The Fortress of Solitude

There’s a scene in Superman II when Clark Kent and Lois Lane are in a diner. This is right after their weekend in the Fortress of Solitude when Superman decides to do away with all his superhero powers. While Clark uses the restroom, one of the male patrons plops himself onto Clark’s stool and starts hitting on Lois. Seeing this, Clark tells the man to get out of his seat. When he does not move, a fight ensues. Clark hits the man hard but, without superhuman strength, the force of the punch actually hurts him. By the end of the scuffle, the man knocks Clark to the floor. Clark stares in wonder at his hands. The blood dripping down his fingers reminds him that he is a mere mortal now.

Did I ever tell you about the time that Cindy and I survived a near-killer shark attack? We were in Vieques, Puerto Rico snorkeling far, far away from shore. All of a sudden, thousands of small fish started swimming past us. The fish darted between our legs, through our swim shorts, and around our arms in droves. It was like an underwater version of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Upon noticing this myriad of incredibly frantic fish, Cindy grabbed my shoulder.

CMR: Where do you think they are going in such a hurry?
JM: I think they're running from something. . .
CMR: Wow! You think we’ll see a shark?
JM: We need to get the f*ck outta here.

I felt my heart race uncontrollably as I swam faster than I had ever before in my life. About a minute into our escape, I turned around to look for Cindy. She was way behind me. I swam back to her.

JM: Cindy, you need to pick up the pace.
CMR: I am so mad at you for not bringing an underwater camera.
JM: Cindy, we need to get back to shore.
CMR: Yeah, I know. But think of the pictures I could be taking!
JM: Cindy, c’mon!

This went on for twenty minutes. I’d be swimming hard and then I would turn around and Cindy would be trailing behind. Each time this happened, I backtracked to make sure we were always together. Finally, I placed her arm around me and I swam for the both of us. I did not let Cindy go until we safely reached the shore.

This was not the first time I protected the woman that I loved.

Several years ago, a drugged-out intruder tried to break into our house as we slept one evening. We woke to the sounds of Vegas’s barking and a persistent knocking at the door. Thinking it was our current houseguest trying to get in, I went downstairs to open the door. When I got to the door (which was glass paneled with a sheer screen in front of it), I noticed the dark silhouette of a man. I quickly placed the chain on the door and ran back upstairs. The knocking intensified and then soon degraded into pounding.

JM: Cindy! There’s a man at the door!
CMR: Is it locked?
JM: Yes, it’s locked!
CMR: What do we do?
JM: Maybe he'll go away.

The man started kicking the door now.

I called the police. I went through a game of twenty questions with the dispatcher and begged her to send a squad car. After what seemed like five minutes, the dispatcher told me to go downstairs and to direct the man to leave my property. When I repeated her suggestion aloud, Cindy grabbed my arm.

CMR: Don’t do that. F*ck that. Don’t go downstairs.
JM: But, she’s telling me to do that. She says she doesn’t have a car to send out right now and this might get him to leave.
CMR: F*ck that bitch. You don’t know if he has a gun. Don’t go down there.
JM: (into the phone) Are you sure you want me to go downstairs? I mean, what if he has a gun? We have a glass door.
Dispatcher: (laughs) You must watch a lot of cop shows.
JM: Have you sent a car yet?
Dispatcher: Not yet. I’ll stay on the phone with you as you go downstairs.

I looked at Cindy and grabbed a baseball bat that I kept by the bed. Why did I keep a baseball bat by the bed? I always believed that two girls living alone in Virginia should have one handy in case of emergency.

CMR: Where are you going with that?
JM: I’m going downstairs. Stay where you are.
CMR: Don’t go. Don’t listen to her.
JM: Cindy, I am going to take care of this. Promise me that you will stay here.
CMR: Why haven’t they sent a car yet?
JM: I don’t know Cindy. I’ll be right back.
CMR: Wait!
JM: What?
CMR: Take a tennis racket instead. More aerodynamic.
JM: I love you.

I finally went downstairs and instructed the crazy man to leave the premises. Of course, he did not and continued to beat the crap out of our front door. This went on for several minutes until a squad car finally arrived and the police apprehended the intruder. After we got back into bed, Cindy wrapped her arms around me. When I woke up the next morning, Cindy’s arms were still around me and my arms were cradling the tennis racket.

For the past 53 days, since reaching the one-year mark, I have been feeling like Clark Kent in the aftermath of that diner scene: weak, wounded and, most significantly, mortal. I don’t know my purpose anymore.

When Cindy was around, my objective was clear. You love your partner. You care for and protect your partner. You plan a future with your partner.

Then, Cindy’s death forced me to change directions. I now had to take care of myself. For 365 days, I did just that. I traveled around the country, hiked in places I had never been to before, re-connected with friends I had not heard from in ages, and whatever else was necessary to make it.

Now I am at a loss. I am entering some new phase of this process that has thrown me for a loop. The superhuman strength that got me through the first year has gone away. In its place are pity, negativity, and cynicism. I am trying hard to fight them off, but I’m losing the battle. I just feel like lying on the floor like Clark Kent and staring at my hands.