"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…
Megan drove home with a sense of purpose. She’d reached a decision, one she wasn’t a hundred percent sure of, but close enough that she felt relaxed for the first time in days.
The Kroeger house was like an anthill, everyone flitting around, working at their individual tasks. Greta had been dressed and ready for hours, knowing that she would have to be responsible for setting up the food for the company that was coming later. She laid out plates, napkins, cups, and plastic utensils around the assortment of deli meats and beverages. There were bags of ice in the freezer and a respectable bar of alcohol out on the kitchen counter. She made sure that the Afghans on the couch were neatly folded and draped across the back at asymmetrical angles, the throw pillows freshly fluffed and tucked into the corners. Every major surface in the house was wiped with Lysol for people to eat off of and the bathrooms were fully stocked with towels, tissues, and toilet paper. Once she had finished cleaning, she did her best to dress Murphy, struggling with his mass as she tried to pull a sport coat over his shoulders. After a lot of effort she’d made him look something in the neighborhood of distinguished, though his necktie was left loose around his neck so as not to interfere with his breathing. Greta had worked up a sweat, but her black dress concealed the patch of darkness down her back. By the funeral service it would be dry.
Hazel had arrived with her dress in a dry cleaning bag and spent over an hour changing into it in Shane’s old bedroom. Everybody was wearing the same clothes as they had to the wake except for her. She refused to be seen two days in a row in the same outfit and had sent her charcoal strapless to the cleaner’s as a rush. It had been a while since she’d worn the dress, she’d gained a pound or five since then, and the material stretched tight across her body. Most anyone would say that it was too small and just the other side of inappropriate for the occasion. In Hazel’s mind, it fit better than when she first bought it.
Once she’d finished getting her clothing on, she hauled a bag almost the size of a suitcase into the upstairs bathroom and began the long task of applying her makeup. The door was left open and, at one point, Eddie came into the room looking for his toothbrush. Hazel was rubbing scarlet lipstick around her mouth. She stopped to flash him an inviting smile in the mirror. Eddie pointed to his toothbrush. She picked it up and waved it in front of him before handing it over. As she let go of it she ran her fingers suggestively along his hand. Eddie coughed and nervously left the room. It was the first and last time he would allow himself to be alone with Hazel.
Shane was sitting on the couch when Megan walked into the house. His immediate reaction was to say something obnoxious. But then he thought Eddie might overhear and he remembered the blackmail he’d allowed himself to be backed into and kept silent.
Megan climbed the stairs and turned the corner into her room, excited and scared to talk to her husband. She’d spent the drive home organizing her thoughts, preparing what she wanted to say, making sure to establish certain principles and make Eddie understand important details. It was a well-rehearsed speech by the time she reached the top of the stairs. When she looked in her room, she forgot every word of it.
Eddie was fixing his necktie in the mirror over her hope chest when Megan stopped in the doorway. It wasn’t the sight of Eddie that caused her memory loss. On the bed was Eddie’s bag, open and fully packed. She knew they wouldn’t be staying at the house much longer, but another night at least was between them and departure. For even the most anal traveler it was far too early to pack a bag.
“You’re leaving?” she asked, looking for a logical reason to explain what she saw.
“Meg,” Eddie spun around with a smile on his face. It was an expression she hadn’t seen from him since before the day they split up, almost a year ago. “I have to tell you something.”
“You’re leaving,” she repeated.
“Well, sort of,” he admitted. “But…”
“Just like that,” she said. “After everything we’ve been through the past few days, you’re just taking off?” She’d let her hopes get so high that the shock of the situation tipped her emotions on end.
He didn’t understand why she was suddenly so put out. It was like a switch had flipped and suddenly all her venom was being unleashed upon him. “Let me explain,” he began.
“No, you don’t need to explain,” she told him, walking to her bed and picking up his bag, holding it up for him to see. “This is all I need to see.” She threw the bag back onto the bed and stepped over to the window. “I should have listened. Wanda was right. You are who you are and I’m a fool to expect anything different from you.”
“Meg, you’re not getting it,” he said, utterly confused. “Just give me a chance.”
“A chance?” She couldn’t believe his request. “Eddie, you already got your chance. When I came out of the school that day and you were standing there in the parking lot, with your story about losing your powers, I gave you a chance. When I met you for dinner that night, I gave you a chance.”
“Hey,” he stopped her, her rewriting history suddenly bothering him. “That wasn’t a chance. You met me for dinner so you could tell me how terrible a husband I’d been. You walked into that restaurant with a chip on your shoulder.”
“I had every right to have a chip on my shoulder,” she told him.
“Maybe you did,” he allowed. “But don’t stand there and tell me that you gave me a chance. You walked in, said your piece, and walked out before I could even make my case. That’s not what I call giving me a chance.”
“I brought you here with me, didn’t I?” she asked in her defense.
“To take the heat off of you,” Eddie argued. “This trip hasn’t been about you deciding whether we’re going to get back together or not. It’s been about you and your issues with your family.”
Hazel dropped something in the bathroom sink, making a noise that Megan noticed. Their conversation was getting progressively louder and she didn’t need her sister-in-law taking notes for future use against her. She scowled at Eddie as she shut the door.
“Keep your voice down,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked, defiantly. “What do you care whether she overhears us or not? What do you care what they think of you? Hasn’t that been your attitude from the beginning, that you’ve completely written off these people, that they don’t matter? So what if they hear. They already think the worst about you anyway, right? Admit it. You really do care what they think. The reason you’re so bitter about it is because you want them to accept you, but you know they never will.”
“That’s not the point,” she corrected.
“So what is the point?” he asked desperately. “What’s the point of this whole conversation?”
“The point is that you’re leaving,” she said. “You’re leaving, and I know where you’re going.”
“I’m not running back to DC, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he promised her.
Megan walked across the room to a pile of her clothes lying on the floor. Bending down, she grabbed a pair of jeans that were in a lump near the top. She reached into the back pocket of the pants and pulled out the flier, unfolded it, and held it in Eddie’s face.
“This is where you’re going,” she showed him.
Eddie read the headline of the flier and his eyes lit up. He took it from her and scanned the rest of the text.
“I know what it means, Eddie,” she revealed. “I’m not an idiot. It’s a pretty simple code to figure out, if you start from the right context.”
“I’m going to get my powers back,” he asked, in a tone between statement and question, too close to tell the difference.
“Don’t try to kid me, it’s what you’ve wanted all along. I saw the way you reacted when Greta read that thing yesterday.”
“You’ve had this paper since yesterday?” he said in disbelief. “And you kept it from me? Why did you keep this hidden?”
“Because,” she began. “Because I knew that if you saw this you’d be out the door in a second, calling on this Balthasar guy to fix you up.”
“You think that much of me,” he shook his head. “These past few days have meant nothing to you?”
“Like you said, Eddie, this trip wasn’t about us getting back together. It was about me coming back to all my family bullshit and it was about you grasping at straws. Admit it, getting back together with me wasn’t about us, it was some gut reaction you had to losing your powers. Suddenly there was this void in your life and the first thing you came up with to fill it was me, some notion of rekindling our marriage. Then you could have someone around to comfort you through your tough time. At least until some scientist came along with a miracle cure to make you the hero again. Because that’s the way it works in your world, isn’t it? The bad guys are obvious, no one ever stays dead, and the hero always wins in the end, right? But that’s not the case in the real world, Eddie. You can’t just swoop down to someone’s rescue and make everything all right. You can’t just make someone fall in love with you and then fly off when the next mission comes up. I’m a person, not some walking cartoon in a mask and cape with delusions of godhood. The rules are different down here with us mortals. And I can’t wait around, hoping that you’ll figure that out.”
Megan was in tears, though she was doing her best to keep them to a minimum. Eddie paused to take it all in. He remembered Murphy’s words from the night before, those words illustrated in this moment. “You really don’t know me, do you? To think that I would just take off after everything we’ve been through these past few days.”
“That’s all it’s been, Eddie,” she pointed out. “Days. Us back together; we’re talking life. Not days, or weeks, or even months. Life.”
“And you don’t think I’m willing to make that commitment?”
“Eddie, look at what you have in your hand,” she pointed to the flier. “Do you really think I can trust you, knowing that someday you might decide you’ve had enough of mortality and you go running off to someone who can make it all better? Do you think I want to wake up one morning and find you gone? Or that I want to spend my life playing housewife, sharing you with your duty to save the world? It’s too much, Eddie. You are who you are, and I’m too tired to hope for anything else.”
Megan exhaled and sat on the bed. Eddie tried to think of something else to say, he wanted something else to say. But it all seemed pointless. She’d made her decision.
“I guess that’s it then,” he said, bitterly, unable to look at her. “I was planning to leave after the funeral…”
“You don’t have to stay…” she started.
“No, I’ll stay,” he said. “Greta asked me to be a pall bearer and I promised her I would. I might have a terrible track record, but at least I can do this one thing.”
Walking to the door, he stopped, one thing left he needed to say. “You know, it’s funny to hear you talking about trust, when you’ve been walking around with this thing in your pocket all this time.” He tossed the flier onto the bed next to her.
Eddie left the room and went downstairs to wait for everyone to be ready. Megan sat on her bed, alone, wondering how she allowed herself to end up in the same place twice.
