1.
14
“When you’re walking through a storm, keep the wind to a minimum.”
He never got that phrase that Uncle Aaron used to say to him when he was angry, unhappy, or sad. He was continuously promising him he'd get it one day, or that certain things wouldn't make sense to his tiny brain just yet. It mattered no way, because Miles thought it was stupid.
Humans have bounds; we can see, smell, touch, taste, and listen. But no one genuinely understands what is going on inside each other. The act of thinking is objective. And he thought constantly about what Uncle Aaron was thinking when he saw Miles's innocent eyes piercing right through him the day he took off his disguise.
The wind ripped through his eardrums, smashing down like thunderous waves.
Miles found rain in his eyes despite the fact that it was sunny outside on the roof, with not a single cloud in the sky. In that moment, he struggled to find a meaning, a route, or a method of solution. In that alleyway, he couldn't make out his uncle's voice.
The wind was too loud that day. He was glad, he didn’t want to hear his last words so audible. He didn’t want to accept this as true.
2.
18
“Miles, you can’t just not show up on your graduation day. Mijo, this is a big deal.” As he sat on the fire escape, looking down at the wandering crowds, his mother pleaded through his doorway. He was busy trying to imagine himself being on the streets, going about his business as time passed.
“I can’t…I just want to get the stupid paper and move on with my life! They can mail it to me.” He yelled out, startling the people walking from below but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes and listened to the roaring jets and the laughter and cries of the citizens.
Miles was unable to save someone today. Someone no older than twelve years old. Not a supervillain or a flying comet in the sky, but something gang-related. Human.
Brooklyn. He forgets that the world isn't always evil because of super villains and otherworldly wickedness. He watched the blue vanish from the child's eyes as he unintentionally fired the revolver, killing himself instead.
Too young to cook his own meals and too young to not rely on his mother to remind him to brush his teeth. Someone's boy should have been sleeping in his spider-man-themed bed sheets, fantasizing about flying over the sky and making countless webs of possibilities.
He'd been feeling a lot like that lately. He's not as concerned about things that should have been important to him as he once was. But today he found himself caring for someone he barely knew. A lot.
There were far more pressing concerns than what people expected or wanted from him. But this weighed heavier on him than anything else.
“What’s the joy in that? Look, I know you’re upset your friends won’t be there but you have family.”
“We’ve always been on your side…?” Miles missed the way his mother's voice was quivering in doubt that her kid knew he was supported all along.
He sighed, allowing the wind to take his breath and fill his lungs once more. It's like a cycle. But he choked this time, his shoulders trembling beneath the strain.
He longed to let go, to let the metal bars sing as his legs untangled and struck them on their way down, from the metal that kept him firm. And confined.
But he'll keep looking at the night sky, the many universes he hasn't seen yet, and pray that in one of them. Everything is OK with just one.
“It’s not about my friends. It’s about you and dad. The world, it’s like sometimes…I’m fated for everyone and everything to be against me.”
Spider-man. They were aware, and she was aware. However, it was all too much for her frail heart. It's been a difficult two years trying to handle him in a way that didn't suffocate him within the walls they called home.
It was her duty to protect, even if Miles didn’t think he needed it anymore.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Mami. Seriously this time, and I just wonder…if you guys keep letting me depend on you.”
“Will I survive or drown in my freedom? Can I protect… nothing . It’s nothing.”
Of course, she would have preferred that her son remain on Earth rather than among the skies. Swinging so high that he may fall over, become entangled in the wrong violent scene, or take too much cough medicine.
That’s her son.
But it was as if he was untouchable, even for someone she'd loved from the womb, when all he could hear was the rumbles of her laughter and delight. His father's baritone voice cooed affectionately as he touched her stomach.
He was going to be too big for his tiny room. He ached for excitement. He desired to be in charge of his own life, which she had given birth to.
Miles was just miles. He'd spread himself far and broad. And away from her, from home. But she wishes he could hear her, and listen to her careful breaths. Realize that she would forever stare at him with motherly devotion, like if he never aged past six years old.
Head out the window, the breeze caressing his tightly coiled hair. After a long day at the beach, their bronze skin glistened in the setting sun. Far away from home.
“Miles get your big head out the window. You’re not a dog!” His father adjusted the rearview mirror to stare him down with a snickering smile.
“Ay! Listen to your father, or you’ll end up with a flying head.” She giggled, peeking over her shoulder and adjusting her straw sun hat. In the rushing wind that caressed his small face, her long black tresses of hair flared backwards, tickling him.
He laughed as he pushed her hair back over her shoulder and leaned out into the sunlight, spelling his name in the gravelly routes and smiling every time a green sign said something along the lines of:
“79 Miles East” “60 Miles North”
The world knows of Miles.
“But it sounds like the ocean mami! I want to go back to the sea soon.” He whined, pouting like the young kid he was.
“You will, but you gotta listen to us. It's for your safety. Understand?” She said.
“Yes ma’am.” He nodded and returned to his car seat. The aroma of salty, tempting sea water is still wafting through the window.
His mother dozed off, and his father was too preoccupied with wailing out the lyrics to an old 90s r&b song to notice that his head was out the window again.
Hands in the air and gleeful cries. He had dust in his eyes, but he continued to beam.
“I’m going to bed.” He lied.
Miles ran wild in the streets that night and arrived late for his graduation ceremony the next day. Gown and cap fluttering in the May breeze.
The wind was so strong that he couldn't hear his parents yell his name, telling him that there was a broken step at the end of the staircase.
He got a broken arm.
3.
21
“So…you’re bisexual? What of it?” Hobie sat on the balcony railings, feet kicking and cannabis haze blowing out into the cold UK air.
Miles shook his head, his eyes burning with frost, and possibly from the hit he had just taken from the blunt, yet he licked his bottom lip, sucking on his split lip and savoring the sting of it.
“You don’t get it, I’m bisexual. I smoke weed now, I’m barely passing my tests in my course. None of this was planned.”
Twisting his finger around his nose's gold hoop. And he was hunched over, his elbows on the metal railing, peering up at Hobie, who seemed unmoved and coated in shea butter.
He looked nice in the moonlight.
“That’s just life, ain’t nothing wrong with being a little off the loop at times. You’re Miles, you’ll find your way.” He said as his lips parted to take in the smoke-induced hallucinations. Unlike Miles, he didn't cough or wince.
Calm. He enjoyed being around Hobie because of this.
When Hobie peered over low-lidded and passively, Miles replied, “You’re not even going to ask how I know?” Taking the joint in his fingers but balancing it, not breathing it in.
“My God, okay fine. Who was your awakening?” In contrast to his dazzling smile, he exhaled amusedly with a distant mist in his eyes.
“You, but in a platonic, homoerotic way. Like, I saw you on that stage tonight, and I thought for a moment. He definitely gets it .” Miles admitted, quite easily than he expected.
“…Do you know how bad I want to throttle you right now? I’m anti-sex, I don’t get it .” Hobie replied, relaxed as always. Not a hint of tension or regret.
“You could if you wanted.”
“Totally.” Hobie agreed, smug.
“Blame, Pavitr. He swears he’s straight but he thought of it first and I happened to agree. So, now I’m bi.”
“Weirdos, both of you. Equally.”
“No but seriously, what’s got you so shaken up you bailed on the party to smoke with me?” Though he gave Miles a knowing glance, he wanted Miles to speak first.
He let the breeze to caress his face and did so. He had a loyal date in misery.
“Gwen.” They both said at the time, smoke burning their water lines in soft pastel pinks.
Hobie paused, waiting, and Miles continued on, “She has a girlfriend, and…I respect that but ..”
“You’re jealous.” He finished Miles' heavy thought, watching his throat bobble with a painful swallow.
Picking at his newly pierced nose, his hand found its way onto his wrist gently pulling it away. He would hate to see his piercing get infected.
“Yeah. It feels oddly homophobic to wish she was with me instead of her.” Before the flames went out, Miles simply laughed before finally taking a hit. He sucked for a while before giving it to Hobie casually.
Their fingers briefly became entwined, but neither of them cared. and, just in case, clutched onto one another. They might both get knocked over by the wind, but neither of them seems like they would have any trouble holding on. Hobie was on the edge, but he almost felt more afraid Miles would fall first.
But taking extra precautions. This was alright.
“Discovering myself while looking at her, she’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted. I’ll think I’ll be fine though. She’s happy.”
“And, you’re bisexual now. Cool. So maybe you can find a Gwendale.” He chuckled, which made his body tremble and the metal rods on the balcony cling to one another in mellow harmony.
“I support you. Always have, that hasn’t changed even if you have.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Miles mustered up to say, his eyes stung closed. He wasn’t teary eyed, no way.
“So, cashews or almonds?”
“Hobie, pass the blunt.”
“Don’t be like that, you’ve got a runnin’ streak for emo white-“
Miles wished the wind was loud today.
“I’m leaving.”
4.
25
But he got it today.
As his foot fell off the edge, it was loud and clear, like washing waves tumbling and failing over into overflow. He ought to have been outraged because life had come full circle in the worst way possible.
“We’ve had a good run, I salute you spider-man. Take care.” Uncle Aaron.
Funny enough, even his foe recognized the greatness in him that would ultimately crumble, leaving only smoldering embers to ignite future generations.
The wind was strong, deafening, and noisy. There are multiple waves crashing at the same time, however there is not a drop of water to be seen.
He ought to have been more indignant; he ought to have screamed and sobbed like his lungs were infinite. But he continued to keep the wind in his ears because he preferred it that way.
“Miles! Wake up, open your eyes. Hobie brought flowers.” He jumped up as soon as Gwen gave him a gentle pat, and he opened his eyes, leaning off the oak tree.
He was sleeping, that's right. Among the grass, and swaying green trees
“He brought some purple lilies but I told him that wasn’t a good idea…” She stated as she placed a bouquet of red flowers on the marble stone.
“Miles, my guy, I wasn’t thinking. Prowler, purple. Ya know, I was greened out.” Hobie walked casually around him, placing the flowers down gently too.
Pav already set a bouquet of pink marigolds earlier, worn out from taking care of his daughter all yesterday asleep in the car.
“Nah, it’s perfect. Thanks. Uncle Aaron had a sense of humor, he’s probably laughing.” As he glanced downcast at the etched headstone, he spoke softly, standing up.
It's still painful. And, as his jacket flapped backwards, a whiff of musk reached his nostrils. Almost smells like him.
“He liked weed too. You guys wanna puff one for him?” He laughed at the purple and green petals that surrounded his grave. The universe was funny.
“Miles!”
His friends repressed their own laughter as they watched him hurry away from the gravestone and back into his car. Gwen dashed by him, revved up the engine, and waited for him to climb into the passenger seat before placing her hand in his.
She was aware that he was still in his head about everything, but she remained patient. Everyone in this car knows grief like the back of their palms. It stays, it’s stubborn. But so were they.
“Let down the windows, I swear to god. Pav don’t start trippin’ this time. We’re not taking you to the hospital again.”
“Miles, that’s the whole point! I can’t help that it hits me harder than everyone else.” As Hobie slipped inside and locked the door, the other man jerked up from his own nap in the back seat defending his honor.
“Miguel is going to kill us. Last time we came into a meeting high it was a shitshow.” Gwen said, beginning to pull off and turn up the radio.
“That prat does the equivalent of hardcore cocaine everyday. Well just save him a gram.” Hobie murmured as he reached over his long arm to switch off the country music that was playing.
He soaked up everything all at once, humming into his ears.
“Miles, are you listening to this or is the wind too loud for you?” She asked, looking away from the road.
“Huh?” He smiled at her, and she laughed softly, baby blue orbs and pink hues on her cheeks.
Miles was still upset, it still aches deep down in his chest no matter how much time passed.
He was aware of it. He did, however, manage to laugh.
When you’re walking through a storm, keep the wind to a minimum.
“Yeah. Just kidding.”
The wind was loud today.
“I’m listening.” He smiles.