Toy Soldiers: Four Color (4/4)
-back to part three-
4. RED
When his dad came to pick him up for Thanksgiving, he mentioned, in a carefully casual voice, that he'd caught a show in reruns on CBS that he thought Billy would like. He'd set his VCR to tape it, if Billy wanted to give it a look while he was home.
A TV show. Jesus.
"What's it about?" Billy asked. His dad had stopped talking and he couldn't remember when.
"A comic book character," his dad said. He actually sounded relieved. "You used to be into comic books, didn't you?"
"I guess." Comic book character. Superman? Batman? Billy bit the inside of his mouth, hard, and looked out the car window, because it was a three hour drive and there wasn't any way to get away from his dad if he decided now was a great time to have a conversation about what happened last month.
When they pulled into his dad's driveway, though, his dad said, "I've got a call I have to make this evening. Tell you what: there's sandwich makings in the fridge. You get yourself supper and maybe watch the show, tell me what you think, okay?"
"Yeah," Billy said. "Sure."
It wasn't Superman, or Batman. It was the Flash. A guy in a red suit -- not spandex, more like body armor -- except when he didn't change clothes, just ran around in jeans, ran super-fast.
If I'd been faster --
Billy heard a harsh breath, and realized distantly it was his. It didn't have anything to do with how fast he'd been. If Hank hadn't grabbed him, maybe he could've gotten to Joey in time. Maybe. And maybe he couldn't, because this wasn't a fucking comic book.
He turned off the TV, and went and threw up his sandwich. Later, when his dad asked, he shrugged and said it wasn't that good a show anyway. His dad didn't ask again.
-end-
4. RED
When his dad came to pick him up for Thanksgiving, he mentioned, in a carefully casual voice, that he'd caught a show in reruns on CBS that he thought Billy would like. He'd set his VCR to tape it, if Billy wanted to give it a look while he was home.
A TV show. Jesus.
"What's it about?" Billy asked. His dad had stopped talking and he couldn't remember when.
"A comic book character," his dad said. He actually sounded relieved. "You used to be into comic books, didn't you?"
"I guess." Comic book character. Superman? Batman? Billy bit the inside of his mouth, hard, and looked out the car window, because it was a three hour drive and there wasn't any way to get away from his dad if he decided now was a great time to have a conversation about what happened last month.
When they pulled into his dad's driveway, though, his dad said, "I've got a call I have to make this evening. Tell you what: there's sandwich makings in the fridge. You get yourself supper and maybe watch the show, tell me what you think, okay?"
"Yeah," Billy said. "Sure."
It wasn't Superman, or Batman. It was the Flash. A guy in a red suit -- not spandex, more like body armor -- except when he didn't change clothes, just ran around in jeans, ran super-fast.
If I'd been faster --
Billy heard a harsh breath, and realized distantly it was his. It didn't have anything to do with how fast he'd been. If Hank hadn't grabbed him, maybe he could've gotten to Joey in time. Maybe. And maybe he couldn't, because this wasn't a fucking comic book.
He turned off the TV, and went and threw up his sandwich. Later, when his dad asked, he shrugged and said it wasn't that good a show anyway. His dad didn't ask again.
-end-