𝑆𝑃𝐼𝐷𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺

         Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker.     You live with your Aunt May &.   Uncle Ben.     You are in 4th grade &.   you are 9 years old ─   though you were usually quick to remind Aunt May that you were 9 years &.   183 days old,  but who was counting anyways  ?     You were going to a mall with your Uncle Ben,  a new line of Iron Man toys had become available,  &.   you just couldn’t wait for your birthday.     After all,  Iron Man was your idol,  you would always proudly announce in school that you knew everything about the multibillionaire cool guy Tony Stark ─   &.   you could always prove that claim too.     Your walls were plastered in posters of Iron Man,  you had more t - shirts than you could count,  for almost every single non-Iron-Man themed toy you owned,  you had at least three Iron Man action figures.     Of course when you found out there was going to be a Tony Stark figurine with that iconic red &.  gold suit that could fire blue pellets to mimic his awesome Repulsor Rays,   you begged your aunt &.   uncle to take you to the strip mall plaza four blocks away.     Aunt May had things to do,  she was a working woman &.   as much as she loved you,  she couldn’t drop everything to take you so you could buy a toy,  no matter how much you claimed you would die without it.     But  !     Uncle Ben,  being the kind man that he was,  was more than happy to indulge your childish whims.

So he took you to the mall.

        People always said you were a talkative kid,  once you got going about something you would never stop.     You had once gotten a mark on your report card because,  though you were an excellent student,  you simply talked too much  &.   would often distract your less attentive peers.     You would entrance them with stories about superheroes,  recounting the thrilling stories of Iron Man’s conquests with vivid detail,   often including your own metahuman characters into the mix.     After all,   who would know  ?     Though as a 3rd grader, your story - telling skills had been somewhat lacking,  that didn’t stop your tales from being more exciting than Christopher Columbus  (  ugh  ).     When you got called down to the principal’s office for causing such a disturbance with your endless yapping,  Uncle Ben took one look at your puffy red eyes &.   tear - stained cheeks &.   rather than yell at you,  he began to laugh.     Now,  from time to time,  he would call you Motormouth,  &.   during the ride to the mall you were certainly living up to your title.         Being a young boy,  you assumed that whatever May &.   Ben were watching on TV would be an old person show.     Something like golf or The History Channel,  something boring like that ─   but sometimes you would be lucky enough to catch the news with your two guardians,  &.   although you didn’t care much for this “ Paul Ittix ” guy &.   his relation to the president,  you did get to catch glimpses of the exciting life of Tony Stark.     Of course,  Uncle Ben was always in the room with you,  but that never stopped you from talking about the most recent Iron Man story with so much passion that you would think Ben had never even heard the name before.     When you ran out of things to talk about,  you would make up your own stories,  imagining what life as Iron Man was like  :   fighting bad guys,  getting to meet other superheroes,  having enough money to buy all the ice cream in the world  !     It sounded like paradise to your little 9 year old sensibilities.     Through all your blabbering,  Ben listened patiently,  offering “ oohs ” &.   “ ahhs ” when appropriate,  nodding sagely with occasional interjections of “ really ? ” to further stoke the flames of your impassioned rant about Tony Stark.     He only ever breaks your pacing when the car is parked,  gently ruffling your hair  &.   laughing as you swat away his hand with your smaller ones.

“ We’re here,  you can stop now Petey. ”

        But then again,  what kind of kid didn’t like malls  ?     A weird one,  you bet.     The strip mall was such a magical place,  just a collection of buildings made specifically to buy anything  &.   everything  (  as far as your young mind was concerned anyways  ).     While you found that the Subway wedged in between a SuperCuts  &.   a dilapidated East - Asian grocery was palatable,  your real heart &.  soul could be found in the tiny little toy store at the very end of the parking lot.     It was nothing to look at,  really,  cramped &.  overcrowded with random doodads &.  gizmos.     The newer toys were always stocked in the shelves up front as to draw attention, but they rarely did.     Most people would fly to the Toys-R-Us a short ways away to get their newly minted Iron Man merch,  but you had learned early from May &.   Ben that the greatest things came from unexpected places.     You weren’t the only kid who loved superheroes  (  although you were wholly convinced that you loved them the most  )  so you knew that such a new &.   exciting toy would have flown off the shelves ages before you were able to get there.     This tiny corner store was the best shot you had at getting what you needed when you needed it.         Your pudgy face smushes up against the glass as your eyes scour the front of the shop to try &.   find the Iron Man toy.     Upon finding that they were not on display, you dash inside without so much as waiting for Ben to lock the car door.     A pleasant jingle echoes through the store as you enter,  followed soon after by your exasperated uncle.     The weathered face behind the tall counter smiles down at you as you come rushing inside,  Mr. Stacy knew you two very well.     He was often the one who had to listen to your poor guardians complain about their aching wallets every single time they came to buy you another trinket or plaything.     He would always laugh good-naturedly &.   offer a discount,  which both May &.   Ben would refuse.     You offer the owner a friendly wave  &.   a beaming smile before hurriedly spouting off an explanation for your visit this time.     Ben pats your shoulder &.   hushes you,  though Mr. Stacy doesn’t seem to mind.     He gestures to the back of the store &.   your face lights up like a tree on Christmas morning.

“ They just came in,  they should still be in the boxes.  ”

        Your little legs trip over nearly everything as you dash to the back of the store &.   to a storage closet tucked away into the far corner.     There was a lock,  of course,  but Mr. Stacy had taught you a trick.     You grip the doorknob tightly,  twist,  &.   shove as hard as you can.     The lock comes loose  &.   the door swings open, revealing boxes lined up against the walls.     Unable to handle your excitement,  you dive in,  tearing up the cardboard &.   even going as far as to chew through the bitter packing tape to access the contents within.     Your opening of the boxes is  .  .  .   somewhat rabid,  &.   the noise of tearing cardboard drowns out the jingle of the bells announcing that someone has arrived inside the shop.     You wouldn’t have cared anyways as your labor comes to fruition,  lifting a colorfully packaged action figure over your head like a trophy.     It’s everything you’d imagined it would be  !     Shiny &.   new &.   somewhat inaccurate in its depiction of your hero  (  though you would only notice six years later that this doll made Tony Stark seem a little wild - eyed ).         There’s a moment where a tiny voice in your head tells you to slow down &.   wait until Uncle Ben actually pays Mr. Stacy for the toy,  but you only listen to it when you cut your finger on a thin edge of the plastic.     You hardly notice the tiny trickle of blood,  instead dashing out of the storage closet &.   racing back towards the counter.     The sooner the transaction was over,  the sooner you could head home &.   have May open the darn thing for you.     You can see the top of your Uncle’s head over some of the lower shelves,  &.   you wave to catch his attention ─   but he doesn’t notice.     You furrow your brows &.   get closer,  continuing to wave to try &.   get the man’s attention.     When all else fails,  you take in a deep breath  &.   yell for your uncle.

BANG.

        The first shot makes your ears ring &.   your world seems to be moving much slower than you remember,  or maybe it’s just because you’re having trouble processing what’s happening around you.     There’s a lot of yelling going on,  Uncle Ben seems to be wrestling with a man you’ve never met before.     You can’t quite make out his face past all the grime &.   dirt but you’re certain that he’s not someone that your family knows.     They’re holding something,  the both of them,  it reminds you of how Harry  &.   Curt were fighting over that toy truck during free time.     Uncle Ben &.   Aunt may had told you that sharing is caring,  though,  so that didn’t make any sense at all.     Mr. Stacy seems to be distressed too,  he’d holding a phone &.   yelling into it,  even from this distance you can see his hands shaking.     Some dust flutters down from the plaster ceiling &.   into your face,  so you drop the toy you had been holding to rub at your eyes.     The plastic clatters against the yellowed linoleum.     Then another shot reverberates through the tiny shop,  scaring you to attention.         Your eyes meet Ben’s but something is wrong,  his face is contorted in an emotion you can’t quite recognize &.   then you realize he isn’t really looking at you.     Rather,  he seems to be looking past you.     Where  ?     You’re not really sure.     But it scares you.     The man who had been wrestling with Uncle Ben before suddenly seems uncomfortable,  frightened.     Ben’s gaze starts to get lower &.   lower,  &.   you realize he’s falling.     The man curses,  turning  &.   sprinting through the doors without a second thought,  &.   as the bells ring,  everything starts to move at a normal pace.         Terror suddenly grips your tiny heart &.   you burst into tears at the chaos that had just ensued.     Instinctively you run towards your uncle,  seeking comfort in his warm hugs  &.   that gentle,  familiar voice telling you that everything would be okay.     Wailing,  you stop by Ben,  who was still laying on the floor.     Your shoes splash in something but you can’t be bothered to look,  you’re too busy kneeling by your uncle,  pulling on his shirt &.   begging him to take you home.     You’re scared,  you want to go to Aunt May,  you want to sit there &.   watch Back to the Future with her &.   Uncle Ben,  this was scary &.  you didn’t like it anymore.         When Ben doesn’t respond,  you manage to stop your torrential downpour of tears for long enough to see that he’s closed his eyes.     For a moment your dismay is put to the side by annoyance &.   you shake your uncle,  convinced that he was playing dead or maybe he was asleep.     Perhaps this was some kind of elaborate prank &.   he would wake up any minute now to tell you that this was just a big joke because you couldn’t wait to get your stupid toy.     You shake him harder,  &.   this time you make sure to say that this was a stupid joke &.   that it wasn’t funny.     Ben still doesn’t respond.     So you do the same thing again :   shake,  reprimand,  wait.     Then again.     &.   again.      &.   again.         About the sixth time around you begin to get more desperate,  no longer shaking gently or prodding,  you begin to try &.   jostle the man as much as possible.     You resort to using your tiny fists to pound uselessly at his chest,  once again starting to sob as Ben remains silent despite your best efforts.     Heaving &.  short of breath,  you lay your head against his chest,  &.   you realize how exhausted you are.     Your sweat even made his shirt feel damp &.  somewhat sticky against your cheek.     You sniffle &.   sob hoarsely,  fingers clutching onto your uncle like a lifeline as you rest your head against him.     You can hear something inside of his chest,  a faint ba - thump that seemed distant,  a weak noise that seemed to be struggling to make itself known to the world.     You think about those lazy Sunday mornings where you would lay on top of Uncle Ben &.   the both of you would take a nap in the warm sun under May’s watchful eye.     You remember falling asleep to the strong pulsing rhythm of his beating heart &.   your grip on your uncle tightens.         Over where you had been standing,  exposed wiring crackles &.   pops loudly &.   a few sparks flutter down just far enough for you to catch it in your periphery.     You flinch at the noise,  it was somewhat alarming but the shock of it had passed quickly enough.     You listen hard for the faint beat of Ben’s chest again  .  .  .     Ever - so - slightly you lift your gaze &.   catch a glimpse of the toy you were supposed to come here to buy today.     It’s laying forgotten in the aisle, in the midst of little chunks of plaster.     The light illuminating the glimmering new plastic flickers ominously &.   you wonder what would have happened if you could have just waited for your birthday.