The Butterfly Legacy
Epilogue
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“Clark, the truck’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. You bringing down that box?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute,” he hollered from the bedroom, his voice traveling down the stairs to illicit satisfied silence.
Glancing around the comfortable bedroom, he tried to think if he had any other items to donate to the homeless shelter’s annual clothing drive. He’d already placed two of his slightly out-of-date but still in good condition suits into the box, along with several sweaters, a couple pairs of slacks that seemed to have shrunk slightly at the dry cleaners, and several ties that had garnered him some pretty odd stares when he’d worn them to work.
His gaze landed on the tall dresser angled in the corner of the room. Tee shirts. He had an entire drawer full of them, many of them complementary gifts from the various benefit runs and walks he participated in as Superman. Surely someone at the homeless shelter would be glad to have a bright green tee shirt with “Run Away from Drugs” or a blue one with “A3I/Americans Against Adult Illiteracy” on it.
He reached into the deep drawer, digging beneath the tees he did consider favorites. It wouldn’t do to give away the faded “World’s Greatest Dad” tee or his worn “Coach” jersey from Little League, even if he hadn’t coached the team in nearly ten years.
His fingers brushed the corner of something firm, and his heart started to pound as he wrapped his hand around the object. Extracting it from the drawer, Clark felt a sharp pang in his chest as the small, cedar box reached the light, a tiny golden key projecting from the matching gold lock.
Holding the box in his palm as if it were made of glass, he backed slowly to sit on the edge of the large bed. For long minutes he stared at it while the years were stripped away. When finally his hand moved to turn the miniature key and gingerly open the hinged lid, he could almost smell the rain and the thick clay mixture of adobe. See the sun shining over the high peaks of the Andes and hear the cry of monkeys and the beat of the bambuco.
Nestled inside the smooth pungent cedar was a thick braid of colored string, the brilliant rainbow faded yet no less beautiful than the day an ebony-haired little girl named Eva had given it to him.
Next to the bracelet, its chain coiled into a delicate spiral of thin silver, lay the butterfly he had given to Gillian on her birthday so many years ago. Her last birthday, although neither of them had realized it at the time. But this treasure had not faded, emerald wings snapping with dark green fire as he held it up to the sunshine pouring through the window. Bright and full of life, just as she had been.
Honey colored waves and the grayest eyes he’d ever seen. Forest and water and sky. Loved always by a man named Sam.
His eyes shifted beyond the jewels dangling before him, and through a thick lens of tears, he saw the portraits hanging from the wall near the dresser. After twenty years, the sight of his bride, resplendent in her floor-length white gown, still took his breath away. The Kent Christmas portrait, two adults with their three dark headed children smiling brightly at the camera. Soccer and ballet. Martha and Jonathan, far more gray than not but still alive and well.
His family. His life.
The box slipped silently back into its spot, buried behind soft cotton tee shirts. Tucked back into the depths of his memory where it would remain for as long as he lived. Something far too precious to ever forget.
No. Never forgotten. Always aquí y ahora.
He left the room, darting past the box of donation clothes as he headed toward the stairs. There was something far more important he needed to do. Someone he needed to hold tightly to his chest.
“Lois...” he called, his heart stopping when she turned to give him a brilliant smile.
The End
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Disclaimer: The characters of Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Martha and Jonathan Kent, Jimmy Oleson and Perry White are the property of Warner Bros. and DC Comics as are all references to episodes or dialogue featured in Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. All other characters are mine, and any similarities to real people alive or dead are purely coincidental. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.
