[for Mary Jane]
If asked, I'm not sure I could honestly tell you how it happened. When I asked Mary Jane to cover for me earlier, I was only intending on clearing my head a little, maybe climbing a tree to get a better view of the meteor shower, but with most everyone at the party, and my web-shooters around my wrists, what had originally just been a passing thought -- swinging through the trees for a bit of stress relief, something I've been physically incapable of doing for the better part of a year -- became more of an obsession. Before I knew it, I was back at the hut, digging through the few things I'd manage to salvage from the old house, all too eager to slip into a costume -- a uniform -- that, before the day of my failed wedding, I hadn't set eyes on for years.
Creeping out from my bedroom, covered head-to-toe in that familiar spandex-lycra blend, I felt more like myself than I had all year -- which probably says a few things about my extracurriculars, I'm sure. But the problem, I soon discovered, with web-slinging, is that it isn't like riding a bike. Even with all the muscle memory in the world, the loss of my spider-sense to help guide my aim saw me missing branches by a mile -- occasionally two, as the new bruise on my arm's gonna be reminding me for at least the next week.
Stiff, sore, and disappointed, I throw in the towel for the night after only a few hours, though already I have plans to try again tomorrow, my complete and utter failure one heck of a kick in the pants. I'll never be able to be as quick or as strong or as nimble as I was back in the city, but that's no reason not to try. MJ was on to something when she told me I needed to take care of myself, even if I doubt this is what had she had in mind.
And speaking of MJ -- in spite of having told her not to wait up for me, I'm not particularly surprised to find the lights still on by the time I slip back inside, careful, like I've been all night, to make sure I'm not being watched. Pulling off my mask as soon as the door's closed behind me, I suck in my first clear breath for hours, my face flushed, and my hair matted with sweat. With a long sigh, I lean back bodily against the nearest wall, and flash Mary Jane a sheepish look. Short of coming inside naked, there was no way to avoid having her see me in this get-up of mine. Still, only now does it occur to me that this isn't a conversation we've ever actually had to have in all the time we've been together, and so it's in a wry, almost joking voice, I say, "Honey, I'm home."
Creeping out from my bedroom, covered head-to-toe in that familiar spandex-lycra blend, I felt more like myself than I had all year -- which probably says a few things about my extracurriculars, I'm sure. But the problem, I soon discovered, with web-slinging, is that it isn't like riding a bike. Even with all the muscle memory in the world, the loss of my spider-sense to help guide my aim saw me missing branches by a mile -- occasionally two, as the new bruise on my arm's gonna be reminding me for at least the next week.
Stiff, sore, and disappointed, I throw in the towel for the night after only a few hours, though already I have plans to try again tomorrow, my complete and utter failure one heck of a kick in the pants. I'll never be able to be as quick or as strong or as nimble as I was back in the city, but that's no reason not to try. MJ was on to something when she told me I needed to take care of myself, even if I doubt this is what had she had in mind.
And speaking of MJ -- in spite of having told her not to wait up for me, I'm not particularly surprised to find the lights still on by the time I slip back inside, careful, like I've been all night, to make sure I'm not being watched. Pulling off my mask as soon as the door's closed behind me, I suck in my first clear breath for hours, my face flushed, and my hair matted with sweat. With a long sigh, I lean back bodily against the nearest wall, and flash Mary Jane a sheepish look. Short of coming inside naked, there was no way to avoid having her see me in this get-up of mine. Still, only now does it occur to me that this isn't a conversation we've ever actually had to have in all the time we've been together, and so it's in a wry, almost joking voice, I say, "Honey, I'm home."