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Here is more of—well how can I describe it—my little toy? This is just for fun, for me at any rate. No heavy thing, no message, no wondering what if except in a wandering, what the heck kind of way. It’s fun to write. I hope it’s fun to read.
Part Before
Brothers and Heroes
That summer they not only became friends themselves but brought three families together: the Luthors, The Waynes and the Kents.
Alexander’s parents were the Luthors, Lionel, a new money man who married old money--Lillian, a Metropolis socialite. Bruce’s parents were the Waynes, Thomas and Martha, both doctors, both old money, the type of people that believed having money was a privilege and not a right and public service was a moral requirement. The Kents were younger than the other couples by a little, they’d met and married in college, Martha Kent was also old money of the Wayne stamp, her husband Jonathan was a farmer, a researcher and developer of the Kent Early corn, a variety that went far towards helping rebuild a still struggling middle America in the wake of the disaster that brought so many farmers to ruin.
The boys’ friendship helped to bond them all together, Bruce’s open friendliness and empathy helped to pull the Kents to them. Martha always had an air of sadness about her, and maybe that was why Bruce was drawn to her. He found lots of ways to be nice to her, and it always made him feel good to have her smile at him, or hug him. A part of him just knew somehow that she needed to give those hugs as much as he liked getting them.
The women often shopped together in the small town, searching for antiques, playing at being patrons to the local artists. Lillian had a love for art, one that Martha Kent shared, and Martha Wayne or Mattie, as she preferred, couldn’t resist searching out interesting bits of Americana. It seemed the town was stuffed to the rafters with it, all ancient bits of home grown art someone’s dear departed granny made ever so long ago, never mind that the paint was tacky sometimes or the piece smelled of the raw wood still.
This day in particular, the boys revolted against their mothers and refused to enter one more store that they’d need to stand like little soldiers in and Not Touch A Thing. They were granted victory and at the moment, sat happily on a bench outside and waited for their mothers to finish shopping.
Anyone walking by would have seen two young boys engaged in an animated conversation, apparently about earth-shattering events. One dark, one pale, both with hair liberally creamed and combed to the side in the style of the day, Bruce’s perfectly black and perfectly in place, Alexander’s bright red, and already breaking free of it’s Brylcreem bonds.
Somewhere, some how along the walk, Bruce’s madras shirt had been re-buttoned so that it was crooked, one collar point standing up and the other tucked in, Lex looked freshly pressed and ironed and not at all like they’d taken a long walk in the hot slightly humid July air. Except for the tendrils of red hair reaching for freedom.
They kicked their feet back and forth and talked about comics, Bruce holding forth on the abilities of Adam Strange, Lex arguing that the comic was silly…
“See, he’s really cool, he owns a whole planet! He saves them all the time!”
“He’s stupid. He’s got a stupid power. He’s getting by out of dumb luck--Ow!”
Bruce looked at Lex, puzzled, gasped when a rill of blood ran down Lex’s knee.
“What--”a rock hit Lex square in the middle of his plaid covered chest and Bruce dodged a rock that bounced harmlessly off the back of the bench.
A group of boys stood across the street, making faces and noise at them, gap toothed, buzz cut, grimy tees and blown out sneakers, they were local kids out to have fun with the rich brats that took up space every summer, pushing them out of their own town.
A rock flew through the air again and hit Lex, an off center strike on the chin.
In an instant Bruce flew off the bench and plowed into the group, Alexander sat frozen in fear—those boys were older—bigger, meaner—and Bruce was whaling away like crazy. Alexander yelled, “Damn it!” it was the worst curse he knew, and he jumped off the bench, running towards the cursing scuffling pile of boy…he knew he was going to die and vaguely regretted that fact, but Bruce needed him.
He heard grunts and felt dull blows, he kicked and bit and scratched and in general fought like a girl he guessed, but he was hurting someone, that was for sure. He heard a howl and then stars filled his head, a black cloud exploded in his brain and there might have even been little tweeting birds. The tweets suddenly became his mom screaming at the boys, Mrs. Kent was yelling something and Mom was holding his face, tears running down her cheeks as she wiped at his lip. A vague thought pushed through the cotton in his head, ‘she’s going to mess up her pretty handkerchief,’ and he licked himself and tasted blood.
Bruce was sitting next to him, blood on his cheek, a fat lip and a bruise blooming above one eye—and grinning, the rat--there was nothing funny here. His face hurt like crazy and he might have gotten kicked in the ribs…when he grinned back at Bruce his lip felt like it was on fire. Sure, his eyes were watery and he’d pound anyone that said he was crying, but…he helped a friend. A friend helped him. It was a real good feeling.
Later that night Alexander walked to the dining room to join his parents for dinner. The other adults were there already, and Bruce sat next to his dad, looking a little reserved for once.
He started to walk to the table when his father stopped him.
“Lex, instead of dinner with us, you’ll stay in your room tonight, and think about what you did today.” He stood and gestured towards the doorway. “You lost control of your emotions and in doing so gave over control to your social inferiors. I want you to think of other ways you might have handled the situation.” He sat again and Lex was dismissed from his mind. He stood for a moment—his mother looked sad for him but said not a word. The men acted like it never happened.
His dad had waited until he’d dressed and come to dinner and was under the eyes of everyone who was important to him before beginning to punish him….
Only Martha Kent seemed to really see him, her eyes were…angry. She was upset on his behalf and it was that that broke his paralysis. He was humiliated, by his father and by her pity for him.
Lex turned crisply as a soldier and marched away. Still and straight and quiet until he reached his room.
Tears broke out once he was sure he was alone, his door shut, blinds drawn. Sometimes he hated his dad, and sometimes he hated his mom. She never stood up for him. Ever. She didn’t love him, she just said she did. She wouldn’t let bad things happen to him, if she did.
After a while, there was a knock at his door and he opened it, expecting his dad and hoping against hope it was his mom. His stomach quivered as he twisted the handle and pulled the door back.
It was Bruce and the relief that swept him was like a dash into cool water.
“Hey, I brought you somethin’ to eat,” he said and pulled a squashed napkin full of chicken slices and stuffing from his shorts pocket. It was mashed together and thoroughly unappetizing looking and Lex reached out for it and thanked Bruce so sincerely Bruce blushed. “Yeah well, it wasn’t right, what your dad did.’
Lex was shocked—someone else saw it and agreed? Bruce was the coolest. He figured the fight had been worth whatever his dad decided to do.
“So,” Bruce said, “tough luck hunh? At least you don’t have to do what I do. I had to write a hundred times I will not fight.” He stretched his legs out against the blanket with oars and buoys all over it and scratched carefully at the scab on his cheek. “And then I had to write ‘I will write entire sentences’ a hundred times.” He grinned. “But at least all you had to do was go without dinner.”
Alexander tried to swallow the lump of chicken and stuffing stuck in his suddenly bone dry throat. Bruce thought this was his punishment? He didn’t get it at all…he was momentarily disappointed by Bruce, and wanted to yell at him to get the heck out. But that would be stupid. How could Bruce know? How could he even imagine, he thought, look at Bruce’s dad and how nice he was to him.
*Write a hundred lines.* Lex snorted, and Bruce looked at him.
“What's wrong?”
Lex smiled and shook his head. “Nothing, nothing you’re just strange, the way you jumped off that bench,” he grinned.”
Bruce grinned back, “What about the way you jumped on that guy, screaming like a cat in a roomful of rockers!”
“Yeah, well, I got some licks in, right?”
“That you did,” Bruce laughed. He sobered. “Sorry about your lip.” His dad said that Alexander would always carry that scar.
Lex shrugged. “Hey, it’s like a…badge of honor right?”
“Yeah! You’re right!” He stuck his hand out. “And we’re like, blood brothers now, cause we got a lot of it all over each other.”
Lex laughed, grabbed Bruce’s hand and shook. “Yeah, we did that.” He shook his head. “You’re a mess, Bruce. You remind me of Spooky, you know, the tuff little ghost?”
“Spooky? Only girls read that comic--and if I’m Spooky, that makes you Casper. Only not nearly as friendly.”
Lex threw a bit of chicken at Bruce. “Shut up! Looks who’s talking! Casper’s an old lady comic!”
“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Bruce asked, sounding offended and grinned when Lex looked worried. “Don’t be dumb. We’re friends forever—no matter how bad your taste is!” Bruce laughed.
******
Sept.12, 19__
Dear Casper,
How are you doing? School is boring. No one here is as funny as you are. There is one kid I trade comics with but that is all.
Next week, my dad and I are going to New York. It is the Big Apple and The Shadow lives there. Maybe I will be lucky and see him.
Your friend,
Bruce
******
September 19, 19__
Dear Spooky,
Your letter was thrilling reading. I was in suspense the entire time. What an exciting missive.
My mother and dad are taking me to the Metropolis Aquarium on Saturday. Does Gotham have one? I’m interested but I think my fascination for tidal pools and water life is on the wane. That means not as interesting to me as it was before. If there are parts of this letter you don’t understand, I will be happy to explain them to you.
Your friend,
Lex
******
Back of postcard of the clock tower of Gotham’s city hall
Dear Casper,
Shut up!
That’s no way to treat a freind. A freind doesn’t correct another freind’s spelling. It’s just not right.
You giant pile of gopher guts.
Your freind,
Bruce.
back of postcard of Metropolis’ Aquarium
Friend. Friend. Friend.
Your FRIEND,
Alexander
tbc
Part Before
Brothers and Heroes
That summer they not only became friends themselves but brought three families together: the Luthors, The Waynes and the Kents.
Alexander’s parents were the Luthors, Lionel, a new money man who married old money--Lillian, a Metropolis socialite. Bruce’s parents were the Waynes, Thomas and Martha, both doctors, both old money, the type of people that believed having money was a privilege and not a right and public service was a moral requirement. The Kents were younger than the other couples by a little, they’d met and married in college, Martha Kent was also old money of the Wayne stamp, her husband Jonathan was a farmer, a researcher and developer of the Kent Early corn, a variety that went far towards helping rebuild a still struggling middle America in the wake of the disaster that brought so many farmers to ruin.
The boys’ friendship helped to bond them all together, Bruce’s open friendliness and empathy helped to pull the Kents to them. Martha always had an air of sadness about her, and maybe that was why Bruce was drawn to her. He found lots of ways to be nice to her, and it always made him feel good to have her smile at him, or hug him. A part of him just knew somehow that she needed to give those hugs as much as he liked getting them.
The women often shopped together in the small town, searching for antiques, playing at being patrons to the local artists. Lillian had a love for art, one that Martha Kent shared, and Martha Wayne or Mattie, as she preferred, couldn’t resist searching out interesting bits of Americana. It seemed the town was stuffed to the rafters with it, all ancient bits of home grown art someone’s dear departed granny made ever so long ago, never mind that the paint was tacky sometimes or the piece smelled of the raw wood still.
This day in particular, the boys revolted against their mothers and refused to enter one more store that they’d need to stand like little soldiers in and Not Touch A Thing. They were granted victory and at the moment, sat happily on a bench outside and waited for their mothers to finish shopping.
Anyone walking by would have seen two young boys engaged in an animated conversation, apparently about earth-shattering events. One dark, one pale, both with hair liberally creamed and combed to the side in the style of the day, Bruce’s perfectly black and perfectly in place, Alexander’s bright red, and already breaking free of it’s Brylcreem bonds.
Somewhere, some how along the walk, Bruce’s madras shirt had been re-buttoned so that it was crooked, one collar point standing up and the other tucked in, Lex looked freshly pressed and ironed and not at all like they’d taken a long walk in the hot slightly humid July air. Except for the tendrils of red hair reaching for freedom.
They kicked their feet back and forth and talked about comics, Bruce holding forth on the abilities of Adam Strange, Lex arguing that the comic was silly…
“See, he’s really cool, he owns a whole planet! He saves them all the time!”
“He’s stupid. He’s got a stupid power. He’s getting by out of dumb luck--Ow!”
Bruce looked at Lex, puzzled, gasped when a rill of blood ran down Lex’s knee.
“What--”a rock hit Lex square in the middle of his plaid covered chest and Bruce dodged a rock that bounced harmlessly off the back of the bench.
A group of boys stood across the street, making faces and noise at them, gap toothed, buzz cut, grimy tees and blown out sneakers, they were local kids out to have fun with the rich brats that took up space every summer, pushing them out of their own town.
A rock flew through the air again and hit Lex, an off center strike on the chin.
In an instant Bruce flew off the bench and plowed into the group, Alexander sat frozen in fear—those boys were older—bigger, meaner—and Bruce was whaling away like crazy. Alexander yelled, “Damn it!” it was the worst curse he knew, and he jumped off the bench, running towards the cursing scuffling pile of boy…he knew he was going to die and vaguely regretted that fact, but Bruce needed him.
He heard grunts and felt dull blows, he kicked and bit and scratched and in general fought like a girl he guessed, but he was hurting someone, that was for sure. He heard a howl and then stars filled his head, a black cloud exploded in his brain and there might have even been little tweeting birds. The tweets suddenly became his mom screaming at the boys, Mrs. Kent was yelling something and Mom was holding his face, tears running down her cheeks as she wiped at his lip. A vague thought pushed through the cotton in his head, ‘she’s going to mess up her pretty handkerchief,’ and he licked himself and tasted blood.
Bruce was sitting next to him, blood on his cheek, a fat lip and a bruise blooming above one eye—and grinning, the rat--there was nothing funny here. His face hurt like crazy and he might have gotten kicked in the ribs…when he grinned back at Bruce his lip felt like it was on fire. Sure, his eyes were watery and he’d pound anyone that said he was crying, but…he helped a friend. A friend helped him. It was a real good feeling.
Later that night Alexander walked to the dining room to join his parents for dinner. The other adults were there already, and Bruce sat next to his dad, looking a little reserved for once.
He started to walk to the table when his father stopped him.
“Lex, instead of dinner with us, you’ll stay in your room tonight, and think about what you did today.” He stood and gestured towards the doorway. “You lost control of your emotions and in doing so gave over control to your social inferiors. I want you to think of other ways you might have handled the situation.” He sat again and Lex was dismissed from his mind. He stood for a moment—his mother looked sad for him but said not a word. The men acted like it never happened.
His dad had waited until he’d dressed and come to dinner and was under the eyes of everyone who was important to him before beginning to punish him….
Only Martha Kent seemed to really see him, her eyes were…angry. She was upset on his behalf and it was that that broke his paralysis. He was humiliated, by his father and by her pity for him.
Lex turned crisply as a soldier and marched away. Still and straight and quiet until he reached his room.
Tears broke out once he was sure he was alone, his door shut, blinds drawn. Sometimes he hated his dad, and sometimes he hated his mom. She never stood up for him. Ever. She didn’t love him, she just said she did. She wouldn’t let bad things happen to him, if she did.
After a while, there was a knock at his door and he opened it, expecting his dad and hoping against hope it was his mom. His stomach quivered as he twisted the handle and pulled the door back.
It was Bruce and the relief that swept him was like a dash into cool water.
“Hey, I brought you somethin’ to eat,” he said and pulled a squashed napkin full of chicken slices and stuffing from his shorts pocket. It was mashed together and thoroughly unappetizing looking and Lex reached out for it and thanked Bruce so sincerely Bruce blushed. “Yeah well, it wasn’t right, what your dad did.’
Lex was shocked—someone else saw it and agreed? Bruce was the coolest. He figured the fight had been worth whatever his dad decided to do.
“So,” Bruce said, “tough luck hunh? At least you don’t have to do what I do. I had to write a hundred times I will not fight.” He stretched his legs out against the blanket with oars and buoys all over it and scratched carefully at the scab on his cheek. “And then I had to write ‘I will write entire sentences’ a hundred times.” He grinned. “But at least all you had to do was go without dinner.”
Alexander tried to swallow the lump of chicken and stuffing stuck in his suddenly bone dry throat. Bruce thought this was his punishment? He didn’t get it at all…he was momentarily disappointed by Bruce, and wanted to yell at him to get the heck out. But that would be stupid. How could Bruce know? How could he even imagine, he thought, look at Bruce’s dad and how nice he was to him.
*Write a hundred lines.* Lex snorted, and Bruce looked at him.
“What's wrong?”
Lex smiled and shook his head. “Nothing, nothing you’re just strange, the way you jumped off that bench,” he grinned.”
Bruce grinned back, “What about the way you jumped on that guy, screaming like a cat in a roomful of rockers!”
“Yeah, well, I got some licks in, right?”
“That you did,” Bruce laughed. He sobered. “Sorry about your lip.” His dad said that Alexander would always carry that scar.
Lex shrugged. “Hey, it’s like a…badge of honor right?”
“Yeah! You’re right!” He stuck his hand out. “And we’re like, blood brothers now, cause we got a lot of it all over each other.”
Lex laughed, grabbed Bruce’s hand and shook. “Yeah, we did that.” He shook his head. “You’re a mess, Bruce. You remind me of Spooky, you know, the tuff little ghost?”
“Spooky? Only girls read that comic--and if I’m Spooky, that makes you Casper. Only not nearly as friendly.”
Lex threw a bit of chicken at Bruce. “Shut up! Looks who’s talking! Casper’s an old lady comic!”
“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Bruce asked, sounding offended and grinned when Lex looked worried. “Don’t be dumb. We’re friends forever—no matter how bad your taste is!” Bruce laughed.
******
Sept.12, 19__
Dear Casper,
How are you doing? School is boring. No one here is as funny as you are. There is one kid I trade comics with but that is all.
Next week, my dad and I are going to New York. It is the Big Apple and The Shadow lives there. Maybe I will be lucky and see him.
Your friend,
Bruce
******
September 19, 19__
Dear Spooky,
Your letter was thrilling reading. I was in suspense the entire time. What an exciting missive.
My mother and dad are taking me to the Metropolis Aquarium on Saturday. Does Gotham have one? I’m interested but I think my fascination for tidal pools and water life is on the wane. That means not as interesting to me as it was before. If there are parts of this letter you don’t understand, I will be happy to explain them to you.
Your friend,
Lex
******
Back of postcard of the clock tower of Gotham’s city hall
Dear Casper,
Shut up!
That’s no way to treat a freind. A freind doesn’t correct another freind’s spelling. It’s just not right.
You giant pile of gopher guts.
Your freind,
Bruce.
back of postcard of Metropolis’ Aquarium
Friend. Friend. Friend.
Your FRIEND,
Alexander
tbc
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More coming lickety-split! :)
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Sweet part!
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*faints from the lovely!!*
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*hugs you*
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(Anonymous) 2005-10-31 02:48 am (UTC)(link)Lets try that again
Re: Lets try that again
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LOL! I see Lex inherited your sense of humor. I'm loving this story so far.
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:)
*bounce*
I like the letters! And the nicknames!
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Thank you beloved!
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Love this. So. Much.
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*blushes*
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