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Peter Parker's eyes were lowered, his muscles stiff, frozen in a brief stillness.
No one could see Peter Parker's eyes or expression, but the conflicting and tangled emotions conveyed on screen were palpable to everyone watching.
Uncle Ben was no exception. He quietly watched Peter, waiting—waiting for Peter to look up at him. He wanted to speak while looking into Peter's eyes.
However, Uncle Ben was disappointed.
Peter remained rigid, the muscles in his left arm seemingly tense to the point of tightness, so much so that even through his clothes, one could feel the distance he was creating, the chaotic emotions he was desperately trying to conceal.
Uncle Ben let out a soft sigh, but he continued speaking, "Peter, remember, with great power comes great responsibility."
One simple sentence. Just one sentence, but instead of feeling moved or reflective, Peter felt a sharp sting—
What was Uncle Ben implying?
Did Uncle Ben somehow know that Peter was planning to go to an underground wrestling ring to make some extra money?
Suddenly, Peter looked up, his brow slightly furrowed, instantly creating distance as he shifted into a defensive mode. "Are you worried that I'll become a criminal?"
Uncle Ben couldn't believe his ears. He stared at Peter's defiant face, feeling his own anger rising.
Seeing Uncle Ben's impatient expression, Peter straightened his posture and slightly raised his voice, his tone climbing a notch in intensity. "Stop worrying about me, okay?"
Though his words were polite, his frustration and rejection were unmistakably clear.
Hormones clouded Peter's judgment.
He tried to explain his side, but he quickly realized he couldn't—he didn't know where to begin. His words became vague, and he attempted to mask his guilt with a louder voice.
"Things are different now. I can handle it myself. Don't lecture me."
He paused for a moment, noticing that Uncle Ben was about to speak again. Peter, uncharacteristically, cut him off, widening his eyes and staring straight at Uncle Ben.
"Please."
A simple word, yet in this context, it felt particularly sharp and sarcastic, instantly creating a chasm between them.
The air grew tense.
Uncle Ben looked at Peter, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of calm, trying to ease the tension, even offering a small smile as he explained himself further. "I didn't mean to lecture you. I know I'm not your father."
"Then stop pretending you are." The words shot out of Peter's mouth—
Like a bomb.
Everything fell silent.
Peter was stunned.
Uncle Ben was stunned too.
As soon as the words left Peter's mouth, he regretted them. His clear blue eyes rippled with subtle waves of emotion. The stubbornness and aloofness that he had been holding onto started to crack, and his flickering gaze showed his desire to swallow back those words, to take them back. But it was too late—the damage was already done.
Uncle Ben looked into Peter's eyes, but the sadness and confusion he saw made him quickly avert his gaze. He tried to force a smile to mask his discomfort, but the more he tried, the more futile it seemed. The awkwardness in the air kept growing, and eventually, the smile faded, revealing a hint of age and weariness. His eyes didn't seem to know where to rest.
Peter's chest rose and fell as he breathed, already regretting what he had said. Frustration and anger gnawed at his remaining reason. The apology was on the tip of his tongue, but it felt as if his throat was constricted, preventing the words from coming out. His blue eyes reflected the turmoil inside him.
Then, Uncle Ben spoke, interrupting Peter's last chance to apologize.
Uncle Ben nodded slightly, avoiding Peter's gaze. He adjusted his posture, looking forward, and let out a barely perceptible sigh. But his eyes, focused straight ahead, seemed lost, as if he was sitting there helplessly.
Peter knew he had hurt Uncle Ben.
But how could he fix this?
The sound of cars passing by, their engines roaring outside the car window, broke the silence in the car, only to be followed by more silence as the noise faded. The atmosphere in the car grew heavy once more.
Peter sat there, feeling deflated, like a balloon slowly losing its air. His once tense emotions now sagged, his eyes flickering with a brief panic.
It was fleeting.
His thoughts spun in circles, and though he tried to form words, his mind was a jumbled mess, full of tangled emotions.
Then, a wave of frustration and stubbornness surged within him. Uncle Ben didn't know anything but still felt the need to lecture him. So what was Peter supposed to do?
His eyes flickered slightly, and he turned his head to look out the window, lowering it to hide his disappointment, confusion, and other indescribable feelings. He wasn't sure whether shame and regret or anger and frustration were winning the battle within him, but his eyes dimmed.
Uncle Ben noticed this and hesitated before finally looking away. "I'll pick you up at ten tonight."
This was his way of ending the conversation. It was clear the talk was over.
Peter couldn't believe it—was that it?
He quickly lifted his head and looked at Uncle Ben, but even he wasn't sure what he wanted. Did he want to continue the conversation or avoid it altogether?
He didn't even know what he was thinking.
Feeling both annoyed and angry, at Uncle Ben and at himself, Peter said nothing more. He turned, opened the car door, and got out in a huff, slamming the door behind him.
Yet, Peter didn't walk away. He stood there, his back to the car, seemingly waiting for something—
He needed a way out, an excuse.
If Uncle Ben spoke up again, Peter would apologize. He would take back what he said.
But Uncle Ben didn't stop. He started the car and drove away.
A gust of wind blew past, and Peter turned to watch in surprise, unconsciously taking a couple of steps forward. He knew he was wrong.
Just as quickly as he stepped forward, he stopped, standing still, caught in his own internal struggle.
Teenagers are often so conflicted. Even when they realize they're wrong, apologizing is never easy. It's about pride, self-respect, and a myriad of other confusing thoughts they haven't fully figured out yet. So they stumble, tripping over their own emotions.
Peter stopped and turned as if to leave, but then paused again, looking back at Uncle Ben's car, now disappearing from view.
Ahead, Uncle Ben was about to turn a corner and drive out of sight.
Peter looked away, letting out a long sigh, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He stared at the cars in front of him, preparing to cross the street, but just as he stepped out, he suddenly stopped and pulled back.
His mind was a chaotic mess. He had forgotten that his plan wasn't to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art—coming here was just a cover. His real destination was the underground fight.
Pulling his steps back, Peter took one last look in the direction Uncle Ben had gone, but the car was already out of sight. Then, he turned and started running in the opposite direction.
Even from his back, it was clear that he had pushed all the confusion and conflict aside, sticking to his decision. His youthful eagerness won out, driving him to test his powers and make some extra money. That was all he could think about.
He left his worries behind, vanishing into the cacophony of the city streets.
"Cut!"
Finally, Sam Raimi's voice called out.
The crew suddenly realized they had been holding their breath, only now starting to breathe again, their hearts still pounding.