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So, I understand that tonight's episode of SV was less then stellar--and I share the feeling: What friendship? I've actually began to think Rift? so what? What the fuck, is Clark gonna send Lex an e-mail? Sorry, hate you, and Lex e-mails back, Hate you too, toodles? Is it their plan to make us not give a damn? If so--working!
Any way, here is another installment of my little offering. The Philco's a-humming and we've got popcorn balls and after, we'll play strip Monopoly!
Chloe commented how tired he looked that next day. He nodded, he was wore out and beat, he’d been dragging himself from class to class and he barely remembered a darn thing about them, and he was going to have to beg to borrow her history notes because he’d spent *that* entire class staring at the back of Whitney’s head.
The familiar smell of floor wax and ancient lunches, the clattering noise of feet on granite floors and the buzz of hundreds of voices was so boringly normal it made him feel a little more balanced. He couldn’t believe that only four days had passed since his life had blown into a million pieces—like kicking a puzzle box, he thought. Little bits of picture all over the place and no idea how to get it back together--and if it wasn’t so scary, it could almost be funny. He smiled briefly before the all too familiar wave of worry and fear and sadness over him again. He sighed and turned his attention back to Chloe.
Chloe bathed him in welcome chatter, a little gossip, a little news, how the paper was going, how unfair than she wasn’t editor, she could do a better job than Jeremy and it was just because she was a freshman and a girl that she wasn’t didn’t he think so? And did he see the feature had changed at the Talon? Did he like James Cagney? Did he see that one--The Marx Brothers were playing now, did he want to go? How could anyone choose cherry coke over vanilla? Did he live here on this planet with her?
“What?” Clark gasped.
“Clark—you’re not paying attention to me!”
“Of course I am—kind of,” Clark admitted. She just smiled at him and shook her head. “Clark, you’re such a dope sometime. You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind. I think Lana’s in the gym.” She went into the office with a wink and a grin and left Clark in the hall.
Lana. It felt like years since he thought he was so in love with her. It’d be so easy if he were. He felt for that feeling inside and it was gone, just a pale ghost of it, fluttering in his mind. He sighed. Well. He’d survived finding out he wasn’t strictly human, he was pretty sure he could survive being …being…this way too.
######
Around the dinner table that night, Dad talked about the news in town, the Reverend Luthor was giving thought to settling in Smallville. The Pastor was about to retire, and Smallville might be gaining an important new member of the community. There was some gossip going around that he might go into partnership with Gabe Sullivan, in the radio station—“but you know me,” he said, “I don’t put much stock in gossip. Pass those potatoes son.”
“Yes sir,” Clark grinned at Mom. Dad loved gossip—Dad could gossip with the best of them. Sometimes Dad knew what was happening in town before the beauty shop grapevine did, and that was kind of impressive. For a man, Mom always said, with a little wave.
“No word on whether the son is staying or going on with the revival. Alexander Luthor’s getting a name of his own in these parts, he’d probably do alright if he went on without his Pa,” Jonathan said, and dropped a dollop of butter on his peas. Martha frowned. “Jonathan! You just ruined the taste, I seasoned those peas perfectly.”
“Un-hunh, sorry, love,” and he shook the saltshaker a couple of times over them before smiling at her and passing it over.
Clark chewed on untasted chicken and wondered about Alexander Luthor. Wondered if he wanted to strike out on his own?
The thought of leaving his parents was scary, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to be like Bobby Bell either, thirty and still at home with his parents and still *Bobby* for cryin’ out loud, that was stupid for an old man, and just looking at the guy, you could tell, he wasn’t *ever* leaving home. What a mook!
######
The weekend came, and at the final service, the Reverend Luthor announced he planned to stay in Smallville. The crowd was excited—this was bound to help Smallville erase the notoriety of the terrible meteor fall. Maybe people would come to know Smallville as a place to get right, instead of a place where people died in strange ways.
The crowd cheered even harder when he declared his son planned to stay on with him—and they were in partnership with Mr. Gabe Sullivan. They were going to broadcast from the Smallville radio station—Smallville was going to be heard!
Clark sat with his parents and didn’t give a damn if the Luthor’s were moving there—they could fly to the moon for all he cared. He watched Whitney and Lana giggle and play around, his emotions doing a wild seesaw between fury and heartache. He wished he were—Mom caught him looking and glanced towards the couple. She made a little noise and squeezed his hand. She looked so sympathetic it was just painful. He wished he deserved it, he wished he could tell her it wasn’t Lana, he wished he could tell her all about it, about Whit--but he wasn’t a fool.
He knew what the bible said, and his family was a bible believing family.
He was afraid. Almost all the time now he was afraid—morning after morning he woke up, face to the ceiling and…messy. It was horrible and getting worse—he couldn’t talk to his parents about what was happening to him, what he was feeling, because it was a sin, he couldn’t talk to Whitney, how in the heck could he tell him about himself? Whitney, I’m a little different then everyone else. By the way have you ever read...Amazing Stories?
The Luthor’s were working their way down the aisle shaking hands and chatting with the folks, getting to know their new neighbors. The Reverend stopped and talked to Mom and Dad, holding his mom’s hand just a fraction past neighborly as far as Clark was concerned—he looked into the man’s eyes and for a moment a dark cloud seemed to pass over the Reverend’s face and twist it into something—ungodly…something passed between them, something that made Clark feel ill, a feeling a man of god shouldn’t inspire and slowly, Reverend Luthor smiled. His eyes seemed to crawl all over Clark’s body, A snake would smile like that if it had lips. He shivered and broke eye contact. I want to wash my eyeballs—geez-wash *all* of me!
Whatever strange feeling the elder Luthor gave him was forgotten in the next instant. Alexander Luthor was slowly making his way up the aisle behind his father, shaking hands in that two handed ‘I’m so sincere’ hold the Reverend used too, and suddenly Clark’s hand was in his warm firm grip and bright fireworks filled his head. Gray eyes, hot hands oh-- cherry lips green eyes so beautiful Adonis oh oh…Clark felt violently ill, everything seemed to swing wildly for a second and Alexander swayed briefly too. He felt waves of --sick dizzy—scared---he yanked his hand back and felt his face flame. Alexander looked shocked and then a professional friendliness, a look of hearty good fellowship dropped over his face like storm shutters slamming shut and he moved away, swiveled to look back once and then was gone behind the crowd. Clark was staring at the space he’d occupied, caught Whitney looking at him. Whitney just looked at him with a neutral expression until Clark dropped his head and felt the heat of embarrassment burn his skin.
Will there be more? Will little Clark find love with the son of a preacher man? Stay tuned!
Any way, here is another installment of my little offering. The Philco's a-humming and we've got popcorn balls and after, we'll play strip Monopoly!
Chloe commented how tired he looked that next day. He nodded, he was wore out and beat, he’d been dragging himself from class to class and he barely remembered a darn thing about them, and he was going to have to beg to borrow her history notes because he’d spent *that* entire class staring at the back of Whitney’s head.
The familiar smell of floor wax and ancient lunches, the clattering noise of feet on granite floors and the buzz of hundreds of voices was so boringly normal it made him feel a little more balanced. He couldn’t believe that only four days had passed since his life had blown into a million pieces—like kicking a puzzle box, he thought. Little bits of picture all over the place and no idea how to get it back together--and if it wasn’t so scary, it could almost be funny. He smiled briefly before the all too familiar wave of worry and fear and sadness over him again. He sighed and turned his attention back to Chloe.
Chloe bathed him in welcome chatter, a little gossip, a little news, how the paper was going, how unfair than she wasn’t editor, she could do a better job than Jeremy and it was just because she was a freshman and a girl that she wasn’t didn’t he think so? And did he see the feature had changed at the Talon? Did he like James Cagney? Did he see that one--The Marx Brothers were playing now, did he want to go? How could anyone choose cherry coke over vanilla? Did he live here on this planet with her?
“What?” Clark gasped.
“Clark—you’re not paying attention to me!”
“Of course I am—kind of,” Clark admitted. She just smiled at him and shook her head. “Clark, you’re such a dope sometime. You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind. I think Lana’s in the gym.” She went into the office with a wink and a grin and left Clark in the hall.
Lana. It felt like years since he thought he was so in love with her. It’d be so easy if he were. He felt for that feeling inside and it was gone, just a pale ghost of it, fluttering in his mind. He sighed. Well. He’d survived finding out he wasn’t strictly human, he was pretty sure he could survive being …being…this way too.
######
Around the dinner table that night, Dad talked about the news in town, the Reverend Luthor was giving thought to settling in Smallville. The Pastor was about to retire, and Smallville might be gaining an important new member of the community. There was some gossip going around that he might go into partnership with Gabe Sullivan, in the radio station—“but you know me,” he said, “I don’t put much stock in gossip. Pass those potatoes son.”
“Yes sir,” Clark grinned at Mom. Dad loved gossip—Dad could gossip with the best of them. Sometimes Dad knew what was happening in town before the beauty shop grapevine did, and that was kind of impressive. For a man, Mom always said, with a little wave.
“No word on whether the son is staying or going on with the revival. Alexander Luthor’s getting a name of his own in these parts, he’d probably do alright if he went on without his Pa,” Jonathan said, and dropped a dollop of butter on his peas. Martha frowned. “Jonathan! You just ruined the taste, I seasoned those peas perfectly.”
“Un-hunh, sorry, love,” and he shook the saltshaker a couple of times over them before smiling at her and passing it over.
Clark chewed on untasted chicken and wondered about Alexander Luthor. Wondered if he wanted to strike out on his own?
The thought of leaving his parents was scary, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to be like Bobby Bell either, thirty and still at home with his parents and still *Bobby* for cryin’ out loud, that was stupid for an old man, and just looking at the guy, you could tell, he wasn’t *ever* leaving home. What a mook!
######
The weekend came, and at the final service, the Reverend Luthor announced he planned to stay in Smallville. The crowd was excited—this was bound to help Smallville erase the notoriety of the terrible meteor fall. Maybe people would come to know Smallville as a place to get right, instead of a place where people died in strange ways.
The crowd cheered even harder when he declared his son planned to stay on with him—and they were in partnership with Mr. Gabe Sullivan. They were going to broadcast from the Smallville radio station—Smallville was going to be heard!
Clark sat with his parents and didn’t give a damn if the Luthor’s were moving there—they could fly to the moon for all he cared. He watched Whitney and Lana giggle and play around, his emotions doing a wild seesaw between fury and heartache. He wished he were—Mom caught him looking and glanced towards the couple. She made a little noise and squeezed his hand. She looked so sympathetic it was just painful. He wished he deserved it, he wished he could tell her it wasn’t Lana, he wished he could tell her all about it, about Whit--but he wasn’t a fool.
He knew what the bible said, and his family was a bible believing family.
He was afraid. Almost all the time now he was afraid—morning after morning he woke up, face to the ceiling and…messy. It was horrible and getting worse—he couldn’t talk to his parents about what was happening to him, what he was feeling, because it was a sin, he couldn’t talk to Whitney, how in the heck could he tell him about himself? Whitney, I’m a little different then everyone else. By the way have you ever read...Amazing Stories?
The Luthor’s were working their way down the aisle shaking hands and chatting with the folks, getting to know their new neighbors. The Reverend stopped and talked to Mom and Dad, holding his mom’s hand just a fraction past neighborly as far as Clark was concerned—he looked into the man’s eyes and for a moment a dark cloud seemed to pass over the Reverend’s face and twist it into something—ungodly…something passed between them, something that made Clark feel ill, a feeling a man of god shouldn’t inspire and slowly, Reverend Luthor smiled. His eyes seemed to crawl all over Clark’s body, A snake would smile like that if it had lips. He shivered and broke eye contact. I want to wash my eyeballs—geez-wash *all* of me!
Whatever strange feeling the elder Luthor gave him was forgotten in the next instant. Alexander Luthor was slowly making his way up the aisle behind his father, shaking hands in that two handed ‘I’m so sincere’ hold the Reverend used too, and suddenly Clark’s hand was in his warm firm grip and bright fireworks filled his head. Gray eyes, hot hands oh-- cherry lips green eyes so beautiful Adonis oh oh…Clark felt violently ill, everything seemed to swing wildly for a second and Alexander swayed briefly too. He felt waves of --sick dizzy—scared---he yanked his hand back and felt his face flame. Alexander looked shocked and then a professional friendliness, a look of hearty good fellowship dropped over his face like storm shutters slamming shut and he moved away, swiveled to look back once and then was gone behind the crowd. Clark was staring at the space he’d occupied, caught Whitney looking at him. Whitney just looked at him with a neutral expression until Clark dropped his head and felt the heat of embarrassment burn his skin.
Will there be more? Will little Clark find love with the son of a preacher man? Stay tuned!
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You can see the writing on the wall.:-)