Stand By Me 24
2/21/05 10:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyOkay--I'm just going to post. Back and forth with this bitch, I tell you. This is why you should never ever fall for your characters. *smacks self* I know better and I do it every time. What a strangely personal story this has turned out to be-- not that I've ever tortured anyone, heh. Or, you know, set a tree on fire with my eyes...but it is in a weird way. Erf. I guess they all are--(except and let me be perfectly clear about this, FireBird, omg.) some day, I'll tell you all about it. Because the wonderful thing about LJ is-- you can't tell me to shut up.Hah! Yes, it's a little thing but it makes me happy.
Part 1--23 are here.
Morning already, Clark thought. It was the kind of early fall morning that started out cold enough for sweaters and jackets, and by afternoon warmed up to shirtsleeves. The crisp air leaked in from his just open window and snuck chilly tendrils under the blankets. He pulled them up to his nose and snuggled down, enjoying a few extra minutes of lazing in bed.
He could hear the floor creaking downstairs—had to be Mom, Dad would have long since started his day. He sighed and slid out of bed; the floor was cold enough to make even him shiver briefly. He trotted quickly to the bathroom, and rushed through a face wash, brushed teeth quickly and tried not to swallow the gritty powder as he rinsed with ice-cold water. He shivered and spit and thanked God that he didn’t live with Granddad Hiram—no plumbing indoors, having to trudge out or the outhouse or to the pump in the cold. Clark shuddered. That was only nice in the heat of summer, when nothing tasted better than ice cold water out of the ladle, he remembered sipping water from it as Granddad helped him hold it---but come winter, you’d be slipping and sliding around the well and if you spilled that water on you—Clark shivered again in memory of it.
By the time he was dressed and had his hair somewhat tamed and finally appeared in the kitchen, Mom already had eggs frying in the pan and bacon draining on a plate at the back of the stove to keep it warm. She was just measuring out flour when she saw Clark. “Honey, put the extra eggs back in the icebox for me will you?”
He grinned at his mom. She was never going to get out of the habit of calling the Frigidaire the icebox, he guessed. The motor purred and ticked when Clark opened the door to put the eggs in. he pushed the bowl towards the back and pulled out a crock of milk. He turned to face his mom and reached back with his foot to kick the door shut.
“Clark! Don’t you even dare.”
He grinned and used the handle to shut the door.
She smiled back and put the eggs and bacon on the table as Clark brought out glasses and plates and she asked him if he’d like some fried bread or just pancakes.
“Thanks mom, just pancakes.” He checked the time—he could eat and do his chores, and still make it to school, just barely on time. It made him feel impatient and antsy—he could do everything and even have time to read if only—gosh! This thing was giving him more and more trouble. He was tired of it; it started to make less and less sense as time went by. It was driving him crazy…
“Mom?”
“Mmm?” She put the coffee percolator on the stove, spooned some coffee in the basket, tucked it down inside the percolator and turned on the stove. She turned to him and pulled her sweater tighter, folding her arms.
“What’s on your mind this morning, honey? I can tell you’re thinking big thoughts.” She smiled. “They wouldn’t be about you know who, would they?”
Clark thought Lex? and blushed as memories flooded his mind and blushed again when an image of Whit followed quickly.
“Ah—no, no…” The sun was fully up now and poured through the window and made her hair blaze, and made him think of Lex…was he chilly too, this morning?
“Clark!” His mom smiled. “Join me in the kitchen?”
“Why can’t I use these-- these things I can do,” he blurted out. damn it! Idiot! He hadn’t meant to just spit that out, but now that it *was* out….
There was heavy silence in the kitchen, broken only by the pok-pok of the coffee on the boil, the heavy hum of the Fridgedaire. His mother looked at him as if he’d slapped her.
“Clark, Clark, We talked about this before.”
“No ma’m, we didn’t—you and Dad said it was wrong and I said okay and now I’m asking-- please, why is it wrong? Why are these –these gifts wrong?”
“It’s sin Clark, a sin of pride. You using those –the things you can do-- it’s going against the way God created us to be. You put yourself above others when you use your powers. There’s no Christian humility in them Clark, it says right there in Proverbs 16:18, “pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall,” you see? And we were meant to work, without it where are we Clark? Idleness plays to the devil—“through idleness of the hands, the house droppeth through”….do you understand, son, how it would be an affront to God and sinful? This is God’s wish for you, to be like everyone else… powers are your burden to bear. ”
Clark stared at his mother and a scary rebellious thought eased in around the edges of his mind, a thought he didn’t want but it kept pushing, nudging…That’s nuts—that’s crazy. That makes no—damn—sense… He shivered. He felt as if he stood on one side of the Grand Canyon and his folks were on the other, and they were trying to talk over that gulf.
“Everyone has their place in life, dear, you have yours. Pete has his—it’s where we’re supposed to be. We do as God wants us to. Stepping out those places, that’s where trouble lies.”
She poured mugs of coffee and set them on the table. “You’ll understand more as you get older, son.” She smiled sadly at him. “God knows, and it’s not always our place to understand him. Once you’ve heard the word of God, to go against them is to consign yourself to hell, you see? People like—well, like Kevin, I’m sorry to say, they choose hell, because they ignore the will of God.”
Clark stared at her. Here was the rest of his life, unfolding right here--opening into a bleak, lonely dark tunnel —hide, hide everything, take no joy from anything…don’t run don’t see don’t hear—don’t touch, and Lex’s face came to mind. Never be happy, was the message he was hearing. You can never be happy. We don’t *want* you to be happy….
He stood suddenly, knocking back the chair and making his mother jump. A wave of dizziness made him sway and he grabbed the edge of the table, the wood squealing as it compressed under his panicked grip.
“No—oh no, I can’t do it. I really can’t do this the rest of my life. I think there is a reason I’m here, I think God wants me here, I think he wants me to do good with my—my gifts. Mom, I call them that because that’s what they are—gifts! I’m supposed to use them, I can feel it! I can do good things, I can help people!”
“Clark!” His mother leaned back against the counter, her apron twisted in one hand the other held out to Clark.
“And—and I can’t hear what you say about Kevin… Kevin was my friend—I cared about him.”
“We all regret what happened to--”
“He was my friend because he understood me—like I understood him. We both knew what it was like to have this—this *thing* over your head day in and day out…”
“Son, your—your gifts aren’t like that—“
Clark waved his hands impatiently, now that he was on this path, he wasn’t stopping. “I’m not talking about *that*, Mom, I’m talking about loving men-- that’s what I’m talking about.”
There was a crash behind him, and he turned. His dad was in the door, a broken crock of milk pouring white over the linoleum, pieces spinning in the spreading fluid—his blue eyes looked black in a face gone so pale it was nearly the same color as the spilled milk.
“Are you--what—you’re lying…”
Clark laughed--sobbed, “Why in the world would I lie about that? It’s the truth, I’m in love with--I love a man.” He felt his heart breaking…he wondered if hiding the truth could possibly have hurt more than telling it did at this moment….
His dad rushed forward and Clark flinched but he passed him and threw his arms around his weeping mother. “Look at what you’ve done-- look what you’ve done to your mother.”
His mom dropped to a chair and pressed her apron tight against her face. His dad stood straight and stiff and glared at him. “God's law commands, ‘You will not lie with a man as with a woman--it is an abomination’—you know this, you know all of this, why would you do this to us?”
Clark shivered. “Well, I guess I didn’t see it as doing it to you, since it’s my life.”
His dad stepped to him and raised his hand. Clark dropped his eyes and waited, he could feel the tension coming from his dad, and he felt it when his dad stepped back.
“Clark.” He raised his head, he and his dad locked eyes.
“Go to your room,” he said. "Until I tell you to come out, you stay in your room, you understand me?” He looked at Clark and waited.
Clark knew his dad knew there was nothing he could do to stop him from leaving; there was nothing he could do to make Clark obey him at all. They stared at each other, his dad never blinking, never wavering—but deep inside where he would never let it out, Clark felt it, the slightest barest hint a whisper of “please son, do as I ask.” Tears blurred Clark’s vision and he dropped his head. “Yes sir,” he whispered.
His dad showed no sign of relief, he just nodded and spoke. “Go now, while I try to deal with what you’ve done to your mother.” And this family hung in the air, unspoken but deafening.
Clark trudged up the stairs; he had no idea what he was going to do. None. All he knew was, he couldn’t live like this. Not any more.
to be continued...
*![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kingandqueen or Bowie, if you prefer.
Part 1--23 are here.
Morning already, Clark thought. It was the kind of early fall morning that started out cold enough for sweaters and jackets, and by afternoon warmed up to shirtsleeves. The crisp air leaked in from his just open window and snuck chilly tendrils under the blankets. He pulled them up to his nose and snuggled down, enjoying a few extra minutes of lazing in bed.
He could hear the floor creaking downstairs—had to be Mom, Dad would have long since started his day. He sighed and slid out of bed; the floor was cold enough to make even him shiver briefly. He trotted quickly to the bathroom, and rushed through a face wash, brushed teeth quickly and tried not to swallow the gritty powder as he rinsed with ice-cold water. He shivered and spit and thanked God that he didn’t live with Granddad Hiram—no plumbing indoors, having to trudge out or the outhouse or to the pump in the cold. Clark shuddered. That was only nice in the heat of summer, when nothing tasted better than ice cold water out of the ladle, he remembered sipping water from it as Granddad helped him hold it---but come winter, you’d be slipping and sliding around the well and if you spilled that water on you—Clark shivered again in memory of it.
By the time he was dressed and had his hair somewhat tamed and finally appeared in the kitchen, Mom already had eggs frying in the pan and bacon draining on a plate at the back of the stove to keep it warm. She was just measuring out flour when she saw Clark. “Honey, put the extra eggs back in the icebox for me will you?”
He grinned at his mom. She was never going to get out of the habit of calling the Frigidaire the icebox, he guessed. The motor purred and ticked when Clark opened the door to put the eggs in. he pushed the bowl towards the back and pulled out a crock of milk. He turned to face his mom and reached back with his foot to kick the door shut.
“Clark! Don’t you even dare.”
He grinned and used the handle to shut the door.
She smiled back and put the eggs and bacon on the table as Clark brought out glasses and plates and she asked him if he’d like some fried bread or just pancakes.
“Thanks mom, just pancakes.” He checked the time—he could eat and do his chores, and still make it to school, just barely on time. It made him feel impatient and antsy—he could do everything and even have time to read if only—gosh! This thing was giving him more and more trouble. He was tired of it; it started to make less and less sense as time went by. It was driving him crazy…
“Mom?”
“Mmm?” She put the coffee percolator on the stove, spooned some coffee in the basket, tucked it down inside the percolator and turned on the stove. She turned to him and pulled her sweater tighter, folding her arms.
“What’s on your mind this morning, honey? I can tell you’re thinking big thoughts.” She smiled. “They wouldn’t be about you know who, would they?”
Clark thought Lex? and blushed as memories flooded his mind and blushed again when an image of Whit followed quickly.
“Ah—no, no…” The sun was fully up now and poured through the window and made her hair blaze, and made him think of Lex…was he chilly too, this morning?
“Clark!” His mom smiled. “Join me in the kitchen?”
“Why can’t I use these-- these things I can do,” he blurted out. damn it! Idiot! He hadn’t meant to just spit that out, but now that it *was* out….
There was heavy silence in the kitchen, broken only by the pok-pok of the coffee on the boil, the heavy hum of the Fridgedaire. His mother looked at him as if he’d slapped her.
“Clark, Clark, We talked about this before.”
“No ma’m, we didn’t—you and Dad said it was wrong and I said okay and now I’m asking-- please, why is it wrong? Why are these –these gifts wrong?”
“It’s sin Clark, a sin of pride. You using those –the things you can do-- it’s going against the way God created us to be. You put yourself above others when you use your powers. There’s no Christian humility in them Clark, it says right there in Proverbs 16:18, “pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall,” you see? And we were meant to work, without it where are we Clark? Idleness plays to the devil—“through idleness of the hands, the house droppeth through”….do you understand, son, how it would be an affront to God and sinful? This is God’s wish for you, to be like everyone else… powers are your burden to bear. ”
Clark stared at his mother and a scary rebellious thought eased in around the edges of his mind, a thought he didn’t want but it kept pushing, nudging…That’s nuts—that’s crazy. That makes no—damn—sense… He shivered. He felt as if he stood on one side of the Grand Canyon and his folks were on the other, and they were trying to talk over that gulf.
“Everyone has their place in life, dear, you have yours. Pete has his—it’s where we’re supposed to be. We do as God wants us to. Stepping out those places, that’s where trouble lies.”
She poured mugs of coffee and set them on the table. “You’ll understand more as you get older, son.” She smiled sadly at him. “God knows, and it’s not always our place to understand him. Once you’ve heard the word of God, to go against them is to consign yourself to hell, you see? People like—well, like Kevin, I’m sorry to say, they choose hell, because they ignore the will of God.”
Clark stared at her. Here was the rest of his life, unfolding right here--opening into a bleak, lonely dark tunnel —hide, hide everything, take no joy from anything…don’t run don’t see don’t hear—don’t touch, and Lex’s face came to mind. Never be happy, was the message he was hearing. You can never be happy. We don’t *want* you to be happy….
He stood suddenly, knocking back the chair and making his mother jump. A wave of dizziness made him sway and he grabbed the edge of the table, the wood squealing as it compressed under his panicked grip.
“No—oh no, I can’t do it. I really can’t do this the rest of my life. I think there is a reason I’m here, I think God wants me here, I think he wants me to do good with my—my gifts. Mom, I call them that because that’s what they are—gifts! I’m supposed to use them, I can feel it! I can do good things, I can help people!”
“Clark!” His mother leaned back against the counter, her apron twisted in one hand the other held out to Clark.
“And—and I can’t hear what you say about Kevin… Kevin was my friend—I cared about him.”
“We all regret what happened to--”
“He was my friend because he understood me—like I understood him. We both knew what it was like to have this—this *thing* over your head day in and day out…”
“Son, your—your gifts aren’t like that—“
Clark waved his hands impatiently, now that he was on this path, he wasn’t stopping. “I’m not talking about *that*, Mom, I’m talking about loving men-- that’s what I’m talking about.”
There was a crash behind him, and he turned. His dad was in the door, a broken crock of milk pouring white over the linoleum, pieces spinning in the spreading fluid—his blue eyes looked black in a face gone so pale it was nearly the same color as the spilled milk.
“Are you--what—you’re lying…”
Clark laughed--sobbed, “Why in the world would I lie about that? It’s the truth, I’m in love with--I love a man.” He felt his heart breaking…he wondered if hiding the truth could possibly have hurt more than telling it did at this moment….
His dad rushed forward and Clark flinched but he passed him and threw his arms around his weeping mother. “Look at what you’ve done-- look what you’ve done to your mother.”
His mom dropped to a chair and pressed her apron tight against her face. His dad stood straight and stiff and glared at him. “God's law commands, ‘You will not lie with a man as with a woman--it is an abomination’—you know this, you know all of this, why would you do this to us?”
Clark shivered. “Well, I guess I didn’t see it as doing it to you, since it’s my life.”
His dad stepped to him and raised his hand. Clark dropped his eyes and waited, he could feel the tension coming from his dad, and he felt it when his dad stepped back.
“Clark.” He raised his head, he and his dad locked eyes.
“Go to your room,” he said. "Until I tell you to come out, you stay in your room, you understand me?” He looked at Clark and waited.
Clark knew his dad knew there was nothing he could do to stop him from leaving; there was nothing he could do to make Clark obey him at all. They stared at each other, his dad never blinking, never wavering—but deep inside where he would never let it out, Clark felt it, the slightest barest hint a whisper of “please son, do as I ask.” Tears blurred Clark’s vision and he dropped his head. “Yes sir,” he whispered.
His dad showed no sign of relief, he just nodded and spoke. “Go now, while I try to deal with what you’ve done to your mother.” And this family hung in the air, unspoken but deafening.
Clark trudged up the stairs; he had no idea what he was going to do. None. All he knew was, he couldn’t live like this. Not any more.
to be continued...
*
kingandqueen or Bowie, if you prefer.
(no subject)
2/22/05 02:49 pm (UTC)He finally questioned and...o, loved the bit with his dad, realizing that his dad couldn't MAKE him do anything...
*shiver*
Oh, this is getting....hurty.
:)
Bay-bee, your memories only go up to part 21b.
:)
(no subject)
2/22/05 03:17 pm (UTC)Hurty? *whistles, edges for the door*
Ah-haa, yeah...I noticed that. *stupit grin*