[for Mary Jane and Jessica] A New Fantastic Point of View
It's strange to think that Mary Jane's never really known my life as Spider-Man. Oh, I've told her stories, and she has some sense of what it's like, with Norman last year -- and even, to some extent, with the Spider-Man from her universe -- but I'd be doing myself a disfavor by saying life here and now resembles anything from my life there and then.
Because here, it'd be all too easy for Mary Jane to assume that Spider-Man's brought me nothing but misery. Here, I've only had the chance to show her, firsthand, the horrors of my life -- the graves and the injuries and the bad guys. I've never gotten to show her the joy of saving a life or the rush of a victory. Most of all, though, I've never gotten to show her how plain, old cool my life used to be. Sure, space was always more the Fantastic Four's bag than mine -- and for good reason -- but I've been on my fair share of adventures up in the stars, anyway.
It's Friday afternoon by the time I manage to bring her up to the space station with me, following a fairly uneventful morning of class. Technically speaking, I suppose she shouldn't really be up here, not being a scientist or some kind of soldier, but nepotism occasionally works in my favor, and there was no way I wasn't going to bring her once I was sure everything was kosher.
Having instructed her to keep her eyes shut as I guided her through the observation deck, it's only when we reach the room with the floor-to-ceiling window that I come to a stop, stepping in close behind her to wrap my arms around her waist, a smile threatening to split my face in two.
"Okay, okay, okay," I say, half breathless with excitement. "On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes, alright? One. Two. Three."
Because here, it'd be all too easy for Mary Jane to assume that Spider-Man's brought me nothing but misery. Here, I've only had the chance to show her, firsthand, the horrors of my life -- the graves and the injuries and the bad guys. I've never gotten to show her the joy of saving a life or the rush of a victory. Most of all, though, I've never gotten to show her how plain, old cool my life used to be. Sure, space was always more the Fantastic Four's bag than mine -- and for good reason -- but I've been on my fair share of adventures up in the stars, anyway.
It's Friday afternoon by the time I manage to bring her up to the space station with me, following a fairly uneventful morning of class. Technically speaking, I suppose she shouldn't really be up here, not being a scientist or some kind of soldier, but nepotism occasionally works in my favor, and there was no way I wasn't going to bring her once I was sure everything was kosher.
Having instructed her to keep her eyes shut as I guided her through the observation deck, it's only when we reach the room with the floor-to-ceiling window that I come to a stop, stepping in close behind her to wrap my arms around her waist, a smile threatening to split my face in two.
"Okay, okay, okay," I say, half breathless with excitement. "On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes, alright? One. Two. Three."