They hold us up.

“It’s alright.”

My family and I have been watching all the Marvel movies in timeline order. We are almost completely up to date with everything - starting from Iron Man all the way through to Eternals. Before we watch what’s next - Spiderman No Way Home, we wanted to watch all the other Spiderman movies as we knew they’d be referenced. My husband and I were delighted to go back to the “originals” and the kids were very interested in why Peter Parker was using a pay phone.

I didn’t remember that it was so “kitchy.” They really played homage to the old comic book tv shows and movies and it was silly and fun. We were all having a blast — which, is common when watching Marvel movies. They’re just excellent. And looking for the Stan Lee cameo in each one is great fun.

So last night we’re watching it and Tobey Maquire’s Spiderman is fighting Doctor Octopus on a runaway train. Our hero seemingly defeats the villain and then goes on to try and save the train. At this point he’s exhausted and his muscles are literally ripping through his shirt - giving you the idea that he’s being stretched far too thin. But even that’s not the worst part. The worst part is, he’s lost his mask in the fight and now - like a vulnerable nerve, he is completely exposed. The world can see his face. This train full of people can see exactly who he is underneath.

The train careens toward the end of the track, which appears to be directly over the East River. The outlook definitely does NOT look good. But, of course, just beyond the very last second, the front train car has passed the end of the line and is starting to hang over the river. And then it stops. He had done it. There is an exhale. And then our hero passes out.

He starts to fall. For a moment there is nothing to stop him… until the arms of the nearest train passengers reach out through the broken windows and catch him with gentle hands. They catch him, and then, with incredible teamwork and silent communication, they bring him into the train, passing him along further and further back until they can lay him on the ground in a safe spot.

(image credit: Sony Pictures)

Spidey comes to, sees everyone looking at him, and silently realizes he doesn’t have his mask. This is it. He’s done all the right things, saved all the people, and as a reward his identity is about to be known by everyone. He sits up in a panic. And then…

A kind looking man who was crouched down beside him says gently, “it’s alright.” He looks back to two kids, who approach holding his mask. They hand it to him and say, on behalf of the entire train community, “we won’t tell nobody.”

(image credit: Sony Pictures)

And just like that, Spiderman is restored. Our faith in humanity is restored. It’s alright.

The scene then cuts to our couch where I am a blubbering mess. It was so moving and sweet and exactly what I needed to see. Now I’m not even remotely suggesting I’m a hero here, but for all of us it really has felt like we’re collectively being stretched far too thin these years, hasn’t it? First we fight the villain (Covid) who just keeps coming back every time we think it’s done, and then when it seems like we’ve started to win, we somehow have to stop this runaway train that’s barreling toward doom (name your doom flavor here - as there are too many to choose from - but for me it’s definitely Ukraine and all this bologna about not saying gay and our trans friends living a horrific nightmare in the south and let’s not forget racism is still a shitshow). We’re grasping onto whatever we can to get the damn train to stop but it keeps going. Things are looking grim right about now. I can feel the pain all over the world and it gives me pain. I want to stop the train for everyone. I want everyone to feel like they’re going to be OK. I want to stop the train for my friend who is going through an absolute horror show of a divorce. I want to stop the train for my loved ones battling with anxiety and depression. I want to stop the train for those who are navigating a world without the loved ones they’ve lost. I want to stop the train for everyone dealing with racism and homophobia. I want to stop the train for all the teachers who are definitely the real heroes around here. I want to stop the train for all the children who are growing up in a world where the grown-ups can’t actually fix it or figure it all out for them and so we’ll hand them a nasty mess someday. I want to stop the train for all the battles and wars and refugees from ALL over our world. I want to stop this train because I have somehow managed to create a pretty lovely life and I want to do everything I can to protect it. And I definitely want to stop the train for this awful war —- a war which terrifies me because I know that train is definitely going to gain speed before it stops. So then my anxiety ramps up and I am panicked and I feel like my muscles are busting under the strain and and and….

…the hands reach out. They gently pull me back in to the community and they bring me to a safe space. When I’m ready to open my eyes (which have been clenched shut as if to not let any more horror in), I do and I see their faces. The faces of all the people I've been trying to stop the train for. The faces of the incredible people I’ve met along this wild and weird journey. Who have stayed with me as I’ve learned (and still learn) how to be a human being. I’m there, an exposed nerve, showing that I couldn’t stop the train and so I shut myself down and I’m sorry for everything and they look me in the eye and say, “it’s alright.”

Because the truth is, we’re all on the train together. There isn’t one of us that’s going to stop it - we’ve all got to work together and take care of each other. Luckily the end of the line is far off in the distance, so, even if we are careening toward doom, we’ve got a bit of a while, and we’ve got each other. And together, we might just be able to stop the train. That gives me hope. And just like Spidey, we need that hope so we can keep going.

-Kerry: your friendly neighborhood photographer.

p.s. you can watch the scene here.