It’s been a funny couple of weeks for Batfans - The Ben Affleck thing, Harley getting naked and suicidal in a bathtub and now Kate Kane can’t get married.
At first we all thought the same thing: ‘It’s because she’s
a lesbian!’
No. It’s because
she’s a Bat and Bats cannot be happy.
So that’s that then.
Put away the tux, Batman, and let’s take the gift back to John Lewis. Kate’s wedding is off. Let’s hope we can get our money back on our
hotel rooms as well.
Apparently, the no-marriage thing applies to all the heroes
at DC. No weddings past, present or
future.
‘At least it’s not just you,’ I say.
Batman shrugs.
I don’t know what to say to him. When crap like this happens, I dread him
coming over. I hope he forgets to visit,
or he doesn’t know what’s been said, but he always does. He knows before I do. He knows
everything.
I could say something obvious, like – look I’m married. It ain’t always exciting! But he knows I’d be lying. He knows how I feel.
He knows that, we are the greatest team-up the world has
ever seen, my husband and I. And each
battle is fought with bone-crunching precision so no enemy blade – samurai-steel-forged,
magic-sharp and devil-strong – can hope to come between us. We stand as one.
He knows that, if anyone dared threaten my husband, by sheer
will alone this ring I wear would turn a glowing green as I became the weapon
of their mass destruction. And I would smash them, horribly and repeatedly till
they became one with the dirt beneath our feet.
He knows that, we are psychic - linked by mind and body. We know the other’s thoughts and feelings as
well as we know our own. The fact of this knowing does not bother us. We do not need secrets or lies. Those are for outsiders.
He knows that, my husband is my hero. When I feel troubled, lonely or hurt it isn’t
the batsignal I switch on. I just shout
my husband’s name.
I could say all this, but he knows it already. That’s why he visits me because I don’t
require rescue. My husband and I save
each other every day. That’s what being
married is for.
So I have seemingly nothing to give my best mate tonight,
who is sitting on my sofa, crumpled-up like a big, black trash bag because he’s
just had yet another night of running round Gotham
getting his face kicked in by shit-heads.
And most the time he gets no thanks for it. Not that he asks for gratitude. He just does what he does because he is who
he is. But still, to do all that and
never get anything in return? That
doesn’t seem right.
And I don’t mean give him money or gifts – he has all that. What he needs is someone he can turn to and
say – ‘Tonight was crap,’ or ‘Why do I bother?’ A person who won’t tell, won’t
judge, won’t laugh; who will just say, ‘Come here’ and let him lay his head
down for a while and close his eyes.
This is what I believe: To be brave, you need love. Love drives courage. Upon love’s shoulders, heroism stands.
So I decide to say:
‘You can bring her here, y’know.’
‘Who?’
‘Selina. If they
don’t allow you to see her. Bring her
here. Husband and I don’t mind. Just ask in advance. We’ll er, clear out.’
He starts to laugh. ‘Are you renting your house out as a Batman motel now?’
‘Oh, shaddap!…I was just trying to be helpful. Forget it, then! Guess there’s no issues. I dunno how Selina puts up with you anyway,
you moody git. She probably needs the
effing’ break!’
We go back to watching Adventure Time.
Then a few moments later:
‘Joe, would Tuesday be okay?’
