Friday, October 21, 2011

Why So Serious?

ID: Are you depressed?

B: I’ve been told I brood too much. Even as a child. My mother teased me for being too serious. I frowned a lot- particularly in pictures.

ID: Your mother teased you? That didn’t bode well. But even pre-orphaning, you were serious.

B: As a heart attack, or at least as a Perry Mason wrap-up.

ID: I don’t know, I laughed a lot watching his closing speeches- especially when the detective with the lazy eye was there. I think it was because the show was so impeccably cast, and everyone so impeccably groomed, that that one, off-kilter aspect just undermined everything.

But you just seem so… depressive. In talking about your children, in talking about Zatanna, one thing keeps coming up: how optimistic they are, how bright, sunny, happy. How much they help you leave your personal darkness behind, put it away and remember what it’s like to be alive. So I’m wondering if it isn’t just moodiness, but depression.

B: Clinically? You aren’t the first person to suggest it. Basically, major depressive disorder is characterized by low mood,

ID: Check.

B: low self-esteem,

ID: Uh, check? Maybe?

B: Losing interest in all pleasurable activities. And for that, well, there’s one thing I never stop enjoying.

ID: Kicking bad guys in the scrotum?

B: I would have put it more tactfully, but in a nutshell.

ID: Oh my god, a testicle joke. I’m so proud of you. But I kind of stumbled on self-esteem, and you did not give me anything to go on by way of reaction. You can’t possibly have low self-esteem; really, you and men like you give me my low self-esteem.

B: I’m an Olympic level athlete. I always score in the 99th percentile in aptitude tests.

ID: You always score.

B: I’m successful, socially and otherwise, and wealthy. I’d say, with all due humility I’m easy on the eyes. Any feelings of inadequacy given that starting point would qualify as low self-esteem- though I’d put that at intermittent. So maybe one and a half checks.

ID: But attachment theory, John Bowlby’s baby, says that experiencing early loss or separation from parents or caregivers can lead to insecure working models.

B: So you’re skipping the diagnostic criteria and going right for the anecdotal drive-by hackery, huh?

ID: Hey, if you want the diagnosis, all you had to do was ask. Remember at the beginning, when we did the Hamilton rating scale for depression worksheet? About the only thing you didn’t score a 2 in was psychomotor retardation; you’re high functioning.

B: I also wasn’t fidgety.

ID: Not physically, no; but your mind was twitchy as hell. And it isn’t helped by the fact that, physically, you’re impossible to read. Between the AIDS, the medication for the AIDS, and the fact that you still bullishly exercise, it’s kind of hard to tell what fatigue is normal fatigue and what might be depression fatigue. But, I tallied your responses, or made things up when you weren’t helpfully responsive, and you’re depressed.

B: One last point: Hamilton himself said his scale shouldn’t be used as a diagnostic criteria.

ID: Really? I guess that makes my “finding” anticlimactic, then.

B: Kind of.

ID: All right, well, social cognitive theory asserts that depressed individuals internalize guilt but rarely acknowledge positive outcomes. I’ve known you for a while, and you do seem to be a personal blame magnet.

B: Guilt can be a useful tool, if it drives progression, revision, critical examination. Internalizing guilt merely for self-flagellation is counter-productive. And I prefer Maslow, who believed depression came from individuals unable to reach their full potential.

ID: Have you?

B: I’m not sure what more you think I should have accomplished.

ID: Actually, my question is less focused on what more, as what you might have been able to do otherwise. You’re brilliant. Handsome. And capable of doing great things. Instead you’ve run around in a bat-shaped unitard kicking people. From that description, you sound like the slow kid in my first grade class who kept getting into trouble for running around in just his underpants, sniffing glue and stomping on people’s toes.

B: That’s… harsh. And insensitive to the challenged. But if your point is that my life has at times been self-indulgent and not always maximizing. You’re right. I haven’t always been the best man I could be. I spent years probably selfishly training, for a very personal quest. Maybe I should have been doing more charity, more philanthropy. Maybe I should have gone into politics.

But as Batman, I helped save the world. More than once. Maybe the League could have done that without me. Maybe they couldn’t have. If you examine every possible outcome of every choice in your life, and assume the best possible outcome, of course you’ll be found wanting.

But I don’t have any shame about who I am, the life I’ve lived. In fact, I’m damn proud of the things I’ve accomplished. I’ve sweat, I’ve bled, and when I go, I think the world will be better for having had me in it. Everything else, those details… they’re just that.

And I guess, ultimately, it’s a dark, and sometimes unforgiving world. There are mainly two methods for dealing with that. One, was Clark’s, and Zatanna’s, and Dick’s, and that’s meeting that darkness with light. With happiness, and optimism, and charity.

And as much as I love them, and much as I wish I could be them sometimes, I’m not. So I confront that darkness with darkness. I melt into a world that isn’t perfect and isn’t always fair, that can harsh, and even brutal. I became a creature of that world. I thrive in that world by being a part of it. It’s taken its toll- but seeing Clark, Dick and Zatanna, I can say being a bright light in this dark world takes its toll, too. The only difference, I think, is that they enjoyed it more. They were happier for it.

Sometimes, I think I was able to do things they weren’t, see sides to problems they couldn’t. Maybe I’m just rationalizing it. Maybe I’m trying to find a way for it not to have been a flaw, or at least for something good to have come out of my misery.

But for better or for ill, I don’t think I would have survived it, without people like those three. And I don’t think I can honestly say the reverse is true. In fact, sometimes I wonder if their lives would have been happier without my darkness.

ID: Wait… are you talking about suicidal ideation?
B: … No. I wasn’t ever thinking of killing myself. I don’t know what me not surviving would have looked like; if psychologically, or emotionally, I would have withered up and blew away, or if the ravages of that internal hollowing would have destroyed me physically. But they saved my life, in ways I can’t explain; but I know it, more intimately than I know anything else.


The Love of My Life

ID: Okay, I think the title of this one is going to be unintentionally more salacious than even I want- especially in light of the Harvey revelation last week- but I'll start out by saying you cheated. Um, no, not on you, Harv- though I wonder what his policy on two-timing would be...

No, when we started talking about the loves of your life, you cheated. Right out of the gate. And I want our audience to know that I poked, prodded- strictly platonically, of course- and cajoled, caroused, and I'll check my thesaurus later for some more words like that, but I did what I could to get a, if you'll pardon the pun, straighter answer out of you. But no, the love of your life, you said, was your adopted son, Dick.

B: You never said it had to be a romantic love.

ID: I think it was implied. But whatever. So you outsmarted me, kinda. You still spilled most of the more sensitive beans I was hoping for along the way, even if you never put all your money on Black Canary. So that's the important thing.

And besides, it opened up a new avenue for discussion. So tell us about Dick- big D, not, you know, the other kind I'm reasonably sure you're fond of.

B: Good lord. When I met Dick, I was alone. The support net, Alfred, Leslie, my uncle Phil, the people who saw me through my childhood, had become an emotional liability. I was fighting for my life, every night, and during the day, well, I avoided the people who kept me sane after my parents died.

That changed that night. Dick was a child gymnast. I watched his parents perform. But something went wrong, and they fell to their deaths, as Dick watched from the eaves. At first it was tragic, and then I saw him, and I saw him fall to his knees, tears streaming down his expressionless face. It was like looking at myself fifteen years earlier. It broke my heart, seeing it happen to someone else; it was worse than having it happen to me, because that level of horror numbs you, you lose all sense of time and place, just drift along on the pain. But watching second-hand, but knowing how hollowing an experience it was, without the numbness…

But even with that, I noticed something. It hadn't been a normal equipment failure; it hadn't even been made to look like one. The ropes on his parent's trapeze had been sliced to the point where they broke clean away the moment the Grayson's weight was on it. This was a message- and a murder.

I spent the better part of the night talking to Dick. The police ended up having to interview everyone- though no one really told them anything. It was hard for me; I wanted to put on my costume, find the people responsible, and hurt them. But it was so much more important for me to stay there, and make awkward conversation with a boy who kept bursting into tears every few minutes, largely unprovoked. And I think, I think it was the first time in several years where I hugged someone; don't get me wrong, I get hugged all the time, but it was the first time I really hugged back, where I wanted the person to know I was there for them, not just physically present, but emotionally available to them.

And it broke my heart again when the police took him away. Because I think he was starting to get comfortable with me, to find some semblance of a footing- but he’d gone a full fifteen minutes without crying, talking about hot chocolate and playing in the snow- and then he was taken away from that, and put in the back of a squad car, it tore the wound clear open again.

Dick didn't have any relatives in the area. At the time, Dr. Thompkins, Leslie, was running a child welfare shelter as an addition to her clinic, and I called her and made arrangements for her to be there receive Dick; otherwise he would have had to stay the night at the police station.

And I made sure I arrived just after they left. Leslie was surprised to see me, though, “Not that surprised.” I gave money to the shelter, and sometimes volunteered there, but I always gave them advanced notice, and came when they needed me- not in the middle of the night. Dick was sleeping; she'd given him something to help him sleep.

She'd talked to him for a few moments, and it sounded like he didn't even know any of his family. His parents' careers, as traveling performers, had alienated any relations who might have otherwise taken him in. So I asked to take him home. It wasn't procedure, or protocol. At a minimum, there were hoops I was supposed to go through.

But Leslie was one of the people who had raised me when my parents died. So she knew that any examination of my eligibility wasn't going to turn up any skeletons. Still, she wanted to make sure we did what was right for Dick.

I said, “Leslie, you know me. Better than anyone, I know what he's going through.” She told me maybe I wasn't done dealing with my parent's death, that commiserating might be good for me, but was it the best thing for him? But she didn’t try to prevent me from taking him, and ultimately, I think she just wanted me to ponder the question. The foster system can be brutal even under the best of circumstances, but then?

She fudged some paperwork, and Alfred drove us home. Leslie sent us with a few changes of clothes for him.

He woke up in his new bed. I think it helped, him being in a new situation. It was a distraction. He didn't have to sit curled up on a cot crying; instead he was wandering around the Manor, or the grounds; he cried, too, but I gave him excuses to do something besides that.

He found the cave within a week; I guess he must have moonlighted with a magician or something, because he had to pick several locks to get there. I found him exercising on the cave's equipment. I wanted to scold him, especially since he was doing quite dangerous things, but the way he moved- he was so at home in the air that he flew- it was a joy to watch. I understood why people flocked to see him, and his parents, understood the weightless joy of his movements.

Then he fell. And I wasn’t nearly the gymnast he was, but I knew he hadn’t fallen because of any mistake; he was crying even before he hit the mat. That’s when I went to him. And I thought about playing the heavy- I was in costume, after all- but he barely even looked up at me. And I saw in that moment that the thing he loved most in the world- with the likely exception of his parents- had turned into something that reminded him only of tragedy. He was a Flying Grayson, but the bastards who killed his parents had clipped his wings.

I knelt down, and put my hand on his head. “I lost my parents, too.” He latched onto me, so fast and so strong that he knocked the air from of my lungs. He spent a long time crying. When he stopped, he looked up at me, and smiled at my clothes.

“We wore costumes, too,” he said. He took my hand, and we went up into the manor and had hot chocolate. It was kind of strange, drinking hot chocolate in costume, but it seemed to make him happier. When he was asleep, I set to work finding his parent’s killers. I found them easily. I hurt them. Badly.

I might have killed them with my hands, but I thought back to Dick, sitting in my dad’s old wingback chair, sipping hot cocoa. I knew already I wanted him to live with me, to grow up there. And I couldn’t go back to his home with blood on my hands. I mean, technically, there was a lot of blood on my hands, but that’s not what I meant.

I was still young, then. This was before I tried to confront Joe Chill years later. This was more visceral, and raw. My rage was still enough that I might have killed those men accidentally. But I didn’t. And I shudder to think of the path that would have set me on.

Dick saved my life. And not just the one time. By being my son, sometimes just by needing me, he made me come back from that precipice.

I think that's why I can look past the thing that Harvey was. Because I know, without people like my son in my life, that could have been me. I dressed up like a goddamned bat. My grasp on reality was always pretty tenuous. But Dick gave me a reason- no, he made it a necessity- for me to come back from the brink. Every night.

My parent’s death, it changed me. And that’s why Dick is stronger than I am, because losing his parents didn’t change him. He was sad, and he grieved for them, but he never forgot how to live, either. How to be happy. How to find things to be joyful about. He brought optimism back into my world- when I let him.

And that was something I needed. Something the people who got me through my tragedy couldn’t give, maybe because they’d seen me, and seen things, at their darkest, maybe they’d lost their faith as I had, too. Or maybe in my mind they were just tainted by their association with my tragedy. Maybe they couldn’t be that for me because I wouldn’t let them.

But you know, I don’t want to infantilize Dick too much, either. Because he didn’t stay a child. He grew up, and he grew into a man I’m happy to call my friend. He’s forged a life of his own. He's gone to school. He served as one of Gotham's finest. And now that I’m retiring, he's taken over aspects of my companies, and someday, he's going to fully control them. I trust him to do that. And I don't trust easy. He's earned that trust- that respect- sometimes grudgingly. But I couldn't be prouder of him, or have more faith in him. I trust him to carry on the good work I’ve done, through my company, through my charities. And nothing could be more important than that.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Love(s) of My Life 2: Both Ways

ID: I told you we were going to talk about Hush today, who’s a surgeon. Somewhat related, I sent you a link to a news story on Herbet Chavez, a 35 year old Fillipino who’s been undergoing plastic surgery to look like Superman. As someone who knew the man, knew him well, I think, how do you think he’d feel about that?

B: I think what Clark would say to him, if he were here, was that he should be his own man, his own super man. Because Clark was just a man. Like you, or I. He was better, I think, because of the effort he put in, to being better. To being kinder. More caring. To helping people, in the little ways I myself don’t always have the patience for.

As far as Herbert goes, I think imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But Clark never wanted to be anybody’s hero. He wanted to be the best possible person he could. It was a byproduct of that that people loved him, wanted to honor him, worshipped him- and I don’t just mean his little cult. If he really wants to be like Clark- if he wants to feel like Clark- all he has to do is be better. We all have weak moments, where we fail to do the little things it takes to make the world a better place- and these are sometimes as inconsequential as listening to someobody’s problems.

That’s why Clark was my hero; because no matter how tired, and stressed, and raw he was, he found ways to make things easier for the rest of us. A lot of the time he didn’t even want us to know it; you know, he could move faster than we could see, dressing wounds, making coffee, just little things, that after a long day of evil, superintelligent gorillas kicking me in the spine, or giant robot spiders punching me in the face, or all the less ludicrous and honestly more sinister things we dealt with, made it easier to keep going, to fight the good fight another day.

ID: What if he just wants to be powerful, because he feels like he isn’t?

B: That’s harder. But essentially the answer is the same, though I’d say, as humbly as possible, the model is more myself. If you want to be powerful, it takes training. Strength training, martial arts training, education. I don’t know that I ever stood toe to toe with Clark, but there was more than once when I had his back, where I got to feel a little of that magic because I got to be a part of the things he did. So if he really wants power, he should seek it. I felt powerless, when I lost my parents. I can’t imagine living a whole life like that; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

ID: That’s a nice sentiment. I feel a little bad about that; when I told you we were going to talk about Hush, well, we will, but he’s not the focus. I don’t feel as bad, though, because you lied to me. You said you were single.

B: No. You asked me if I was dating anyone, and I asked why, which you took to be a no. I didn’t volunteer it, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t started seeing someone.

ID: That’s okay. Because I already know the answer to the question we’ve been pursuing for several weeks in our countdown to the love of your life, which unless I’ve lost track of someone, we should be revealing next week. So you can’t tap dance around it. Though you might want to make sure the new boyfriend isn’t reading the interview.

B: Too late. In fact, that’s how we met. He’s a lawyer who’s worked with me- and against me, as a matter of fact. But he came across the interview where I was outed, and decided to ask me out for a drink. It was weird, being the, uh

ID: The woman?

B: The receptive.

ID: I just want to make sure I heard you right and you weren’t mumbling ‘receptacle.’

B: Don’t be crass.

ID: I was just making sure you weren’t. This is a PG interview. Maybe PG-13.

But this here is where I dazzle you with my journalistic, um, entrepreneurialshipedness. After much research, and some dumpster diving, and more than a little snooping, I now know for a fact that your lawyer boyfriend- your beauyer, I’ve been calling him- is someone we should all be familiar with. Former District Attorney of Gotham City.

B: Don’t.

ID: One Harvey Dent.

B: Shit.

ID: Formerly the villain Two Face; in retrospect, it shouldn’t be surprising, given his obsession with duality, that Two Face is bisexual. But he isn’t Two Face anymore. He hasn’t been, since his scarring was fixed by a plastic surgeon whose name given name is escaping me at the moment.

B: Tom Elliot.

ID: The villain known as Hush. Incestuous.

B: Well, at the time, I thought Tommy was a friend. But all that Tommy did was erase the outward manifestation of Two Face. It was Harvey, with the help of his doctors, that finally turned the monster away.

ID: So he’s cured?

B: I think that’s the wrong way of looking at it. Harvey has a dissociative identity disorder. He’s a survivor of childhood abuse, as is common with that diagnosis. His father beat him, nightly. The abuse caused him to dissociate; he couldn’t handle a father who beat him every day, so he shoved those experiences into his subconscious, which manufactured a personality that could cope with the experience. Two Face became the person who got him through difficult times.

Ironically, it was their shared history of abuse that first drew Tommy to Harvey- it was why he agreed to try to help him. But unlike Tommy, Harvey had always wanted to do right. Tried to. The Two Face identity was usually in control, but he fought it, too. It was ultimately Harvey who saved me from Tommy; he shot him, twice.

ID: Okay, so he’s taken a heroic turn, and he was never really the same kind of violent murderer that the Joker was. At worst he was a Mafioso, but even that’s probably a stretch. For the sake of completeness, explain Two Face to the crowd.

B: Two Face came about, as a manifestation, because of a gang war. And I put extra pressure on the mob when I started being Batman. At the same time, the Holiday Killer was murdering people, most of them mobbed up. Carmine Falcone believed it was Harvey, doing with a gun what he couldn’t with an indictment. That’s why he was attacked with acid. The physical scarring accomplished what a lifetime of abuse hadn’t: it finally broke him.

ID: So you… feel responsible for what happened, to Harvey?

B: No. But it’s hard to say, if I hadn’t made Batman, say if I’d died with parents, it’s hard to say Harvey wouldn’t have gotten through those events unscathed. He’d probably still be district attorney, if not the State AG, maybe even the Attorney General of the country.

ID: So, not responsible, but guilty. You feel guilty about it.

B: A little.

ID: And is that a good basis for a relationship?

B: It isn’t. And it isn’t. Harvey and I were always friends. Even when Two Face was in control, I often saw Harvey try to assert himself, and I can think of more than one occasion where his coin said I should die, and Harvey said, “No.” I think he’s the only one who’s ever had me at that kind of disadvantage, whose own rules allowed him to harm me, who showed mercy like that.

But I do think it helps me understand him. I think my parents’ death helps me understand him. We were both of us born of tragedy. And we both dissociated. The difference was, there were still people I could turn to and, because of that I never fell quite so deeply into the darkness as Harvey did.

ID: Is it love?

B: I don't know. But I hope so.

ID: Want to flip a coin?

B: If you put one on the table, I'll feed it to you.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Love(s) of My Life: Diana

ID: Let’s talk about the other big costumed temptation from your past: Wonder Woman. We’ve saved her in part because I think we’ve casually mentioned her a lot in the past, and if I’d had to put money on it, when we started, my money would have been on her being your ‘the one’- though I still think I might be right about that.

But I’m less interested in how you met, since I’m sure it was punching people over some kind of fashion-related crime- possibly your own. But how did you two kids get together?

B: I know you’re going to criticize, because there’s a pattern, here, similar to the pattern of journalists I’ve dated. But I “work” nights; and consequently, I don’t get out much. So a great deal of my socializing happens at fund-raisers and things.

I think it was a cancer benefit- breast and prostate. She was hosting, and mingling with people. Some jerk goes off about AIDS funding for Africa. And at first she let it slide; it was a fund-raiser, not a debate. But the guy, he either had too much champagne or a too big a mouth, because he kept it up, and when nobody punched him he got more belligerent and loud about it. And even then, I think maybe Diana would have just nicely escorted him out, but she saw a look in my eye- cause I really wanted to deck the prick- and I think she got protective of me.

ID: I imagine AIDS funding is a touchy subject for you.

B: If you consider there to be an actual fight against AIDS, the front-line is unquestionably in Africa. If we don’t stop it there, continued globalization will ensure that it doesn’t stay Africa’s problem. To use an easier to understand metaphor, Africa are our neighbors, but if the flood waters overtake their land then ours will be flooded, too; so it makes sense to help them with the sandbags- even in purely selfish terms it makes sense.

But I think in a lot of ways AIDS, like lung cancer, is a disease we blame people for. We look at them and say, you know, “You made a lousy life decision so you deserve to be there.” Which I think is complete and utter horse crap. I absolutely agree that people shouldn’t smoke, have unprotected sex or share needles; you’ll get no argument out of me that those are problems, and invite consequences. But, and maybe it’s just the religion my mother taught me bubbling up, but, “You made your choice now die in the gutter,” doesn’t seem at all like a reasonable response.

But moral outrage is beside the point, because who hasn’t had unprotected sex? Maybe in the context of a monogamous relationship, even a marriage, but who goes an entire life without doing that at least once? You?

ID: God no. I’m pretty sure I started having unsafe sex. In a monogamous relationship, like you said, but even that first time I think I went bareback.

B: Don’t get me wrong, I completely advocate for safety- everyone should be aware of the danger and risk when they have sex- particularly because even condoms aren’t a completely safe alternative. But this finger-waggling, it’s the blind hypocrisy of abstinence-only sex ed applied to an entire culture- a whole continent, after the fact.

But there are still parts of Africa where “No,” doesn’t mean “No” in the same sense that it does, here- I mean, a woman’s right to say “No” doesn’t carry the same weight.

ID: Then maybe we should just give AIDS funding for women.

B: I suppose that’s an argument. But this isn’t a problem we should be trying to treat, it’s one we should be trying to annihilate. Because giving a woman expensive drugs to stay alive is a losing battle. Even trying to eliminate rape- something we’ve failed to do even over here- is a pipe dream- and I swear to God I will punch you in the throat if you turn that into a laying pipe dream joke.

ID: Wouldn’t dream of it.

B: Many women in Africa get AIDS from their husbands who’ve slept around, and I would be shocked if the same doesn’t happen to men, too. What we need to do is to tackle a culture that doesn’t treat AIDS with the proper gravity. There are still parts of the continent where AIDS misinformation is rampant. Getting people to understand that they’re taking their lives into their own hands, that’s how you win this fight. By educating people, and then giving them the tools, like condoms, to protect themselves.

ID: So is it not okay to question AIDS funding in Africa?

B: No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s important- imperative- that we question our government and keep them accountable. But my problem with that particular guy was the way he argued his point- not to mention the venue, which was completely unrelated. To my mind, AIDS funding is justifiable because it is trying to fight the disease before it can get to us. I think if we don’t spend this money today, we’ll end up spending exponentially more to fight it once it reaches our shores.

ID: Okay, we’ve been completely derailed on that one. Um, you and Diana were at a fund raiser.

B: She’d finally had enough with this guy, so she confronted him. She tried logic, reason, compassion. She ran through all the reasons why he was ignorant, and by the end not even subtly racist, I mean shouting epithets. Diana’s usually a pretty peaceful person, but I think since she entered into the fight on what she presumed was my behalf, she took the things he said more personally than she normally would have. I could see where things were headed when she balled her fists, and I intervened.

“You’ll punch right through his head,” I told her, “and ruin a very pretty dress.” She laughed, and that defused the situation. And I turned around and told the man he needed to leave.

He wanted me to make him. By that point I’d calmed down, so I just applied a simple arm hold- a painful one- and escorted him to the door. When I got back everybody applauded. It turned out to be one of the most successful fund raisers we’ve ever had. Nothing makes rich white people feel guiltier than hearing one of their own articulate the case against compassion. Were I a more cynical man I’d hire men to come to charity events to be jerks just to juice the contributions.

ID: I’ve been known to be an exceptionally belligerent jackass.

B: Sorry, we’re not hiring.

ID: Okay, but it seems like… I see A, I see C, but I don’t see B or how we got from A to C.

B: Diana was a little colder the rest of the night. She very rarely loses her cool, and when she does, I think… it worries her. An angry Amazon can do a lot of damage, and she’s supposed to be an ambassador of peace- I believe that’s a part of her official title.

It was sweet of her to defend my honor, I guess, but I think it made her ask herself why. And she was social, and fun and funny, and did a great job entertaining the rest of the night, but I recognized that she was more thoughtful than usual.

I let it lie. I didn’t know what was going on, but when Diana wants to talk, she does. And she did, after everyone had left. Eventually. She spent a lot of time looking off, at the city lights- this must have been in New York, because that’s the skyline I remember. But when she spoke she asked me if I really liked the dress.

I told her I didn’t know if it was the dress, but she looked stunning tonight. It was amazing that guy had been able to pick his jaw off the floor long enough to argue with her. And we’ve… we flirted before. I guess I never really thought about it, but I’m more dashing, debonair, at these kinds of events, than when I’m wearing the pointy ears. So we spent a lot more of our time bantering at functions. But I think that was the first time I’d ever seen her self-conscious, in an awkward way.

Diana is one of the most self-aware people I know, but I think she really wanted me to like the dress. I think she liked defending me. And liked that I could handle that. Some men can’t; and Diana is a strong woman, stronger than just about anybody. If you can’t handle the idea that a woman could toss you into the sun, then she just isn’t for you.

But she liked the intimacy of it. She knew my secrets, and not that many people did. She knew how fragile I was, but I didn’t balk at the idea of her knowing that. I think for her it was that right combination of vulnerability and strength.

She was intrigued, and for the first time I think she started to think about me in that way.

ID: That way? What are you, six?

B: I don’t mean sexually. Women think of me sexually often. Men, too. You, just now- it’s a human reflex. Like if I told you not to picture your grandmother naked.

ID: Ah! Damn you!

B: See. But I mean romantically. She started to wonder if we were romantically compatible.

ID: And what about you?

B: I was already there; I always had been. The first few minutes you spend with Diana, all you think about is her, how completely goddamn lovely she is. I challenge any man to spend five minutes with her and not think of her that way. But after that, it’s strange, but she’s such a stunning person, that you start to want to be with her, not just sexually, but completely. She’s not just beautiful, but brilliant, compassionate. I know Clark gets the messianic treatment a lot, but if Jesus were a woman you couldn’t take yours eyes off- but also capable and willing to punch an intergalactic genocidal maniac in the eyes to save lives- you’d be approaching Diana.

ID: So to take this that extra blasphemous step, you worship her?

B: Close, I suppose. Admire. Adore. Love, beyond a capacity I ever thought possible.

ID: And all this after the break-up.

B: I don’t know if we were every actually together, honestly, to call us broken up. We wanted to be. Danced around the issue. And we certainly saw each other for a while. But there was always a distance.

I remember more than one cancelled date, where I had to leave to deal with a costumed psychopath and she came with me in costume. I remember specifically this one night the Joker was doing cabaret in front of an audience, and it was a Speed kind of thing, where they had dynamite attached to their seats and if they stopped laughing they would blow up. I jumped down behind him onstage, and the audience started clapping. Then Diana lands right in front of him, and he actually pissed himself. I think he was just taking the joke that far, but he did, he pissed himself, and it was a long piss, too, twenty seconds easy. It had started to pool at his feet and flow downstage by the time he stopped.

And the look on her face was priceless, because she was trying to still stay scary, but she was also disgusted, and a little bemused. And she said, “I’m not carrying him out.” He turned back and looked at me, wiggled his eyebrows, and from the look I assumed he was going to chase her around soaking in piss, and I almost lost it, almost burst into laughter right there at the thought of the Joker chasing Wonder Woman around in his pissed-in drawers- but I knew that would not make her happy so I chucked a batarang at his head and conked him out.

ID: Sounds like a pretty weird date.

B: It was actually a pretty good one. We managed to salvage the evening by swinging by this little cheesecake shop that’s open late and going home to watch a movie. It was nice because… with Diana I didn’t have to be two people. Bruce and Batman were the same guy, and Diana was the same woman in the outfit or out it, and it gave the night a continuity I’m not used to.

I don’t think most people get to be loved, completely. We all have little parts of ourselves, our work selves, for instance, that are segmented off from the people we care about. But with Diana I was all of those men, and she loved all of them.

Which seems strange, now that I say it out loud, because Diana is the same. The Diana who is ambassador, who is a heroine, who I spoon-fed cheesecake to, they’re all the exact, same woman. Which isn’t to say that she’s not a complicated and multifaceted woman- only that all of her facets are always exposed- and if you turn that into a joke about her costume I’ll throw my coffee at your crotch-

ID: That’s an idle threat: you’re coffee’s cold.

B: It’s still wet, and could stain. But she’s… like a diamond that’s been cut in such a way that you can see every inch of it, its imperfections and flaws but also all the myriad things that make it beautiful.

ID: Okay. You’re still completely in love with her, and I’m still saying she should have been your number one, were you not a cheating bastard. But why did it end?

B: Like I was saying: I don’t think it ever began. I think we still care about each other, deeply. But that night I told you about was indicative of our time together. Duty called, incessantly, constantly. I was either having to jet off to Singapore to make sure a business deal didn’t fall through, or she was off to Washington to make sure a diplomatic flap didn’t flare into violence.

And that’s before you introduce the nutjobs in costume and the megalomaniacal world-destroyers. So one of those nights, where we were trying to have a date, I got a call, Clayface was doing some damage in the diamond district. And we were trying to wrap the night up- she had an early meeting at the embassy or she would have come with- when she got a call of a problem in New York.

I was about halfway into my costume when I got a call. Nightwing and Robin had taken care of Clayface. I called Diana, to see if she wanted some help with her New York problem, but she answered from the entrance to the cave. Apparently one of the Flashes had run through New York and taken care of it for her.

But standing in the cave, half in a suit and half in a batsuit, I think the message was clear. I could see it in her eyes, and when I looked down at myself, I knew it, too. I asked her what kind of a life that was. If we would ever be able to settle down. Have kids. Have a life to ourselves. And I think I would have kept asking questions like that, but she put her finger to my lips, kissed my cheek, and said, “I love you.” And I said, “Me, too.” And that was it.

I think in a better world, we’d have stayed together. A world with fewer madmen, fewer monsters. But for us, duty was a higher call. I have a bit more free time these days. But in part because of that, Diana has less.

And I’m not at my physical peak anymore. I get tired more easily. I certainly couldn’t go round after round with her like I used to. Sparring, I meant- so you can take remove that grin.

ID: I can’t, actually. The entendre was too fun. But do you think that matters? That you aren’t at your peak anymore? To her?

B: She was always physically my better. And I know I’ve aged. And she hasn’t. I think if there is such a person that could overlook that gap, it would be her. Maybe I’m just a self-conscious old man.

ID: But can’t she retire? I mean, at least her ambassadorship, let the Amazons send somebody else out to put out the political fires.

B: Not while there’s still good she can do. No matter who they sent, they wouldn’t be her. There’d be a learning curve, there’d be mistakes. And there’d be the fact that whoever it was, it wasn’t Diana. You can’t fill those shoes; there would always be a shadow over whoever replaced her, because of the mythic reputation she’s forged.

And I can’t fault her for that, without being a hypocrite- which I’d gladly do to have her. And perversely, her willingness to set what we had aside only makes me love her more. She’s selfless.

To an extent- somewhat selfish, somewhat empathic- I hope it’s something she can get over. Because she deserves to be happy. Even if it’s not with me. Even if it happens years after I’m dead. You can’t fix everything wrong with the world, and you can’t save it alone. And if you try to go it alone, eventually, you will fail. Because everyone, even Diana, needs people. And I don’t necessarily mean romantically, but there’ll come a time when she’ll people to keep her strong. And I hope by then she has them.

ID: So… is the reason you’re gay Diana? You can’t have the woman you want, so you’re barking up another tree?

B: I’ve never thought of it in those terms. Could be a factor. But does it matter? It’s who I am, today.

ID: But what if she flew through that window right now and said she’d found a way to transfer her powers to someone else, and she’s going to retire and be with you? What would you do?

B: I don’t know. But I do know that’s not going to happen- certainly not right now. Because right now, it’s a world without a Superman, with a greener Batman than it’s had in years. Right now, people need Wonder Woman more than they ever have before- and as much as it pains me to say, even more than me. And there is absolutely no chance Diana would let them down.