"Those who can, do. Those who can’t, bitch about it on the Internet." -Simon, from The Book of Simon
Some bios list credentials, such as: Education BFA in Illustration, Massachusetts College of Art Occupation Former Production Slave, Ballantine Books Comics Credits Columnist, Writer, Artist, Editor Etc…
And some bios tell a story, such as: I can remember sitting in front of my television one morning, watching the old Batman show, when Julie Newmar appeared in that skintight black leather outfit as Catwoman. It was my first boy/girl thing. >A year later I was in kindergarten telling Katherine Burke that I loved her. It’s pretty much been a string of stupid mistakes ever since…
Still other bios state an intent, such as: This is a series of essays illustrating the life of one particular struggling artist as he plods through the world and occasionally bumps into some interesting shit.
But most bios just sit to the right of the column and are never looked at. So ignore this space and just read the damn column already…
Everyone was tired after the wake. There was still the funeral to get through and they were all wondering where the strength would come from to make it that far.
Very few words were spoken as Greta, Megan, and Eddie sat on the couch in the Kroeger living room, watching television. Murphy was positioned in his wheelchair next to an end table. Despite how much he claimed to care more than anyone about his father, Shane was quick to leave once he got the old man out of his SUV and in the house. His departure was slowed only by a detour into the kitchen to grab some food for the drive home.
Nobody had seen Ryan since the scene earlier. There was nothing to suggest that he’d been home yet, no lights left on or bottles lying around. Whether he would even return that night was debatable.
But the main thing on everybody’s mind was the appearance of Peter, or Roland Balthasar, depending on your experience with the man, at the wake. Greta was surprised to see her brother come out of exile after so many years, and to only stay a brief moment before disappearing back to wherever he’d been hiding. After the fallout between Peter and Murphy and her father, she’d had sporadic contact with him from time to time. But the flow of information slowed and eventually stopped. It had been years since she’d heard anything. She didn’t have the first clue where he was living or what he was doing. She assumed it had something to do with science, but he could be teaching physics to twelfth graders for all she knew. It was intriguing and infuriating at the same time. Parkinson’s had effectively taken one brother away from her already. Peter was the last of her blood still surviving and all he could muster was a hug and a quick condolence after years out of sight. She wanted to know more about his life and she wanted to choke the life out of him at the same time. As long as she could remember, she’d had infinite faith in the power of family. Some might consider her delusional, considering what she’d witnessed in her own generation and what history was repeating itself with the current crop of Kroeger’s. But, until the wake, she had managed to maintain her sunny optimism. Now all that was changing. She wasn’t so sure anymore that things had to work out, and she wasn’t so good anymore at convincing her doubts into beliefs.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Eddie was racking his brain trying to make sense of the game Roland Balthasar was playing with him. He wished he had the flier from Sam Cannon, sure that it would tell him whether Balthasar was full of it or not. At least then he would have one absolute to factor into the scenario. As it was, without that crucial bit of information, so many questions were impossible to answer. It gave him a migraine. He asked Greta where the aspirin was kept. She directed him to the kitchen, telling him what cabinet to look in. Eddie got up and left the room.
Megan was stuck in the middle. She had the flier and knew the truth about what Roland Balthasar could do for Eddie, at least she did if her assumption was correct. The more she thought about the coded message the more sure of herself she was. And his voice. There was no mistaking the way he said her name from the man she called in the woods earlier that morning. Something about the way he said the ‘g’ in her name. It was the same way her brother’s said her name, the same accent. Was it true that he was also her Uncle Peter? If he was, what did that mean? It added a layer to the situation she couldn’t begin to understand. She wanted to confront Eddie, wave the flier in his face and tell him what she knew. Demand that he fill in the blanks. But she worried that showing him the note, admitting that she had kept it hidden from him, might backfire on her. It might ruin any chance of them creating a new relationship. Or had that chance already been ruined with the appearance of Roland Balthasar?
Megan tried not to think, to give her mind a break. More than physically, she was emotionally exhausted and was still facing the potentially worst day ahead of her.
She followed Eddie into the kitchen, where he was pouring a glass and popping a couple of pills into his mouth. “Any left?” she asked.
“Plenty,” he said, tapping two tablets into his palm and handing them to her. “Somebody was smart enough to buy a new bottle.”
“Not hard to predict you’ll need the aspirin fully stocked with this bunch,” she said, smiling. She swallowed the pills and took the glass Eddie offered her. They stood there, silently, not sure what to say to each other. It was the same silence that followed Roland Balthasar’s exit from the funeral home parking lot. Despite every insecurity on whether it was a good idea or not, Megan decided she needed to speak. “Eddie, there’s something I want to ask you. Something we should talk about.”
There was something he wanted to talk about, several things he wanted to talk about. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We should talk.” He began to organize his thoughts, quickly assessing what should be said and what he thought better if kept to himself.
Megan reached into her back pocket where she was still keeping the flier. She began to pull it out when the front door slammed open. Her hand let go of the paper as Ryan lurch his way into the kitchen. Eddie and Megan stepped apart, giving the drunken younger brother a wide berth, each hoping maybe he wouldn’t even see them.
“Any beer left in the fridge,” Ryan asked, opening the door and ferreting around inside.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough already,” Megan said, knowing it would provoke him, but tired of the leeway he was granted.
Ryan ignored her, finding a can of Coors Light and popping it open. He stood there, sipping the beer, staring blankly at the two of them. “What’s going on here?” he asked, waving his finger around. “Usually when I see a cunt and a pussy together I’m watching porno.”
“Why don’t you shut up and go pass out somewhere,” Megan advised.
“Why don’t you fuck off,” Ryan suggested instead, taking a step toward his sister as intimidation.
“No, I think she has the right idea,” Eddie said, moving between them. “Why don’t you shut your mouth and stop bothering people.”
“What the fuck are you gonna do ‘hero’?” Ryan asked, puffing his chest out. “Sit around and chat like you did at the mall?”
“Eddie…” Megan said, grabbing him by the shoulder as her husband didn’t back down.
“Least I didn’t piss myself, like some people,” Eddie said, revealing information that he’d been threatened to keep secret.
Ryan’s eyes went wide; his pupils all but disappeared. His breathing became heavy, his nostrils flaring. It was almost the same look he’d had when Eddie stopped him from harassing the Latino girl the night before, only more intense. He looked like a machine with only one command in his programming. Megan had seen the look on her brother’s face before and knew there was no stopping the inevitable. She looked at Eddie’s face. His expression wasn’t the same, but he wore a determination she had never witnessed, a composure like he was preparing for battle.
“This is your last chance, hombre,” Ryan warned. “You can get on a bus and go back to Mexico, or stay here and get your ass kicked.”
“Actually,” Eddie taunted, “I’m from Ohio.”
It was the stupidity of rampant testosterone laced with raging adrenaline. Neither man even knew what they were saying, all their attention focused on action.
Megan knew it was hopeless to stop it. She only hoped that Eddie didn’t get hurt too badly, that years of being a superhero had given him enough experience to hold his own against a bully like Ryan. “If you’re going to do this,” she warned. “Do it outside.”
“I’ll fuck him up wherever I want,” Ryan said. “But I don’t wanna spill my beer. So let’s go.” He stormed out of the kitchen to the front door. Eddie followed him down the steps and onto the front lawn, the grass already wet from the evening dew. Megan didn’t join them immediately. She stood in the kitchen, regretting ever opening her mouth.
In the moments before the fight broke out, Eddie didn’t think of his disadvantages. He didn’t think what having been a superhero with energy powers meant in real world terms. He didn’t think about releasing a beam from his hand to knock down a fleeing criminal, or melt the bullets of a gun-toting criminal. He forgot about the protective field that surrounded him, making sure nothing harmful could penetrate and do him harm. He certainly didn’t remember the fact that, in all his years as a hero, he never once got into a hand-to-hand situation with someone his physical equal or better.
What Eddie thought about was boxing matches, fight scenes from movies. He thought about rolling with the punches, dodging his opponent’s swing and countering with his own jab or right cross. In his head it was all rather clean, despite the true barbaric nature of a fight.
Ryan shoved both of his hands into Eddie’s face, throwing him off balance and back against the stockade fence that separated the lawn from the street. All Eddie’s expectations instantly disappeared. All he could do was reel from the unanticipated style of assault.
As Eddie fell back, thinking about the fight instead of actually participating, Ryan shoved his face again, this time into a nearby bush. Eddie hadn’t considered natural obstacles and stumbled clumsily into the shrubbery, his arms falling into the plant, branches scraping his arms and hands. He tried to find the ground through the darkness. Before he could, Ryan was on him, pounding fists into his back, sides, and kidneys. Every third or fourth blow hit him on the back of his head or the side of his face. Ryan punched fast and hard, not thinking, not worried about accuracy or form. He fought like a flurry, getting his opponent down as quickly as possible and then never letting up until he’d won.
Not long into the fight, Eddie gave up trying to get back to his feet. He realized he’d lost and was now only concerned with not being hurt anymore. He allowed himself to be beaten to the ground, then curled up in a fetal position. Ryan stopped punching, which Eddie was glad for, but switched over to kicking, which hurt just as much.
Megan ran up behind Ryan and grabbed his shoulders. He swung around and pushed Megan to the ground. “I told you before,” he reminded her. “Don’t ever touch me.”
Luckily for her, he turned back to Eddie rather than give her a taste of what her husband was getting. “Had enough?” he asked, pressing a finger to the side of his nose and blasting snot at him. He spat on Eddie and staggered away, his breathing slowing with every step back to the house.
Greta stood by the doorway as Ryan walked back in. She didn’t say anything, not sure what he was capable of in his current condition. Once he’d passed she came down the stairs and picked Megan off the ground. “I’m sorry,” Greta said, for the first time understanding what had driven Megan away.
Megan and Greta walked over to Eddie, who sat up and leaned against the fence, patting a spot of blood on the side of his head. “Some hero,” he said as they looked down at him.
