Chapter 3
When his parents had died, they were buried without ceremony out at the Church. It rained then, just like it always did. Their coffins, oh so generously paid for by the parish, had been lowered into the muddy ground with no fanfare. No one really cared about the Parkers, anyway. They didn't hold any office, weren't a part of any blood feud, they were just... the Parkers. That family that would show up to Church on Sundays and not stay around for the coffee afterwards. They merely existed in a space until there was no space left, anymore.
Their boy, the one with the holes in his shoes and no jacket to shield himself from the rain, was no one. He did not matter to the world any more than the dead man and woman inside boxes in the dirt. The dead, at least, didn't have to worry about food.
They were with God now.
Good for them. But who was going to be with him, now?
Turns out it was his Aunt May and Uncle Ben that took him in. They hadn't gone to the funeral.
Uncle Ben, he was someone. He was well-known, well-liked. He didn't hold any office, but had a bit of power. He would always stay after Church for coffee, too. He worked at the factory, and was the Union Head. He got all of the workers in the Union a 50 cent raise. So Ben Parker was someone.
Aunt May, she was someone, too. She was the husband of Uncle Ben, after all. She would knit clothes, blankets, anything and everything she could. She would always give them away, too. She had a good heart. She would always gave it away to others, piece by piece until there was no heart left. So Aunt May was someone, or at least she was for a while.
The Parker boy, the boy who was no one, made his way through the world with his head down, never glancing up to see the world. There was nothing for him, there. He was nothing to the world, and the world was nothing to him.
What else was there?
After Uncle Ben... well, Aunt May's heart finally did run out. She would knit and knit, but then undo everything and start over. She never could quite seem to finish any of her work. Not even for him. So, he learned how to knit. He would make his own clothes, since Aunt May wouldn't - no, couldn't- anymore.
Uncle Ben's funeral had more people there. The parish had given him a nicer coffin. It had still rained, though. And his space had not run out. It had existed, empty, devoid of meaning. In the end, it was still another body encased in wood in the muddy ground. Aunt May and the boy, now almost a man, stayed for coffee.
After that, well, the world still thought nothing of this Parker boy. But he could no longer ignore the world, either. There was no place for him, anywhere.
So, he created a place.
He become a private eye, and did his thing. Save the pretty girl, catch the embezzler, all of that jazz.
Peter Parker became a somebody. A somebody to be sought out in a dark bar with a sultry smile and lipstick lips and a whispered, "I need your help". A promise of money, an offer of lips and hands and bodies combining and touching and moving as one. A gloved hand sliding documents across the counter for him to open and glance at, and then look over once they were gone.
A promise that he would save them.
Peter Parker was somebody. He had a place in this world. Not a big one, maybe, but there was one. When he was a body in the ground, his space would be swallowed up just like his parents. Not like Uncle Ben, no, Uncle Ben meant something for the future. Peter Parker just meant something for right now, while he was alive.
Spider Man, well, that had nothing to do with the Parker boy whose parents were buried alone, or his Uncle who was buried with friends, or his Aunt who just kept knitting and reknitting the same blanket over and over again, in that same pattern her husband used to like so much.
Spider Man never had a space to begin with, and there was no more space to create. Spider Man crept up onto others' space, trying to squeeze in and make room for himself. He lodged into people's worlds, and refused to budge.
There will be no place in the cemetery for Spider Man.
Spider Man didn't have a space to be filled.
Noir wondered whether or not he would have a coffin.