Stand By Me Epilogue
4/8/05 01:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyA while ago, we played with a story I called the DustBowl Clex. I had a good time with it, and a lot of you did too. You also thought it would be okay for me to do an epilogue, which I thought would be a couple of hundred words, but hah! why I thought *I* could say a damn thing under a bazillion words I don't know. Whatta blabber mouth. Any way, I've got some of it finished. Like ta see it? Here it is!
I
February 20, 1939
Dear Clark,
How are you? Thank you for writing to me. I think about you a lot too.
I think I know why you left that day, you and Lex Luthor, and Whitney Fordman. Lex’s daddy is dead, but I guess you know that. They dragged the lake a while back, and found his body. He’d been shot and rolled up in his own study rug—Ma knew the rug was missing but didn’t tell the police—we didn’t want them thinking we took nothing. They say Edgar Morgan and the mob boys killed him. I guess Lex was on the run from that bunch? You could have told me but I guess I’m glad you didn’t. The cops asked about you, and I told them I saw you leaving town but I had no idea where you were going. The cops might come looking for you eventually, but I don’t think they paid too much attention to what I said. You know, we don’t know anything—we’re just the colored hired hands.
Besides I don’t think they really care about Lex Luthor. Not when they found out about what Lionel was doing. That church and radio station was bleeding money into his pockets. They recovered most of it right there in the house. He must have been building up some seed money. They figured that’s why he got iced in the first place. Stealing money from the mob crazy old bastard. How did he think he was going to get away with it? Maybe him and that Morgan fellow were in cahoots. They blew him away too. Papers say the mob organization was getting shook up. Anyway you guys keep out of town, it’s not safe for you here as long as the mob might still be looking for Luthor’s son. I got something to say to you Clark. But I’ll say it when I see you.
Your friend,
Pete
II
Rain washed against the big arched window, the skies were gray, the streets were gray, the buildings outside the window towered gray and black around them. On the street below, gray and black figures moved quickly along the sidewalks and in and out of traffic. The yellow cabs darting here and there were almost a shock to the senses, breaking up the monochromatic scene the way they did.
Clark leaned his head against the cool glass and listened to the sputtering swish of water running down the surface. He pushed back in the window seat and looked down at the folded letter in his lap. He knew what the letter said. He memorized it—he read it over and over since opening it two mornings ago. He knew every word, every stroke of the pen, the little blots left by the nib resting too long in on place, little smudge marks here and there across the page…he unfolded it, smoothed it flat and read it again.
He smiled and closed his eyes and touched the letter to his nose. He imagined he could smell sunlight and fresh turned earth and new mown hay. He laughed. He’d never have believed it if someone told him someday he’d miss the smell of cows.
He looked across the room at a set of tall wooden sliding doors. He could hear the hesitant fingering of piano keys—a low murmur of encouragement and then again—a little stronger, a little surer, a tune being picked out. Clark could hear a low rumble of conversation, a light laugh and then the doors slid open.
A little girl skipped out of the apartment door with a wave and a cheerful farewell. Lex turned to Clark with a rueful smile. “They’re always happiest to leave then to arrive.” He walked across the room to Clark and patted his shoulder.
“Letter from home?” He raised his eyebrow and looked a little hopeful. Clark smiled and shook his head. “Chloe.”
“Ah.” Lex sat next to him, shivered at the cold radiating from the glass. “How is everything?” he asked and a pleased little creak escaped from him as he leaned against Clark, soaking up his heat.
Clark shrugged and handed Lex the letter.
April 15, 1939
Dear Clark,
I miss you, I miss Whitney too, can you believe it. I’m so glad you all are okay. How’s life on a big city newspaper treating you? Those mail carts are heavy I’ll bet. (smile) Don’t worry, I know you’ll be somebody there some day. You keep pushing.
Kidding!
I’m glad Lex is happy teaching. I’m still kind of confused about that whole thing with you and him. I don’t really understand it, but if you’re happy I’m happy.
I’ve talked to Pete. He’s leaving Smallville, he needs to. He can do better in New York, I’m sure. I’ve been doing some thinking on Pete and colored people in general, and their place in America lately. We’ve been talking a bit, him and me and Dad. Dad say’s that someday it’s going to be a different country for Negroes and Whites and I believe it. I think things will change for the better, between people like you and like Pete, and people like me who are trying to understand. Pete’s a smart guy, he deserves more then Kansas could ever offer him.
The news here has been all about Reverend Lionel Luthor, and Dad’s telling everyone who will listen, I told you so. How does Lex handle the fact that his dad was into the mob? Did they try to ice him too? They figure the guy who killed Morgan knows about the Luthor killing but he’s not talking. He says he ‘don’t know nothing about it.’ They’re tying this Morgan guy to prostitution and drugs—do you think Lionel had anything to do with that? I mean besides embezzlement?--
Lex looked at Clark and raised his eyebrows. “Embezzlement?” He smiled and closed his eyes.
Clark patted his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead creased with concern.
“Oh yes. It’s rather…poetic.”
The front door flew open and a hat sailed in and landed on the coat rack, showering the tiles with water.
“I’m home! Are you still reading that letter? You must know it by heart now—it’s been days!”
Whitney tossed his coat on the rack slipped off his shoes and padded across the floor. He leaned into the two of them, kissing and hugging them both and stepped back to look at their upturned faces. He smiled widely at them as he pulled the slightly crushed carnation from his lapel. He leaned into Lex’s hand as it rubbed his thigh.
“How was Macy’s today?”
“Ah! Macy’s was the ninth circle of Hell today—I still think it’s a shame we’re not allowed to be armed.” He walked off towards the kitchen. “Really,” he called over his shoulder. “If I have to fold dress shirts again to that fairy of a manager’s unbelievable specifications, or tell one more ancient crone were the tea room is…” He poked his head back out the doorway.
“ Are you sure I can’t…”
“No!” the boys called out in unison.
Whit frowned. “I can’t see why not, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Clark sighed and Lex snorted, “Thank god we’re immune or our whole days would be spent--”
“Naked at his beck and call?” Clark grinned.
“I heard that!”
The clink of dishes and the rattle of pots motivated them to get up and help Whitney make dinner, or as Lex said always, stop him before he created a disaster.
Clark laid his letter carefully on the table.
--Anyway, that’s the story. They’ve figured out that Edgar Morgan killed Lionel Luthor for stealing from him, and Morgan was killed by the mob for trying to go out on his own. Which of course isn’t news to you. Is it safe for you to write me? I wouldn’t want Lex to get in trouble—running to New York was a good idea. Getting your mail at work is a good idea too. I hope that Dad is going to agree to let me attend University in Metropolis, if I do trust me, we’ll see each other a lot!
Love,
Chloe
Dinner went quickly, the three discussed Chloe’s desire to attend Met U, a decision Lex defended, Clark argued against, he worried about her alone in a city as big as New York. Whitney liked the idea, “After all, we’ll have a place to stay when we want to go to the beach, it’s not far from the ocean you know.” Whitney had discovered the shore and fell deeply in love. The beach was his favorite place.
Clark and Lex stopped and looked at him.
“What is it with you two? I swear, you’re going to give me a complex,” he huffed and stood to clear the table.
In the night, they slept together in one bed; they always shared the bed, unless Whitney had company. They curled around each other like puppies, tangled in the warm blankets and heavy with sleep and contentment.
Being loved, being happy…it never stopped being a miracle to Lex. Every time Clark touched him, kissed him and told him how much he loved him, it was a miracle. Every time Whitney touched him, made him shake, every time he made him laugh, it was a miracle.
He had no idea how he deserved this joy…it almost terrified him to have it--he waited daily for it to be taken away from him.
Whitney groaned and turned in his sleep, pushing himself under Lex’s arm. Clark threw a leg over Lex’s and muttered before sinking deeper into sleep again. Lex sighed—stop being a dope, get used to being happy, for crying out loud, a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Whitney’s told him. He grinned and finally drifted off himself.
nextTBC
I
February 20, 1939
Dear Clark,
How are you? Thank you for writing to me. I think about you a lot too.
I think I know why you left that day, you and Lex Luthor, and Whitney Fordman. Lex’s daddy is dead, but I guess you know that. They dragged the lake a while back, and found his body. He’d been shot and rolled up in his own study rug—Ma knew the rug was missing but didn’t tell the police—we didn’t want them thinking we took nothing. They say Edgar Morgan and the mob boys killed him. I guess Lex was on the run from that bunch? You could have told me but I guess I’m glad you didn’t. The cops asked about you, and I told them I saw you leaving town but I had no idea where you were going. The cops might come looking for you eventually, but I don’t think they paid too much attention to what I said. You know, we don’t know anything—we’re just the colored hired hands.
Besides I don’t think they really care about Lex Luthor. Not when they found out about what Lionel was doing. That church and radio station was bleeding money into his pockets. They recovered most of it right there in the house. He must have been building up some seed money. They figured that’s why he got iced in the first place. Stealing money from the mob crazy old bastard. How did he think he was going to get away with it? Maybe him and that Morgan fellow were in cahoots. They blew him away too. Papers say the mob organization was getting shook up. Anyway you guys keep out of town, it’s not safe for you here as long as the mob might still be looking for Luthor’s son. I got something to say to you Clark. But I’ll say it when I see you.
Your friend,
Pete
II
Rain washed against the big arched window, the skies were gray, the streets were gray, the buildings outside the window towered gray and black around them. On the street below, gray and black figures moved quickly along the sidewalks and in and out of traffic. The yellow cabs darting here and there were almost a shock to the senses, breaking up the monochromatic scene the way they did.
Clark leaned his head against the cool glass and listened to the sputtering swish of water running down the surface. He pushed back in the window seat and looked down at the folded letter in his lap. He knew what the letter said. He memorized it—he read it over and over since opening it two mornings ago. He knew every word, every stroke of the pen, the little blots left by the nib resting too long in on place, little smudge marks here and there across the page…he unfolded it, smoothed it flat and read it again.
He smiled and closed his eyes and touched the letter to his nose. He imagined he could smell sunlight and fresh turned earth and new mown hay. He laughed. He’d never have believed it if someone told him someday he’d miss the smell of cows.
He looked across the room at a set of tall wooden sliding doors. He could hear the hesitant fingering of piano keys—a low murmur of encouragement and then again—a little stronger, a little surer, a tune being picked out. Clark could hear a low rumble of conversation, a light laugh and then the doors slid open.
A little girl skipped out of the apartment door with a wave and a cheerful farewell. Lex turned to Clark with a rueful smile. “They’re always happiest to leave then to arrive.” He walked across the room to Clark and patted his shoulder.
“Letter from home?” He raised his eyebrow and looked a little hopeful. Clark smiled and shook his head. “Chloe.”
“Ah.” Lex sat next to him, shivered at the cold radiating from the glass. “How is everything?” he asked and a pleased little creak escaped from him as he leaned against Clark, soaking up his heat.
Clark shrugged and handed Lex the letter.
April 15, 1939
Dear Clark,
I miss you, I miss Whitney too, can you believe it. I’m so glad you all are okay. How’s life on a big city newspaper treating you? Those mail carts are heavy I’ll bet. (smile) Don’t worry, I know you’ll be somebody there some day. You keep pushing.
Kidding!
I’m glad Lex is happy teaching. I’m still kind of confused about that whole thing with you and him. I don’t really understand it, but if you’re happy I’m happy.
I’ve talked to Pete. He’s leaving Smallville, he needs to. He can do better in New York, I’m sure. I’ve been doing some thinking on Pete and colored people in general, and their place in America lately. We’ve been talking a bit, him and me and Dad. Dad say’s that someday it’s going to be a different country for Negroes and Whites and I believe it. I think things will change for the better, between people like you and like Pete, and people like me who are trying to understand. Pete’s a smart guy, he deserves more then Kansas could ever offer him.
The news here has been all about Reverend Lionel Luthor, and Dad’s telling everyone who will listen, I told you so. How does Lex handle the fact that his dad was into the mob? Did they try to ice him too? They figure the guy who killed Morgan knows about the Luthor killing but he’s not talking. He says he ‘don’t know nothing about it.’ They’re tying this Morgan guy to prostitution and drugs—do you think Lionel had anything to do with that? I mean besides embezzlement?--
Lex looked at Clark and raised his eyebrows. “Embezzlement?” He smiled and closed his eyes.
Clark patted his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead creased with concern.
“Oh yes. It’s rather…poetic.”
The front door flew open and a hat sailed in and landed on the coat rack, showering the tiles with water.
“I’m home! Are you still reading that letter? You must know it by heart now—it’s been days!”
Whitney tossed his coat on the rack slipped off his shoes and padded across the floor. He leaned into the two of them, kissing and hugging them both and stepped back to look at their upturned faces. He smiled widely at them as he pulled the slightly crushed carnation from his lapel. He leaned into Lex’s hand as it rubbed his thigh.
“How was Macy’s today?”
“Ah! Macy’s was the ninth circle of Hell today—I still think it’s a shame we’re not allowed to be armed.” He walked off towards the kitchen. “Really,” he called over his shoulder. “If I have to fold dress shirts again to that fairy of a manager’s unbelievable specifications, or tell one more ancient crone were the tea room is…” He poked his head back out the doorway.
“ Are you sure I can’t…”
“No!” the boys called out in unison.
Whit frowned. “I can’t see why not, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Clark sighed and Lex snorted, “Thank god we’re immune or our whole days would be spent--”
“Naked at his beck and call?” Clark grinned.
“I heard that!”
The clink of dishes and the rattle of pots motivated them to get up and help Whitney make dinner, or as Lex said always, stop him before he created a disaster.
Clark laid his letter carefully on the table.
--Anyway, that’s the story. They’ve figured out that Edgar Morgan killed Lionel Luthor for stealing from him, and Morgan was killed by the mob for trying to go out on his own. Which of course isn’t news to you. Is it safe for you to write me? I wouldn’t want Lex to get in trouble—running to New York was a good idea. Getting your mail at work is a good idea too. I hope that Dad is going to agree to let me attend University in Metropolis, if I do trust me, we’ll see each other a lot!
Love,
Chloe
Dinner went quickly, the three discussed Chloe’s desire to attend Met U, a decision Lex defended, Clark argued against, he worried about her alone in a city as big as New York. Whitney liked the idea, “After all, we’ll have a place to stay when we want to go to the beach, it’s not far from the ocean you know.” Whitney had discovered the shore and fell deeply in love. The beach was his favorite place.
Clark and Lex stopped and looked at him.
“What is it with you two? I swear, you’re going to give me a complex,” he huffed and stood to clear the table.
In the night, they slept together in one bed; they always shared the bed, unless Whitney had company. They curled around each other like puppies, tangled in the warm blankets and heavy with sleep and contentment.
Being loved, being happy…it never stopped being a miracle to Lex. Every time Clark touched him, kissed him and told him how much he loved him, it was a miracle. Every time Whitney touched him, made him shake, every time he made him laugh, it was a miracle.
He had no idea how he deserved this joy…it almost terrified him to have it--he waited daily for it to be taken away from him.
Whitney groaned and turned in his sleep, pushing himself under Lex’s arm. Clark threw a leg over Lex’s and muttered before sinking deeper into sleep again. Lex sighed—stop being a dope, get used to being happy, for crying out loud, a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Whitney’s told him. He grinned and finally drifted off himself.
nextTBC
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
4/8/05 05:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 06:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 09:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 09:10 am (UTC)*Of old age. Shouldn't take too long, should it? I mean, you're what, 90 years old already.
(no subject)
4/8/05 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/10/05 07:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 12:41 pm (UTC):)
Very nice first bit - the boys are happy and all is well!
*bounce*
*smooch*
(no subject)
4/8/05 02:10 pm (UTC)I know!
Freaky, hunh?
(no subject)
4/8/05 04:13 pm (UTC)Really?
Are you sure?
*checks you for fever*
(no subject)
4/8/05 12:47 pm (UTC)Great start for the epilogue! It will be as long as the story, right? *eg*
I missed them so much! :-)
(no subject)
4/8/05 02:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 01:47 pm (UTC)That's an awesome detail, it makes the visual just pop!
Great epilogue, hon!
(no subject)
4/8/05 02:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 05:00 pm (UTC)Such a lovely mood, and the news coming from the letters, yes that was so great!!
:D
(no subject)
4/9/05 12:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 08:02 pm (UTC)It's interesting that Morgan is being blamed for Lionel's death. What good luck for the boys, and Whit - what a goofball. Heh.
(no subject)
4/9/05 01:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/8/05 10:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/9/05 01:02 am (UTC)