Spider-Woman

Chapter 1

Peter was gone.  He really was gone.  It took me several minutes to accept that he wasn't coming back.  I stared at the ticket in my hands, the metal bench cold against my back.

"Flight E16 boarding now," a man's voice said sharply over the intercom.  I gripped the ticket harder, the writing E16 jumping out at me like a flashing light.  A knot wrapped itself around and around in my stomach. 

Suddenly, something clicked in my mind.  Wait.  I sat there, dismayed, unable to believe what ridiculous plan had just come to mind.  But then, I was actually considering it.

I only sat there, trembling, gripping my ticket so tightly that it began to crumple.  What do I do?

"Sixty seconds remaining to board flight E16," the voice spoke again.  My teeth chattered.  I exhaled, releasing a deep breath, then ripped my ticket in half.

---

It took me over half an hour to make my way back to the front of the airport.  By that time, my belongings, that I wasn't carrying with me, were long gone, flying across the ocean on their way to England.  It took me another forty-five minutes to wait in line to the associates behind a long mahogany counter.

"Sir," I said, approaching the desk.  A large, dark-skinned man was standing behind it, keying something on his computer.  He looked up at me with tired eyes.  "I-I have a problem."

He rolled his eyes with a grunt.  "What is it?"  Even if his shift wasn't near over, he was ready to go home.

"My luggage went on the E16 flight, but, as you can see, I did not."

"Why?  Why did you not get on your flight?"

"Sudden change of plans."

"Next time, make sure your change of plans are not 'sudden.'"  He groaned.  "Do you have your ticket?  Your proof-of-having-a-ticket?"  I handed him any information I had left, having foolishly thrown away my ticket after ripping it to shreds.  "You hardly have anything, but I guess it's enough to get your things back."  He tapped my address at the bottom of the paper.  "We can have it shipped to you..."

"No!"  I said, a little too fiercly.  "Just...call my cell."  He looked at me, shocked and confused, his eyebrows scrunched together.

"Very well, then."  I nodded in thanks, then filed my way through the crowd.  "Next!"  He shouted.  I huffed.  I had to speak to get his attention, and now he's calling attention to himself.

After I made my way out of the airport, I caught a cab. 

"Where to, ma'am?"  His blue eyes locked with mine as his scrawny dirty-blonde hair hung in his face.  Kind of cute, actually.  But, not nearly as cute as Peter. 

I thought for a minute.  I couldn't go home.  What would my family do if they knew?  Finally, I told him an address and he drove on, fighting the traffic for another hour until we finally arrived at my destination. 

"Thank you," I said, climbing out.  I handed him a wad of cash and hurried up the steps of the old wooden home.  Memories swirled before me as I faced the door. 

Our old "summer home."  It wasn't really a summer home, though, since it wasn't even fifty miles away from our apartment.  Still, it was a nice place to visit every once and awhile to get away from the big city.  It had been several years since we'd last been here: Winding tufts of weeds that hadn't been tended to and the mossy porch was enough evidence to prove it. 

I shook my head, allowing the memories to fall away.  I heard the cab tires spin out on the loose gravel as the driver sped away, churning up clouds of dust that made my eyes water.  Finally, I sighed, pushing the unlocked door wide open. 

It was built much like a log cabin, made completely of wood, except it didn't have logs.  Wooden boards held everything up, lining the floors and walls and even the ceiling.  As a child, I always complained that I felt as if the walls were closing in on me.  I shivered, feeling the same sensation now, although, this time, I knew that it wasn't true.  The smell of damp wood filled my nostrils. 

"Gwen!  Honey, can you help me with the dishes?"  My mother called from the wooden kitchen.  I peeked around the wooden doorframe, watching my mother leaning over a wooden counter beside the sink.  Her belly was full and round, as she was pregnant with my brother, Simon.  I ran across the wooden floor, giggling as my blonde pigtails swung in the air, brushing against my neck as they fell, back and forth.  I was growing older, that was for sure, but I still had this silly attachment to pigtails.  Kids at school made fun of me for it, but I didn't care.

I listened to the clatter of plates against wood and the splashing of water.  I shoved my hands into the soapy wetness, slinging my hands around, spraying the already wet wooden counter with more bubbly suds. 

"Wet wood!"  I giggled.  My mother chastised me, trying to keep me from making a mess.  I was disappointed, having been pleased to do something to destroy the nasty wood I had despised for years.  Wooden this, wooden that.  "Wet wood!"

I blinked several times, preventing tears from rolling down my face.  Those were the good times.  So this is what growing up is like?  Leaving the only people you love to pursue a dream?  Then, turning from that dream back to the people you love, although you won't see them for a long time, anyway?  Almost dying, leaving Peter.  Ripping the plane ticket.  Standing here, alone. 

I couldn't hold them back any longer.  I was alone, after all, so I let them fall.  Soon I was weeping, falling across the dusty old couch until I was sneezing and coughing as well.  After what felt like hours, I finally calmed down enough to sit up and wipe my cheeks.  Then I curled into a ball, feeling sick and miserable.