Free The Dark Knight (Apocalypse Weird 2) by Nick Cole Page B

liked to imagine something akin to a
deeper symphony they could not hear. Happy to know that it was Cory’s and
Cory’s alone.  And so on that day, as his father dressed for work, ironing and
pressing his own uniform because if Colin could save just that much in dry
cleaning, it would go right into the trust he’d set up to take care of Cory in
case anything ever happened.   On that day, Cory asked a question.
    Colin burned himself on the iron.  Not thinking about what
he was doing because he was thinking too much about money and worry and the
state of the world and Cory.  Not feeling very “Super Cop”-like at that
particular moment.  Not feeling very heroic.  Feeling a little down, defeated,
unable to catch a break.  Wondering what he’d done...
    And he stopped right there. 
    Because he couldn’t take that out there on the streets
tonight.  Every traffic stop, every domestic violence call, every crime in
progress was a potential confrontation and he was not the biggest and baddest
dude on the street.  But, as every cop knows, when it comes down to it, it
comes down to one thing.  One simple thing when a drunk the size of a mountain
wants to tangle.  It comes down to who wants to make it home more.
    Colin Morris knew he couldn’t take his baggage out there
tonight.  He knew he needed to be something bigger than what he felt like at
that burned hand moment.  Something, someone heroic.
    One of the sergeant’s wives had given her husband a photocopy
of an email she’d received.  It was some little girl’s letter to a soldier over
in the war.  The little girl had written to the soldier, knowing his life was
in danger in a foreign country, instructing him to be careful, and then, the
little girl gave that unknown soldier a piece of solemn advice. 
    “Always be Batman.”
    You see, Batman can handle anything, and to a little girl
and a sergeant’s wife, any cop’s spouse, Batman always comes home.  Which is
important when you love someone.  Coming home is real important.
    The sergeant posted it near the lockers.  Just a piece of
paper and a strip of tape.  The important part underlined in red, circled by
the sergeant’s wife.  “Always be Batman”.
    And no one said anything.  No jokes like there always were
about advice from wives.  No one defaced it.  No one tore it down or even
laughed as they walked by.
    “Always be Batman”.
    And Cory, playing in Cory world, hearing that unheard
symphony or some such, looked up from the closet where he was petting one of
his Dad’s sneakers and said, as Colin Morris belted his utility belt around his
waist checking the fit, he’d been losing weight lately because he’d been
skipping lunch.  Saving just that much more for Cory, y’know.  Cory looked up
and said, “Who are you, Daddy?”
    Colin looked up suddenly.  He’d been thinking about the burn
to his hand and how it had to be right where he would grip the steering wheel
all night.  Right in the web of his hand.  And, just like all of us when small
things send us down the well of self-pity again, and our larger issues rear up
and mean so much more in the light of tripping, or dropping a plate, or putting
salt in the coffee instead of sugar, Colin had no answer other than an
existentially deep and unspoken “I don’t know some days” that seemed on the tip
of his tongue, but was really deep down in his heart.  Or at least, that’s
where it felt like it was.
    And that wasn’t good enough for Cory, Colin knew.  Cory
didn’t understand existential answers.  Neither does life.
    Then, remembering the piece of yellowing paper in the locker
room, Colin Morris said, “I’m Batman.”  He smiled and snapped the belt into its
loop.
    “How come?” asked Cory.
    What followed was Colin Morris trying to explain, to his
mentally handicapped son, what a police officer did.  Which led to crime. 
Which led to bad people and the farther Colin went, heading into the law and
judges and even