Comic Book Lovers

I was daydreaming again and I never heard his voice the first time. I'd been looking at the newest Bob Ross book on painting we'd just gotten in, and wondering what I was going to have for supper. "Excuse me," he said.

I turned and almost dropped the book. There was a boy standing behind me, about seventeen or eighteen, about average height with one of those messy hairstyles where the hair just sort of hangs down on either side of the face. "I'm sorry," I smiled. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for one of those projectors that enlarge artwork," he said. "Art-o-graph I think is the brand."

"Sure, we have a couple of those." I took him down to aisle ten and showed him the different models we had in stock.

"Do you have any coupons this week?" he asked.

"Down at the checkout," I told him. He thanked me, and went on his way.

I'd never imagined that exchange would ever signal the beginning of a crazy summer for me.

That night I went home and didn't think anything of him. It had been a pretty typical day at the craft store where I work – not too busy and not too slow – and I was looking forward to going home. I called my mom before I left and asked her what she'd like me to make for her and made a list of things to get from the store. When I got back I started supper and we talked a little bit about how our days were, and we watched a little TV, then I went to bed. Pretty much just like any other day.

I've lived with my mom ever since she had her accident ten years ago. I was in college at the time when I got word her and my dad had gotten hit on the freeway by a drunk driver. My dad died on the scene, and my mom was left a paraplegic. I've taken care of her ever since. I never did marry, and despite the odd relationship, there's never been anyone serious in my life. I won't lie – there was a time when I did resent the effect being her caretaker had on me, but my mom was the kindest, sweetest person I've ever known when I was a kid. There was nothing she wouldn't have done for me. I guess that sort of just made it natural that I'd get used to taking care of her when she needed it most. I feel proud that I am the one who's there for her, and not some anonymous rest home staffer. She's always told me to go out and find someone, but to be perfectly honest, even when I was younger I wasn't much into the bar scene and in my town, that was the only way people could meet. Taking care of my mom for so long hasn't given me many opportunities outside of work to have a steady relationship, and I guess it's like a muscle you don't use just wasting away. My social skills were that muscle. I feel atrophied inside. To make up for that, I bought myself a treadmill and one of those Total Gyms that Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley advertise late at night, and I use them every few days just to make sure I don't get fat. I think my mom feels bad for me, and at times she's called herself a burden, but I always stop her right there. It was always my choice to begin with.

Just to compound the fact that I have no life, I'm also one of those weird women that read comic books. I know, I know. Total loser. What can I say? I've read them since I was a kid, and I read them through college, and then after that I didn't have much to distract me, so I kept reading them. I'm not exactly what you'd call a collector. I just buy them and read them, but I have this geeky ability to remember almost every one I've read, though I'd never tell anyone that. I used to want to be able to draw them, but I didn't really apply myself much in that direction, but I wrote a couple of scripts and thought I might be able to do that. I won't bore you with the details – I already sound bad enough!

Anyway, why is this relevant, you may ask? A couple of weeks later, the yearly comic convention came around, at a downtown hotel, and I had a few artists I wanted sketches from and a couple of holes in my collection to fill, so I went along.

I wandered around for a while, but it was boring. I just didn't much feel like being there at all. I'd been there for about an hour, and bought the original Japanese version of The Ring and that was it. I walked into the other conference hall where the artists were signing and sketching and walked around. I thought I recognized one of them, but couldn't place the face until I got closer and remembered him as the young man who had asked me about the art projector weeks before. He was sitting at a table crowded with people. I got in line and waited my turn. His name card said "NICK!"

"Hello," I said. "Did that projector work for you?" He looked up at me and looked confused until I mentioned how I'd shown him where the projectors were, then he acknowledged me politely. There was a bit of a pause and I felt silly. He had a small open portfolio on his table. I asked, "May I?" and looked through it. I was impressed! His work was really, really good. It reminded me of some of my favorite artists. I told him so, and he said thanks.

"Do you draw?" he asked me.

"I used to," I told him. "I do some writing now and then."

"Published?"

"Um … still working on that," I smiled. "Anyway, thanks for letting me look."

"No problem."

I was about to move on to the next table when he said, "D'you want to go for some coffee? The hospitality room's down the hall, and I've been sitting here for hours." I thought for a second and said okay. He told everyone he'd be back in a few minutes, then turned over his name sign on the table and came around to my side. We walked down to the hospitality room not really talking.

When I saw a couple of the more famous guests kicking back, I got a bit nervous. "Am I allowed to be in here?" I asked him. He said it was no problem.

We grabbed some chips and pop and took it to a table. "How long have you been drawing comics?" I asked.

"A couple of years, but I've been drawing all my life."

"Your work is really good. How did you get work so quickly? I mean, you're what seventeen or eighteen?"

"I'll be nineteen in January. How old are you?"

"Thirty five," I told him. He just nodded and didn't say anything. I was half expecting a dumb comment, but nothing came. A famous artist came over to tell him he loved the last issue of the comic book he was working on and left, and I was even more impressed. "That's really cool," I said. "You must be pretty famous!"

"The best thing about comics," he said, "Is that I could be the most famous comic book artist in the world, and outside nobody gives a shit. I really don't like these conventions. Too many loser geeks."

"Gee, thanks," I said. I was only half-kidding. But that really embarrassed him, because he thought I was serious. He tried to say he didn't mean everybody there were geeks, but I told him to forget it.

"Well, you're hardly a typical comic book fan," he said. "I mean, for one you're not some big fat dude with a ponytail."

"Like on The Simpsons!" I said.

"Right. Way too many of those guys around. And you're a chick. That's pretty uncommon right off the bat."

"I guess. I did see a girl dressed like Catwoman earlier, though."

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "I've seen her, alright." He said it with such barely disguised lust that my female ego felt bruised. I chose not to say anything, but then I couldn't think of anything to say after that. I made some small talk instead, asking him how he got started in the business, but then I felt I was becoming a bore. I looked at my watch.

"So … we're getting together tonight after the con. Just a few of us artists. Nothing special. Interested in coming along?"

I thought about it, then thought of my mom. She'd be fine once I had given her supper and I knew she'd be willing me out the door if I told her a man had invited me … though it hadn't been a man, had it, I corrected myself. It had been a boy, sixteen years younger than me. And it wasn't really a date – it was an open invitation. I felt a bit more comfortable about that sort of arrangement.

"If I can make it, I'll drop by," I said.

"Cool. We'll be meeting up around 9:30 downstairs in the lobby."

I looked at my watch again and decided I should leave. We shook hands and I left the convention, and headed home.

My mom, of course, was more than willing to push me out the door. I hadn't told her who had asked me, but it mattered more to her that I was getting out and about and not stuck indoors all the time. As I said before, I know she feels guilty about how things turned out. Still, even as we ate supper, I was looking for a way out. I'm just not used to going out anymore. I never was much of a socializer even when I was younger, but taking care of mom really made me stay home a lot more than I might usually have done.

I went into the bathroom and looked at my reflection. My hair looked too long and straggly and my eyes felt puffy even if I couldn't really tell by looking. And of course, I had nothing to wear. I fretted about it for ages, then decided I was just going to go. I showered and put my hair up in a ponytail and threw some makeup on – not much, just enough to look as if I gave a crap – and put on jeans and a Spider-Man t-shirt. I looked at myself before I left and thought the t-shirt screamed pathetic middle aged loser geek, which depressed me almost to the point of not going again. The clock said I had about ten minutes to find something better or just forget about the whole thing. I went to the closet and found a dress I didn't remember I had. I'd bought it for a company dinner/dance thing about five years ago. Nothing dressy, but not tacky either.

When I came back downstairs, mom was gushing. "You look so pretty!" she told me. Isn't that what mothers are supposed to do? I told her I'd be back in time to help her into bed, kissed her, and left.

I got there a little after 9:30. As I went through the lobby it was very busy. There must have been a wedding reception that night. There were a lot of very pretty girls and women everywhere, and I felt plain and inadequate. As you can probably tell, I don't have the greatest self-confidence in the world. I was happy to get through them and find the meeting place.

The bar was very smoky. It made my sinuses dry and scratchy. I looked around and for a horrible second I couldn't see them and thought I'd made a fool of myself again. For about the hundredth time. But then, I saw a hand waving at me from a booth in the back and I went over.

"Hi," Nick said. He went to introduce me to the others in the booth and realized he didn't know my name.

"Emma," I said.

One of the others was a woman. She introduced herself as Fran, the wife of George, who was a small and shrew-like man. Fran herself seemed shrew-like also. I wondered who tamed who. The other man was John, and I knew him from the comics. He was actually one of my favorite artists! I was quite thrilled by it all. I sat next to Nick.

We spent a few hours there, but when they were ready to go to their next venue, I knew I had to bow out. We walked out together to the front door, and then John asked me what I was doing the next night since he was in town the whole weekend. I felt really flushed, and a bit giddy. John was quite the talker, and I was definitely feeling something of a geeky rush. I was smiling, but then suddenly I looked at Nick who was just glaring at the back of John's head, and I caught myself. I told John I was too busy the rest of that weekend, that I was going out of town. It didn't seem as if it was much of a disappointment to him, so I didn't feel so bad. I shook everyone's hand and walked to my car.

"Emma!"

I turned, and Nick was jogging toward me, his hair flopping around madly. "Too bad you can't come along. Here." He stuffed something in the palm of my hand then just turned around and trotted back to the big van the rest of them had piled into. I got into my car and turned on the dome light and looked at what he'd given me. It was a crumpled ball of paper, which I opened up. He'd sketched a funny face and written a phone number beneath it. "Call me! I'd really like to see you again." I looked at it under my dim single light and suddenly felt like a schoolgirl again. Never mind the fact that I was thirty five and he was nineteen, and never mind the fact that there was no way I was ever going to call the number, I just felt … I don't know … visible. I felt flushed again, but this time it wasn't through embarrassment or awkwardness, it was from being noticed and, I suppose, appreciated. I hadn't felt that way for a long, long time.

"You've just made an old woman's day, Nick!" I said aloud to myself, and drove home with the radio turned up.

A couple of days went by, and in that time the possibility that Nick was just teasing me had sunk in. I never did throw his number away, but I couldn't bring myself to call him. I imagined that he'd be on the other end with his girlfriend with the speakerphone on, and them cracking themselves up on my account. I just didn't feel that life was worth that sort of embarrassment.

Then, in the middle of the week, I was at work, stocking the shelves with paint, when I was tapped on the shoulder. Turning around, I saw I was face to face with Nick. "Hey," he said.

"Hi," I replied. I was so pleased to see him that I felt nauseous. I couldn't look at him in the eye, just messed around with a lock of hair that my clumsy ponytail didn't catch. "How are you?"

"I was thinking about you. Wondered why you didn't call." He held his hands up defensively, and said, "I'm not stalking you or anything, I just wanted to know if you were interested or not. If not, I'll walk away, and you'll never see me again."

"I'm thirty five," I told him. "I'm old enough to be your mother."

"But you're not my mother, are you?" There then followed one of those uncomfortable pauses. One of the younger girls who works with me passed by my aisle. I tried to make it seem as if I was talking to a customer, but I must have appeared silly. "Look, it's okay," he said. "Forget I asked." His face was red. He didn't seem angry, maybe slightly awkward. He turned around and was walking away when someone inside me – who was not me – said, "What are you doing? What could it hurt?" – and I caught up with him. I put my hand on his forearm, and pulled him into another aisle.

"You have to see it from my point of view," I said. "Women my age don't usually go out with men as young as you. And besides, I don't get asked out much. So it was a bit of a shock."

"C'mon – you don't get asked out much? You're gorgeous! I've been thinking about you the last couple of days."

"Well, thanks," I said, squirming.

"Why don't you have coffee with me, so I convince you to say yes."

I didn't need convincing! I was quite taken with him, in all honesty. But I didn't feel I could step on that carousel anymore without falling off and getting hurt. I tried to tell him that, but instead it came out sounding like, "Okay." Before you know it, I had agreed to meet him at the Barnes & Noble next door for a quick lunch. He walked away with a smile on my face, me with a frown on mine.

As it turned out, we had a pleasant coffee. We liked a lot of the same things and that made for no more of those awkward silences. His eyes were all over my face and hands, and how I wanted them there! When it came time for me to go back to work he extracted a date from me the following Sunday. I wasn't completely sure about it, but I said yes. I went back to work feeling elated, nervous, cautious, angry at myself for making what was most likely a stupid mistake.

That night, I went home and told my mom over supper that I had a date at the weekend. She was overjoyed to hear that. Big tears welled up in her eyes. She apologized for being so emotional. I told her it was okay.

I went to bed that night and tried to sleep, but I couldn't. All I did was toss and turn, forcing my face into the pillow and trying to tell myself to not think of anything. Not a good idea. Finally I gave up and just lay there in the darkness and silence. My clock's red numbers were maddening. Eventually, I thought of Nick and how he had made me feel wanted and special earlier that day. As I thought of him, I could feel my privates tingle. I did nothing for the longest time, but then, my hand absently wandered to beneath my nightdress, and between my legs. I opened them apart ever so slightly and ran my fingers along my labia, surprised at how moist I was. I pushed my index finger in and touched my clitoris. How good it felt! I hadn't masturbated for a long time – years, actually. A lot of those feelings I used to have just seemed to have disappeared. I didn't really miss them. But that night, as I touched myself, they seemed to come flowing back over me. I took off my nightdress and lay naked on the bed, my legs now wide apart and my finger first rubbing my swollen clitoris gingerly, then sliding in and out of me. I used my other hand to cup my breasts one at a time, and feel their weight, gently pinch my nipples. As I lay there, touching myself all over, I thought of Nick's long fingers, his gentle brown eyes and messy black hair, and I could feel my orgasm building. I should have stopped, but I couldn't by then, even if I wanted to. While I came, I put two fingers as deep inside me as I could and squeezed down on them. I felt electrified, and my fingers were plugged into my socket. I lay there, alone, in the silence and darkness again, my body covered with sweat. I slowly drifted off peacefully, too soon to pull the sheets back up.

I had the next day off, and on a whim, as I drove past a hair salon, I decided I would get my hair cut, and buy some 21st century makeup. I think the stuff I'd had at home had been around since the 80s. When I went inside and sat down, the girl asked me what style I was thinking of. I was daring: I just told her to do something modern.

When she got done, I was thrilled. I had had fairly long hair for the best part of ten years, but I had never done anything with it. The girl cutting my hair had whacked a good six inches off it and gave me something that looked a bit like that blonde girl from Xena. I was very thrilled with it, and tipped her almost $10. After that I went to Wal-Mart and bought a couple of different cosmetic items.

The next day, back at work, I heard a lot of comments, all which made me feel that I had done the right thing. I felt very good indeed, better than I'd felt for a long, long time. Probably since before I started taking care of mom. All that day, I kept waiting for Sunday.

When it arrived, the arrangement was that we'd meet at the restaurant we'd agreed upon. I got there early and waited by the front door, resisting the greeter at the front door to have a drink at the bar. I waited. And waited. People came in, waited, and got seated in the time I waited. By the time an hour ticked by, I looked at the greeter and she offered me a small, sympathetic half-smile. I wished I could have returned one, but I couldn't. I felt as if my heart was broken. Five more minutes, I told myself. I'll give him five more minutes. The eternal optimist. Or fool.

Five minutes came and went, and I dragged myself up. No sooner had I done that than Nick threw the front door open and we looked at each other. "I'm sorry!" he said. And he was; it was written all over his face. I think that might have been the moment that I fell in love with him.

Well, he was a perfect gentleman that night. He had forgotten to fill up his tank earlier that day and ran out of gas three miles before the restaurant. He had a faulty gas gauge, he said. It always made his car seem to have more gas than it really did. I had the same problem a couple of cars ago. We talked all about how he got started drawing comics, and I thought it was a great story. He told me all about the comic he was working on now, and how he'd love to work for one of the big companies in the future. "You're young enough," I said, momentarily forgetting the situation. When I realized what I'd said I laughed about it. When we left, I told him I had to go home and he was fine with that. We shook hands and he hugged me. I wanted so much to kiss him, but I think he was too polite to just move in for the kill. I did appreciate that. It made me eagerly agree to another night out in a couple of days.