Yesterday I reread my post about raspberries, lasagna dinner, and worms.

I read it with curiosity because while every single thing in that post was 100% true, it sure painted this Norman-Fucking-Rockwell picture and I thought, ‘Huh. I’m portrayed a lot like Martha Stewart, but like with 37% less evil.” (Martha would totally prefer to do her worm fecal exchange *before* dinner; it’s how it’s done, people.)

And yes, that post reflects part of my life, a very rich part. But there’s the me who does laundry and replies to emails and it’s not all singsong bumblebee lullabies at sunset. I’m more than that, you know,

I’m also a comic book nerd.

So while yes, I talk to the bees in my backyard, it must also be disclosed that I read X-men Legacy, Uncanny X-men, X-Force, X-Factor, Astonishing X-men (Whedon rules!), The Young X-men, etc. I think I’ve painted a picture, here, folks. There’s no need for me to elaborate on the list (well, except for The Walking Dead and Fables).

Exhibit B:  In December, Marvel’s going to run Inferno 2, centered around recently-raised-from-death Illanya Rasputin, who I love! I can hardly wait. I’ve been reading articles and online interviews.

See? Nerd.

This week has been Nerd Fest at my house:  during the day, I have been researching cutting-edge e-learning technologies and reading textbooks. At night, I watch Season 2 of Heroes. As part of my nerd allegiance, I scowl at least once in every episode and mutter, “There’s no way that someone with those powers could also master those abilities. They are two different abilities. Plus, why isn’t the flying man trying to use his powers?”

Nerd.

Tonight I intended to watch the conclusion of Heroes and scoff with mild outrage while thrilling on every minute. I stopped at Pizza Hut to get some cheesy sticks for snackage, but they talked me into a personal pan cheese pizza instead.

You see, this is also my life. Fireplace chatter with friends, and then brainstorming with the Pizza Hut guy what to order since they’re out of cheesy sticks and I am NOT leaving here empty-handed. The delivery drivers fold boxes waiting for their orders and watch us with empty curiosity.

The guy apologetically tells me it will be a ten minute wait.

“It’s cool.” I tell him.

I actually don’t mind waiting ten minutes because I brought with me a copy of First Class, a comic that came out last week and features the “unofficial” early years of the X-men. I don’t like this title; it messes up the Marvel continuity. And while I am definitely a continuity snob, there wasn’t much else good that week and I needed a junkie fix, so I bought it.

I like bringing reading materials to this Pizza Hut; it’s like a greasy library room. I get in the mood for cheesy sticks every once in a while and I rarely call ahead. I sit on their (sometimes-dirty) chrome bench next to their overwhelmingly cheerful, neon soda cooler. I read. I listen. I like it in this pizza triage space…it’s loud and there’s always hijinx going on, a driver who never showed up or everyone’s mad at Tina again, because she’s such a bitch.

I remember being 19.

I used to work at the Huntley Dairy Mart. I had my greatest boss at the Dairy Mart. He was also my first and there have been many disappointing followers in his footsteps. While cutting up onions he would listen to problems and didn’t offer much in the way of advice. He took out the trash for me a few times when I was having a bad night. Since those years, I can’t remember ever having a boss who took out the trash for me.

Tonight, I sat on the chrome bench, turned over my X-men comic and looked at the cover. A very young Spiderman, Ice Man, and The Human Torch are gaily flying forward, embracing danger and high drama as the young often do. I smiled because they look like young mutant Abercrombie & Fitches.

“No waaaaaaaaaaay!” said a voice at my side, immediately poking Spiderman’s head. “I know that dude!”

My new bud was probably three or four years old. Three and a half, I guess. He was Hispanic and his head was a black fuzzy skullcap of hair. Adorable little guy with wide brown eyes. “That’s Spiderman!”

I nodded to him. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“I like that dude.” he confided in me.

He pulled open the first page, just snatched it open.

My eyes instinctively went to look for his parent because he was gonna get a swat if Mom saw him do that. His guardians were two women with seven kids between them, most of them pretty damn young. She wasn’t paying attention because this tiny space was like a playpen for her kids - this tiny Pizza Hut foyer for people without the good sense to order ahead. As long as they didn’t run out the front door, there really wasn’t much damage they could do; she was taking a break.

“No way!” said my friend, pointing at a blue and white figure. “That’s Iceman!”

“Yes.” I concur.

“He fighting Fire Man.”

“Actually,” I say gently. “He’s not Fireman, he’s The Human Torch from the Fantastic Four. This is kind of a team-up.”

My friend has seen enough of the pictures on this page so he flips it to the next page and starts pointing out all the people he knows on that page as well:  “Iceman! Fire Man! Iceman fighting oh no…”

I wanted to argue with him that without reading the words and the dialog sequence he couldn’t really understand who was winning or losing, but he had figured it out pretty good on his own, the story he was creating was probably better than this one.

He flipped the page.

“Oh no!” he’d cry and point at another one. “That’s Iceman!”

Inside, that persnickety part of me was whimpering, “Don’t skip ahead! I haven’t read all this! You’ll ruin it for me!”

But before anything else could happen in my brain, he said, “Oh no! Where is Fire Man now?”

My heart surrendered and I decided to let him be the narrator and tell me the story. His reactions were better story than what was written.

“Oh no!”

“Now what’s happening?” I asked, catching his excitement.

He shook his head. Looked bad for Iceman.

After another page or two, he turned to me and said, “Where’s Spiderman? No way!”

Kid had a point. We had turned about eight pages and so far, no Spidey. Kinda a rip off from the cover if he showed up on the last page to moralize how we should all be good people, and you know, not kill other people on a goblin sled.

But luckily, the very next page produced Spiderman and when he showed up at last, we both cried out, “Oh no!”

“I know that dude.” he said to me very earnestly and I felt a little part of my soul touched.

You’re never too young to be a comic book nerd.

We studied another two pages together before his family’s order was finished and they had to leave. Right before they left, we were looking at a page that had comic book story left page and advertisements on the right side. There were a bunch of Marvel heroes being herded into an alliance to sell maximum copies of some online Marvel game.

“Oh no!” he cried excitedly. “Hulk! Iron man! Captain…captain…”

“Right. Captain America.”

“Yes.” he informed me. “Yeah, I know that dude.”

There was a young version Captain America with a similar shield but it was a hologram. I was worried he might get confused and so to be helpful, I said something like, “Those two look almost the same, don’t they?”

“No.” he pointed to one and then the other. “Same guy. They the same.”

My eyes opened wider in surprise. Maybe he knew something I didn’t know? I mean, sure, in the Marvel world you’re probably going to meet your future self a dozen times, it’s like a junior-writer move:  when your characters are least interesting, throw them to meet their future bad-ass-selves and see if that gives the book sales a boost.

So…maybe?

But he had already moved on and turned the page.

Naw, he…he didn’t know. But I love the story I created in my head trying to figure out my fellow nerd. I zinged through time travel possibilities, Captain Americas past and present while he had already moved on. And who knows? Maybe he could outgeek me if he actually tried.

Next page, top left:  big picture of Spiderman.

“Spiderman!” he gasped.

His family called his name and he darted away with them driving between his older sisters’ legs. I kept smiling and waving goodbye but he never turned around. I thought about giving him the comic book to keep but he was gone instantly and I didn’t want to chase him down in the street; it didn’t feel right somehow.

But I really thought we had a connection over our love for Spiderman and his pals, so I was a little bummed he didn’t turn around and say goodbye. But you know what? He’s a kid. Like, very young kid. He doesn’t have to be tuned in to the universe and the miraculous way life can be.

And just as I was flipping my comic book back towards the beginning, his head darted back into Pizza Hut.

“GOODBYE!” He shouted at me with glee.

He was gone before I could answer, and I was stunned once again by how life is sometimes, especially when you both know that a good moment was shared together.

Not all miracle moments happen in Raspberry Heights.

Sometimes I have to leave the house if I want to meet other comic book nerds and talk about which characters we love in our hearts.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 19th, 2008 at 11:37 am and is filed under Gratitude. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.