to recover his voice to reply before the unseen Batwing announced its presence above. Though the hurt in his eyes said it all. Batman could have apologized. Explained.
He didn't.
Without another word, as fast as a bat cleaving the darkness, Batman vanished into the Batwing. The brooding brow was soon covered by the cowl, cloaking his inner thoughts and tinges of guilt. I'm sorry, he whispered to the night. Forgive me, Flash. Those green eyes so filled with life and light fizzled, sputtered, burned as ashes caught in cold water. Batman knew he'd forever remember that frozen expression.
If I make it back, Batman told himself, I'll explain I only said what was necessary to keep him safe, away from the danger. He's just a kid. If I win the night I'll explain. . .
He banished those thoughts. He'd need all his focus for the game afoot.
Time to catch a Firefly.
"Tell me when it's over."
"It's only been, like, fifteen seconds."
"Right."
Helena Burtonelli leaned back in her seat, ever so carefully, so as not to rock the booth. Below Captain Atom cranked a lever feeding his energy into a machine, and away she soared into a circular stroll.
"You can open your eyes."
"In the immortal words of Bartleby - I prefer not to."
Helena scoffed. "I thought reporters were fearless."
"No, reporters have rational, healthy fears."
"Such as heights."
"If you mean plummeting to my doom, then yes. Eighty-nine percent of accidents occur on thrill rides like roller coasters, Ferris wheels, and/or bouncy houses."
"Well, I heard fifty-seven percent of statistics are made up with a 0.1 margin of error."
"Undoubtedly."
Helena barked a laugh. She dated this guy for how long? And he'd never acted like this. Granted, she heard Kilawog built the thing in thirty minutes, but the contraption seemed sturdy enough. Not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, the booth was no more than two seats in a metal box with a bar lowered across the waist. Though the view of the ground disappearing underneath was worth it.
"You're missing out, man."
"Debatable."
Sigh. Some date night. "We can ride something else."
"Not a chance. The only reason you came - besides me, of course - was to ride the Ferris wheel."
Helena's jaw dropped. "How do you know that? We've never been on one together."
"You keep a picture of you and your parents by the wheel at Gotham Park in your Bible. After it was destroyed to make room for sub-par coffee cafes, you would always glance back at the spot a certain way." He peeked through his fingers. "The same way you look now, if I'm not mistaken."
"We went every Saturday at noon," said Helena in a soft voice. "I've never told anyone that."
"I do my homework. Sherlock Holmes doesn't have a copyright on elementary deduction, after all."
Sure Question looked like an idiot with his hands still covering his eyes, but Helena felt something stir in her heart that couldn't laugh at a man who know her so well. How long has it been since she kissed him?
Question held his stomach. "Oh, here comes the motion sickness. I may or may not throw up."
So much for the moment.
The Midwestern city settled into the evening like a cat nestling in for its nightly rest. Fathers ate dinner with their families, shop signs read "Closed, but sure love ya." Even the rogues lifted their glasses of cheap liquor in their pub and toasted their scarlet speedster for giving them a night off. All seemed at peace.
Except for Wally West. He pulled off the scarlet cowl, sighing, freckled nose wrinkling in thought. The familiar smell of the car oil and sawdust of the garage was heartening, though not enough to block out Batman's reverberating words.
"The big kid act is really getting old, Flash."
It's not like that's the worst thing anyone's ever said to him. In fact, upon every meeting the Ultra-Humanite called him an "uncivilized troglodyte unworthy of higher thought processes and opposable thumbs." Or something to that effect. Some of the big words he used were confusing.
"This is the real world. This is not a game."
And from Batman from all people, a guy dressed as a blood-sucking flying rodent known for intimidation. He was going to take him seriously?
"Do us all a favor - grow up."
That's what really got him. For a second Batman looked like his own father, smoking at the dinner table, looking at his mediocre son with that eternal look of disappointment.
"Wallace, quit this daydreaming. Sometime you gotta grow up."
If Batman wants to leave, let him. And who knows where he flew off to in the Bat-plane or jet or whatever. Besides, in less than ten minutes he could be chatting it up with Linda. Someone who appreciates him. Fine. Wally donned the cowl, ready to. . .what exactly?
Uncle Barry, what am I supposed to do?