“Taking Time” A Tale of the Very New Superboy By Samuel Hawkins
CHAPTER ONE:SEEING STARS!
As Clark Kent stared into the eyes of the most dangerous thing he had ever seen, his body responded accordingly. A heart strong enough to pump dry the Atlantic pounded furiously. A brain that worked faster than the computers of Colu frantically searched for a proper course of action. A stomach that could handle 22 of Martha Kent’s pancakes without complaint churned without mercy.
For the first time in his life, Clark Kent was terrified.
For the first time in his life, Clark Kent was in love.
"Well, Clark," Lana Lang asked him coyly, "what do you think? Am I prettier than Margie Thompson?"
Clark swallowed hard and took a deep breath. It was strange that a boy who could fly to Pluto and back and never need to breath would feel so suffocated at the almost-innocent question of a thirteen-year-old girl. His heart pounded harder and his head spun faster as they sat there on an early summer night under the apple tree on the line that divided the Kent and Lang properties. A month ago, he wouldn’t have felt this way. A month ago, he would have probably responded to a stupid girl question like that with some stupid boy tease. A month ago, all he could think about was finally convincing his folks to let him put on that costume Ma was making for him and go out and help people.
For some reason, though, and he didn’t quite know why, things felt different than they had a month ago. Everything really, but especially the way he felt when he looked at this girl he’d known practically all his life. For some reason, whenever he looked at her, he felt like he was melting.
Finally, he choked out, "Sure, Lana." He coughed, then looked away and added, "I think you’re the prettiest girl in school."
Had he not looked away, he would have seen Lana’s eyes go all soft with her own rush of new emotion. Oh, sure, when they were four Lana had gotten big laughs by telling everyone at the church social that she was going to marry Clark Kent someday, probably when they were five or six. But things had changed after that, and not, Lana knew, in just the normal way that boys and girls spend a few years thinking each other are icky.
Clark had changed.
He’d become more hesitant, more restrained, like he was always holding something back. Social pressures being the force they are, she’d joined with the other kids in teasing him about his newly-found meekness, but part of her sensed that Clark’s reserve meant something. Something … important, and something to which she was curiously drawn. No one else noticed, but Clark Kent had an intensity about him, a quiet maturity that exceeded his years and his place in the world. She didn’t know exactly what it was in those deep blue eyes peeking out from behind those thick glasses that so stirred her. She only knew that lately, it had been keeping her awake at night.
And now he’d told her that she was pretty.
She was still smiling when he looked back to her. In the growing darkness, their eyes locked, and for a moment she thought Clark might kiss her. She certainly wanted him to. And he certainly wanted to. But fear of rejection is the one force that can, if only temporarily, overcome first love, and Clark instead looked away. Lana was disappointed, but almost grateful. The swell of emotion between them was almost unbearable.
They were quiet for a moment. Just to have something to say, Lana said, "The stars are beautiful tonight." She noticed that Clark, looking skyward, smiled. "What?" she asked.
He leaned over and pointed across her body towards the sky. "You see that star there, the one about 5 degrees west of Venus?" Lana liked that too. Clark didn’t talk down to her. He seemed to be the only person sometimes who remembered that she wasn’t just a pretty face. "Yes, I see it."
"It’s ..." he paused, and Lana knew that the walls that Clark for some reason needed to put between himself and the rest of the world were back. Not this time, she thought. Not with her. She leaned closer and slipped her hand over his. "Tell me," she whispered.
He hesitated, looking for the right words. "It’s my star," he finally said.
"Your star?" she asked, trying to sound appropriately respectful.
"Well," he said as he looked away, "I don’t own it, or anything. But it’s the one … I like to look at. You know. When I come out at night and sit on the back porch, or walk out in the fields. I look at it. It’s ... special."
"Why?" she asked gently.
"It’s where I was ..." he blurted out, then, hesitant again, added "I guess it’s just where I was looking when I started looking at stars."
He seemed embarrassed at having told her. She squeezed his hand to reassure him. "I’m sure it’s a special star."
"It is," he said, and when he turned his head, he found himself closer to her than he’d ever been. "Maybe I’ll take you there someday," was all he could think to say.
Lana stared at him. He’d said that almost like he meant it. Almost like he could. She started to say that she’d like that when the sound of Smallville silence was broken by a mother’s voice. "Clark! Clark!" Martha Kent called. "Come on in. Time for bed."
"Be right there," Clark yelled back. He turned back to Lana and sighed. "Gotta go," he said flatly. "I hope you have fun in Mexico," he said as he stood.
"Yeah," Lana replied, suddenly having mixed feelings about her trip to visit her father on an archeological dig. "It’ll be good to see Daddy."
"Yeah," Clark said, unable to hide his disappointment at her impending absence of three weeks. "Tell him hello for me. And I’ll ... uh ... well, I hope you have a good time."
"Yeah," Lana said, suddenly equally disappointed, "yeah, I guess it’ll be okay."
"Well, bye," Clark said as he began to walk across the yard.
Lana watched him walk away. "Clark?" she called out. He turned back towards her, and she said "I’ll look at your star when I’m in Mexico. And maybe we can look at it together when I get back."
He broke into a wide smile that the darkness couldn’t hide. "Yeah," he agreed, then turned and headed inside just as Martha called for him again. Lana watched him as he walked, and couldn’t help noticing that he seemed almost to be floating every step of the way.
CHAPTER TWO:THE BIRTH OF A LEGEND!
Clark Kent lay in bed, even though it was well past 4:30. He’d never done that before. But he’d never felt like this before either. There seemed to be a massive weight perched just below his sternum. It made breathing difficult, even though he didn’t really need to breath. Even worse, he would occasionally experience a wave-like sensation sweeping through his body. The wave felt like icewater, yet, paradoxically, left him feverishly warm. Mostly, he just sighed a lot and lay there.
And thought of Lana.
She’d been gone three days now. Three incredibly long days. He’d floated in the trees outside her home early Thursday morning as she and her mother left for the airport and the plane to Mexico. While eating breakfast, he’d watched her plane take off, and as he restocked the shelves in the store that afternoon, he’d watched it touch down on a Mexican runway. While making a delivery to Mrs. Parker, he’d watched, and smiled, as Lana hugged the father she hadn’t seen in a month, and while eating Ma’s chicken pot pie for supper, he’d watched Lana eat rice and beans beside a campfire.
And when he got up from bed and silently snuck out to sit under their apple tree, he watched Lana look, up in the sky, and somehow he knew at what she was looking. And what she was feeling.
It made him feel like shouting at the top of his lungs. It made him feel like flying around the world 20 times. It made him feel like chasing a comet.
It also made him feel like he was going to die. He couldn’t believe how much he missed her. Who’d have thought three weeks could seem like such an eternity.
He hadn’t realized how noticeable his suffering had become until Pa walked into the bedroom that Sunday morning. "Morning Clark," he said.
"Morning Dad," he replied, even though it hurt to speak.
Jonathan Kent sat down on the edge of Clark’s bed, and placed his callused hand on his son’s perfectly-formed brow. "Hmm," Pa said, "you don’t have a fever. Course, that shouldn’t be a surprise. You never have. Still, it’s obvious that something’s wrong. Clark Kent never laid in bed until 7:30 in his life. Not to mention all that moping you’ve been doing." Clark just shrugged. He wanted to unburden himself, but the blush of first love is something you don’t talk about, not even with a parent with whom you can share anything. Well, almost anything.
"I suppose I know what’s bothering you."
Clark’s face turned red as he shrugged again. He loved his Pa fiercely, but he did not want to be having this conversation. Not about Lana.
"I suppose it’s time," Jonathan said. And then, he made a mistake. He didn’t make many of them when it came to Clark. Jonathan and Martha Kent shared the most important responsibility on the planet. Raising this space child was an almost impossible task, yet they did it almost flawlessly. Whether born to the job, guided by some unseen hand, or just plain lucky, they almost never made mistakes of judgment in mentoring this demi-god. But they made one here. "Are you sure you’re ready?"
Clark was confused. "What do you mean?"
Jonathan placed his hand on the shoulder of the boy who’d dropped into his life eleven challenging and wonderful years earlier. "Son, my father used to say that when a horse has got to run, you got to let him. We’ve been holding you back from this. We weren’t sure that you were ready, and after all, it’s not like there aren’t any rule books or time tables on when to do this. All we can go by is what our instincts and judgment tells us. And ours tells us that you’re ready."
Clark looked to the doorway where his mother stood. In her arms were a bright blue and red ... it was his, he suddenly realized. The costume. His costume!
He was immediately standing in front of her. Her smile was both warm and sad as she handed the suit to her star child. No one spoke as Clark held and caressed the fabric. Like him, it was alien, and like him, it had been molded by loving hands. Look at it, Clark thought. Look at the cape. Look at that symbol. "It’s perfect," Clark whispered with reverence. Then he looked up, kissed his mother, zipped over to hug his father, and unable to hold back any longer, donned the costume that would someday be recognized across a thousand worlds.
And stood before them, a titan in red, yellow, and blue. A 13-year-old boy able to rule, destroy, or save the world. Krypton’s last and greatest gift to the universe.
Their son.
Their Superboy.
CHAPTER THREE:SUPERBOY ON EARTH!
Jonathan and Clark talked for a long time before he actually went out. It was like a pilot doing a walkaround before a flight. It was nothing they hadn’t talked about before, but it all had to be said again. Don’t be seen unless it’s necessary. Use the time your speed gives you to think things through. Don’t frighten anyone. And watch out for planes.
Jonathan and Martha watched as their son, for the first time, leapt into the sky wearing his costume. They both cried, though Jonathan managed to keep his tears appropriately sparse. "Oh Jonathan, are we doing the right thing?" Martha asked. "He’s just a child."
"True," Jonathan acknowledged. "But he’s more than that. All that reading he’s done, that brain of his ... he’s wise beyond his years. Beyond my years, probably. He’ll be fine. Besides, doesn’t seem like there’s much of anything that can hurt him. What kind of trouble could he get into?"
Jonathan Kent should be forgiven for the ultimate inaccuracy of his statement. At that time, who could have imagined such things as Kryptonite, the Phantom Zone, or, for that matter, Lex Luthor. Still, in the short-run, he was right. There wasn’t much around Smallville then that could hurt a Superboy. Certainly not the Metropolis hoodlums who decided to take advantage of a quiet Sunday afternoon to knock over a small-time bank. They wouldn’t be the last gang of thugs to try to vandalize Smallville, but they would be the last ones to see it as easy pickings.
That Chief Parker engaged them in a gunfight as they attempted to leave the bank was proof that Smallville wasn’t easy pickings. Cornered, they were muttering to themselves about the probabilities of being spotted by the one cop in this one-cop town, and prepared to blast their way out. If Smallville became a no-cop town in the process, so much the better.
Then they saw the flying boy.
While their fear caused them to fire every bullet they had in his direction, the boy was, as his father had always emphasized, thinking. Before the bullets could bounce off his chest, the freshly-minted Superboy had calculated their angles of return and knew that a slight twist of his torso was necessary to keep one of them from striking Alice Crandall as she stuck her head out of the boarding house down the street. Being only 13, however, he didn’t turn quite enough to save her a good scare when the bullet bounced off the wall below her.
Taking his time, he let the thieves exhaust their ammunition. He could have disarmed them, of course, but he knew he had to be extra careful when pulling things out of others’ hands. Didn’t want to tear off a limb. When they were finished firing, and before they could reload and squander more lead, he moved far faster than anything organic was supposed to be able to move, and deposited them one by one in Chief Parker’s jail cells, handed Chief Parker the keys, told the Chief to let him know if he could do anything for him, and then shot off into the sky.
Not counting the time it took for three witnesses to the event to regain consciousness after fainting, it had all taken less than thirty seconds....
widez2