He came home from lunch to check on his wife. She had complained about not feeling well that morning and wanted to make sure she was okay. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom and saw her sprawled out under the covers with used tissues adorned on the top. He also noticed that along with the tissues, she had surrounded herself by various books: The 50 Shades of Gray series, The Bourne Identity, an old copy of Dracula, 11-22-63, Juliet, Naked, and Between the Bridge and the River.

“This is new.” He said to her as he gazed upon her centered in the middle of various books.

“What this? No, it’s not new. I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid.”

“Surrounding yourself with snot rags?””

“Oh that. I tried to make the waste basket but I seemed to have missed. Everything else is old school.”

“Old school? It seems very new to me. I’ve never seen you do this before.”

“That’s probably because I’m never sick and I’m usually a good shot. I’m SuperWoman don’t you know?”

“There is no SuperWoman.”

“What?”

“Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Batgirl/Oracle, Power Girl, Catwoman, etc. Sadly there is no SuperWoman.”

“There’s not?” She questioned.

“No. Well, I mean technically Superman gave his powers to Lois Lane for one day, thus creating Superwoman but it doesn’t really follow the canon, because it was part of an ‘Elseworlds’ story that doesn’t really exist.”

“I’m not following”

“There is no Superwoman.”

“They’re really should be.”

“All I’m saying is that you should write a letter to DC to voice a complaint”

“I just might do that.”

“So I have to ask. What’s with all the books?”

“They make me feel better.”

“They make you feel better?”

“Yeah, for some reason I feel comforted surrounded by books. It doesn’t really matter what books they are. It could even be magazines, but they possess a healing power for me and whenever I’m under the weather, the books come with me. You don’t have any books?”

“No, I do. I have books.”

“I mean books on the bed.”

“Books on the bed? No, I’ve never put books on the bed to make me feel better.”

“You should really do that. It really helps. Trust me on this one. Tomorrow, I will be better than new. I really think you need to find your books on the bed.”

“Books, not soup?”

“No, you’re misunderstanding.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Books AND soup. Always soup.”

“Gotcha.”

He kissed her on the forehead and went to the bottom drawer of the dresser they shared. Her top two drawers stocked various articles of undergarments, tops, sweaters, and scarves. His contained the normal guy stuff, socks, underwear, t-shirts, but in the one corner way in the back was a small white cardboard box along with a few key back issues of Superman and Batman comic books. He kept it in hidden not out of shame but of afraid of mockery.

He walked back over towards the bed and pushed some of her books aside and laid out his dresser findings on the bed. He lied down next to her, sprawled out among old baseball and football cards and comic books that were priceless in his head, but in reality over time became greatly devaluated. He placed his readers on the bridge of his nose and began to read an old Superman comic leftover from the 70’s.

“What are you doing?” She asked him.

“I’m joining you.”

“Don’t you have to get back from lunch?”

“That’s what’s good about being a boss, I can make my own hours.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Simply put, you’ve just helped me to find my books on the bed.”

“Oh that’s so awesome. I did something for you.”

“Yes you did. Thank you.”

“Sooooooo….”

“Yes?”

“Where are we on that soup?”

The End