Mr. Terrific (Superhero BoyxBoy)

Issue #5 "There's Always A But"

 "All men have limits. They learn what they are and learn not to exceed them. I ignore mine." - Batman

Issue #5 “Theres Always A But”

 

 

It is well known among the teenage population, that the most important day of the week is Saturday. This is teen law.

On this day, you sleep until whatever time you wanted to; you could stay on your computer until the clock’s batteries had to be replaced; you could stay in your bed the entire day without any real consequences.

Saturdays were to teenagers what Sundays were to Christians. Sacred, holy.

And like the thief in the night that Bible spoke of as it related to the dramatic end of the world, my Saturdays were snatched from my hands.

“Your father is going to be here any minute, Keegan,” Mom said, looking over at me from her place by the stove. “Eat faster.”

I, who sat at the four legged, wooden table, just adjacent to said stove, looked at her with an expression so sardonic, I was afraid it would never move. “If I eat any faster, I’d have to skip the chewing and just swallow.”

“Try that then,” she mocked, turning off the stove and grabbing the tea she just made. “You know how I feel about Keegan Sr. being in my house for more than four minutes a day,” she said. “And if you’re not done eating, he’s going to want to come in here and sit on my couch.”

I rolled my eyes at her. My mother was a woman who prided herself on the fact that she bought the things she had. Sometimes I think she did so just so she could stress the ‘my’ in her sentences.

My couch. My house. My son.

I wondered if she made me just so she could brag about it. She was a ferociously independent woman, and as of the divorce, that took on a whole new meaning.

“Why do I even have to go to these stupid lunches anyway?” I asked, stuffing a strip of bacon in my mouth.

“Chew and then talk, Keegan.” She barked, stuffing her own piece between her lips and answering, “You know the rules.” She sounded different with the crushed bacon in her mouth. “You live with me, your father sees you on weekends.”

“But,” I moaned, dropping the fork, “Saturdays are a teenager’s Holy Day. It is a day of rest.” I cried, dropping my head on the side of my plate. “Only you can help me restore the balance.”

Mom duly ignored my cries of help, “I am sorry Keegan Jr, but I cannot assist you in your noble conquest to restore Saturdays to its former glory,”  she said and I felt her move my plate from the side of my head. “The court has ordered that a father see his son on the weekend and I cannot stand between that, or I lose you to him.” She paused. “And would you rather live with him and Molly?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?” 

“It was,” she replied, laughing a bit. “Oh,” she said afterwards, and I raised my head. Her eyes were on the small TV she had set on the counter. She would use it to watch the news in the morning while cooking.

The screen read ‘NEW DETAILS ON THE ATTACK AT HIGH SCHOOL’ but it was muted.

“Hey mom, can you turn that up?” I asked and after a few seconds thinking it over, she nodded.

A lady and man were both sitting behind a desk. Her hands were on it while his hands holding a few sheets on white paper. I couldn’t help but notice his extremely creepy mustache and her overly sized boobs, obviously the work of surgery. They were speaking: