Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 5)
By Ann Nonymous
Clark felt a little dirty as he filed into the classroom and took a seat at his customary desk. Covertly sneaking around and spying on the guy who was the world’s one and only superhero just felt...wrong somehow. He didn’t know what he’d expected to see, but so far, all he’d gotten was an eyeful of normal student life. The guy walked to class, a backpack slung over his shoulder, adorned in jeans and a t-shirt. His face was covered with rough stubble that made him seem less boyish than he had looked the day before, brilliantly adding an air of scruffiness that was sure to silence anyone who thought he even remotely resembled the new hero. Every now and then he slowed down to greet another student, but for the most part he blended into the crowd, an ordinary college kid who was utterly unremarkable in every respect. Rather than watching him sit through his class, Clark had passed the time in the periodicals section of the library, soaking up all the news of the day that he could possibly find, from every newspaper that the university subscribed to. It had been hard to do, but it was interesting to see the range of responses that the fantastic Bolt, as he called himself, got from the press. All too soon, Clark had to get to class, all but ending his spying for the morning. There would be more time to take up his quest again in the afternoon, but he didn’t know how badly he wanted to continue on this path. Maybe it was better to stop being so covert and just talk to the guy. That would be the more mature and responsible thing to do, certainly, but that protectiveness so deeply ingrained into him just wouldn’t allow that.
Clark took his usual seat in the classroom and settled down, letting his mind wander. It was a new world that he was living in now, one in which it was okay for a man to fly in public, and when such a man did a good deed, he was heralded and embraced as a popular icon. It was strange that after years of having conversations with himself about the value of heroism versus the reactions of the public, he could finally see what the real answer was without really putting himself at risk. The whole thing was wonderful and terrifying at the same time, but as he let himself mentally delve into the subject further, the professor stepped into the room, dropping an armful of materials on the table at the front of the lecture hall. After arranging things for moment, the professor looked up and smiled, and the steady chatter in the room quickly trailed off. Clark roughly pushed aside his thoughts, grateful that he would finally have a distraction from the subject that had been tormenting him for the last day.
“Good morning,” the professor started. “As most of you know, I like to take the time every now and then to dissect current events, to take a look at the news of the day and try to find the story beneath the story. Unless you live in a cave, today’s subject should be fairly obvious.”
It was then that Clark noticed that most of the materials that had been brought into the room were various newspapers. Internally groaning, he watched as the professor held the front page of each up one by one, reading the headlines that were now very familiar. Hero, savior, icon – each paper put its own sensationalist spin on the man who mysteriously appeared in Metropolis the day before.
“Who, what, when, where, how. These are the facts that every journalist is taught to report on. All these cover those basics, and some try to delve into the why, although with a story like this one, that’s a lot harder to come by. But what fascinates me is the way that none of these try uncover the truly interesting aspects of this. Yes, the cover story itself is fascinating, the type of human interest story that every editor dreams of finding. But what makes it such an interesting story to begin with, the reason that people snatch up the newspaper and read every agonizing detail, is IDEA of what a hero is. It’s always implied, but nobody seems to be bold enough to step up and ask why this Bolt is considered a hero.”
Clark leaned back into his seat, letting the pencil fall out of his hands. Of all the topics in all the world to be brought up in his classes, why did it have to be this one? He felt a part of himself wanting nothing more than to stand up and walk out of class, to not have to be subjected to this issue that had become his own personal torture device. At the same time, though, there was that same fascination at seeing where the professor was going with this. It couldn’t just be about reading the headlines or gushing over Bolt, there had to be more to it than that. In any case, the curiosity that had driven Clark to Metropolis last night and to the library that morning was more than enough to keep him where he was at the time being.
The professor turned toward the chalkboard, writing the word ‘hero’ in large block letters. “So what is a hero?” he asked, looking expectantly into the audience. A few hands went up, but he waved them off as he picked up a set of note cards. “To some it’s a sandwich. To history, Hero is a Greek scientist skilled in geometry, among other things. In mythology, Hero is a priestess. But if you go out on the street and ask the average child what a hero is, he’ll probably conjure up an image of Michael Jordan or some other sports personality and tell you that a hero is someone who is good at something that you want to be good at, too.”
The professor leaned against the table and crossed his legs, a philosophical look on his face. “Modern times have distorted the meaning of that word, hero. To be heroic is to run fast or be able to dunk a basketball. Or, sometimes, it means the ability to get someone to do what you want. While it is true that one synonym of the word is celebrity, that isn’t the WHOLE meaning. The dictionary I keep at home says that a hero is ‘a person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his life.’”
Turning toward the stack of papers, the professor rooted around and found one with a large picture of Bolt on the front, holding it up for his audience to see. “When you look at this man, what do you see? You see a man who can fly, a man who apparently is very strong and very fast, but underneath it all seems ordinary enough. In that way he qualifies as someone who is capable of awesome feats, a hero by the most widely accepted definition. But do you see someone who is in danger, someone who has sacrificed something?” He stopped and looked at the picture, the classroom so quiet that even the slightest sound could be heard.
“You’ll be dissected like a frog, Clark,” he heard his father say from across the years, the words as clear now as they had been then. Oh yes, if there was one thing Clark was very much aware of, it was the danger that loomed out there for someone like himself or Bolt.
“On one hand it looks like this man has gained a lot of notoriety overnight – he’s a world celebrity now, his face adorns the cover of most every newspaper published. Many people would like nothing more than to see their names in the paper just once. So celebrity can be counted as a benefit, even if there are some that might see it as anything but. But that’s a whole different argument.
“On the other hand, by publicly stopping crime, he’s made himself an enemy of criminals everywhere. He put a big target on his back, and depending on how serious his enemies are, he put all his friends and loved ones in the line of fire, too. No doubt he’s aware of this, if his unconventional attire says anything. Nobody’s stepped up to say that they went to high school with the guy or knew him back when he was just a little Bolt, which means his disguise must’ve worked. Still, imagine what would happen if the criminal element were to find out who he is. How many of you out there would be brave enough to put yourself in danger like that?”
The professor looked appraisingly at his audience, challenging them in a way. Clark found himself looking away, suddenly ashamed. Deep down he had known it, but he’d never allowed himself to admit it. Courage. Bravery. A strong sense of justice. If he’d ever possessed any of those, he probably would’ve been out in the world doing the same thing a long time ago. As it was, the words of fear and caution lodged in his brain long ago by Lana and his parents had taken away all of those. No wonder he felt empty sometimes, he thought. A new resolve began to build inside of him as he contemplated the path he would take from here on out. No longer would Clark Kent be a doormat. No longer would Clark Kent deny himself the use of the powers that had been given to him for the betterment of the world.
“They say that a man has to crawl before he can walk,” the professor continued. “What would it have been like to discover the ability to fly? What types of things would you have to be subjected to before you found out that you were impervious to harm? Here, you have the very picture of a seemingly innocent young man, but given what he must’ve gone through just to discover who and what he was, just the fact that he was willing to embrace that rather than hide from it means that he has more inner strength than most people I know. That fear of the unknown, the unforeseen reaction of the general mob, that is the greatest danger. But this young man overcame that, and he earned the label of hero.”
Clark wanted to cry. He wanted to shout with sorrow and anger and joy. But, ultimately, he could only stare at the floor, a light mist in his eyes. It was a ringing endorsement for a man that the professor had never met. The respect of the press and the love of the general public was truly overwhelming, and it stirred jealous feelings within Clark. This could’ve been his, but that fear had held him back. But the new Clark Kent, the brave and bold Clark Kent, didn’t have any need to worry about the unknown anymore.
The lecture continued on, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. As soon as he got home, he had to talk to Lana and tell her what he had decided. He needed to plan and analyze. His life was about to change forever, and he wanted to make sure that he knew exactly what he was getting into. Most importantly, though, he needed to find Bolt, and soon. There would be no more running away from the truth, and there would be no more covert spying.
*~*~*
Lana Lang sighed as she took a seat in the large lecture hall. Next to her, folded up neatly and draped over the arm of the well-used chair, sat a copy of that day’s campus newspaper. It was there waiting for her every day, a gift from an unknown benefactor who apparently never paid much attention to the lecture before hers. Normally she would snatch it up and read through the stories, more than happy to distract herself from the mundane and tired conversation around her. Yes, the articles were a little crude, and yes, the news tended to be a bit sensational, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Usually.
Today was far from being normal, though, a fact she was acutely aware of as her hand lingered over the paper. She knew what the headline would be, that was a given. Just the thought of reading about that individual who called himself a hero made her stomach clench up, but she couldn’t avoid the news forever. Anyway, she thought as she picked the paper up at last, there was always the crossword puzzle. Surely THAT wouldn’t be about Bolt. Actively trying to avoid the headline, she kept the bottom of the front page toward her as she brought the paper in front of her. Lesser headlines stared back at her, mostly related to campus reaction to the new hero. She started to open the paper in disgust when one headline caught her eye. It was quite small, buried in the lower corner of the page, but there, clear as day, was a headline that proclaimed that Bolt was not alone.
Lana involuntarily shivered as her mouth went dry and her palms became damp. The page was shaking as she read the story, written by someone named Lois Lane. Apparently, shortly after Bolt left the night before, this woman was nearly killed in a dark alley, saved by a man who seemed to appear out of nowhere. She described his appearance, noting the differences he had with Bolt, but all Lana could see were the similarities to Clark. Dark hair, brown eyes, a quiet demeanor...the fact that he apparently flew into the alley and stopped a bullet with his bare hands meant that it couldn’t be anyone else. There was something else, too, hidden in the way the article was written. Lana had certainly read enough Harlequin romances to spot that tone, the flowery words and reverence toward the subject that very subtly conveyed something deeper. Something...romantic?
Without another thought, Lana angrily balled the newspaper up and flung it to the ground, letting out a growl as she did so. She sneered at it as it laid there, mentally uttering curses at Clark and thinking of all manner of way to get back at him and this homewrecking reporter. In the back of her throat, a growl began to grow ever so slightly, growing louder and louder until suddenly it drew her away from her thoughts. Only then did she become aware of the spectacle that she was making of herself. With an embarrassed grimace, she pushed herself as far down into the chair as she could, making herself as small as she felt at the moment. Small, yet still full of anger. Who did Clark think he was, anyway?
Earlier that morning, she had thought about calling him and giving him a piece of her mind for hanging up on her the previous day. At the time, she had almost been willing to concede that it must’ve been a trying day for him, but even that was a flimsy excuse for treating her so badly. Now, though, all concessions were gone. Apparently he had flown to Metropolis, completely against her wishes and all common sense, and publicly used his powers. As if the insubordination wasn’t enough, he had also apparently seduced this woman. Did he think she wouldn’t find out? Did he think he’d get off scot free?
Lana clenched her teeth in anger, trying to avoid making another scene. The gesture was almost soothing, and as she pondered the situation more, her anger started to be misplaced by sadness and resignation. Once upon a time, she thought she had loved Clark. He was by far the most handsome man to ever walk the streets of Smallville, and if she could’ve spent eternity with him, she would’ve been deliriously happy. At least, that’s how she felt until he told her everything about himself. It had repulsed her to think that she had spent time at Lookout Hill making out with ET, so much so that she had become physically ill. She tried to hide these things from Clark, because it wasn’t his fault what he was. But the thoughts of a future together, of sharing life with her knight in shining armor, just never came back. He could do things, freakish things, and after the revelations, that’s all she could see. The handsome boy she knew had been replaced with...a thing.
Maybe it had been unfair to string him along after they went to college. Maybe, in the back of her mind, she thought that all those things about him would go away. And even if she didn’t, COULDN’T, love him anymore, he still loved her, and that counted for something. But she had kept him at arm’s length, and it probably was only a matter of time before he saw through her, and started looking elsewhere for love and acceptance. If they were essentially through before, they were officially through now. And if Clark was too chicken to make the declaration himself, then she’d take the steps and do it for him. At least this news won’t end up on the front page.
Her mind made up, Lana let out a sigh and opened her notebook. The lecture was beginning, and so, in a way, was a new life for her.
*~*~*
Thick, black smoke filled the air around Bolt, turning the world utterly dark. Around him, he could hear the subtle sounds of a fire – the popping and the groaning of the materials burning, the inward rush of air that fueled the flames. And somewhere underneath all that was something else, a sound so subtle it would be easy to believe that it wasn’t there at all. He’d been honing in on it for a few moments now, acutely aware that the sound he was hearing was that of a human heart. The fact that anything survived inside this inferno was amazing in and of itself, but he needed to act quickly to make sure that whatever it was lived to see tomorrow. Swiftly, he floated toward the sound, crashing through walls as he did, using every bit of his enhanced senses to guide him. There, at last, he saw a man lying prone on the floor.
Faster than the eye could see, Bolt picked up the man and flew him outside, mentally willing his charge to breathe just a few more breaths. Superhero or not, Bolt did have his limits, and without the help of a trained medic, this man certainly wouldn’t make it much longer. It only took him a moment to locate an ambulance once he had cleared the smoke, and before any of the EMT’s knew what was happening, the man was in a gurney beside them. Startled, they turned, gave him a surprised look, then quickly got to work. All Bolt could do was stand back and watch as they struggled to keep the man alive, whisking him into the ambulance and finally driving away.
It was odd, he thought as he focused his attention back to the scene around him. He had never thought through the more human ramifications of being a superhero. He had thought it would be all fun and glitz, with the occasional marquee battle with some hypothetical bad guy. Overall, he should have a high sense of self-esteem, a certainty that he was doing right for the world. But somehow, as he watched the firemen spray water on the fire without much success and heard the sounds of suffering from the ambulances scattered around the area, he couldn’t help but feel a little hollow inside. He had rescued several people from the flames, all told, but there were others that he hadn’t found soon enough. That last man, thankfully, still clung to life, but his prognosis was grim. If Bolt had been a better hero, maybe he could’ve found him sooner. Maybe he could’ve found a way to keep the fire from spreading. As it was, though, he just felt...grimy.
Looking down at himself, it was clear that that feeling wasn’t unfounded. He was covered from head to toe in black soot, the sort of thing that the landlord would see on his clothes and thereby prohibit him from going anywhere near one of the building’s washing machines. Not that he’d blame her for that. All the Tide in the world probably wouldn’t help get that out, but.... He sighed. Before too long, he’d have to start trekking cross the country in search of San Diego Chargers jerseys, because his college town in the middle of Kansas wouldn’t support nights like these for very long.
“Uh, excuse me,” someone said behind him, startling him. Quickly, Bolt whipped around, pushing down the negative emotions and plastering his public smile on his face.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” Bolt asked. Evading emotion had never been one of his strong suits, but even he was impressed at how...non-depressed his words sounded. He sounded like a hero, actually. That thought brought a genuine smile.
“I’m Joe Gibb from the mayor’s office,” the man said, extending his hand. Bolt reached out and shook it gladly, noting the look of alarm that crossed the other man’s face as a substantial amount of black grime rubbed off on him in the process. “I, uh,” the man stammered as he wiped his hand on his pants. “I was brought here to invite you to a ceremony of sorts,” he finished, his face revealing that he was a skilled politician.
“Oh?” Bolt asked.
“Yes. The mayor thinks that your contributions to the city so far can’t be underscored,” he said, gesturing around him. “He would like nothing more than to honor you for that. We were thinking maybe this Friday evening?”
Bolt arched his soot-covered eyebrows. This was definitely interesting. While it was every superhero’s duty to accept the ceremonial keys to the city he or she guarded, it was also in their best interests to stay far, far away from the political arena. Besides, he thought as he looked past Mr. Gibb, he didn’t think his contributions had been all that impressive. Stopping petty crimes had pretty much been the extent of his heroic activities when he wasn’t garnering publicity for himself. Today had been his first foray into the more serious hero duties, and he was well aware of his shortcomings in that area. Still, he thought as his eyes caught a reporting crew, their cameras trained on him, he could see how maybe the public and their elected officials thought he was worthy of such an honor. It was all the media had talked about since he had showed up on the scene, and apparently it had finally worked.
Looking back at the politician, Bolt mentally reviewed his calendar. His new powers had made it possible to finish homework assignment faster than a speeding bullet. Unfortunately, all the time this freed was not filled by a busy social calendar. While his fellow students would probably be out on dates Friday night, he’d probably be watching reruns on cable. Under the circumstances, anything looked good.
“That works for me,” Bolt replied, a good-natured smile on his face.
“Excellent!” Mr. Gibb replied. A nicely printed card was shoved into Bolt’s hand outlining the ceremony time, location, and attire. “You do have a dress outfit?” he asked, appraising Bolt.
The hero’s smile didn’t falter in the least. “I could wear my church jeans and dress black helmet,” he replied, waiting for a reaction from the man across from him, but getting none. “Maybe clip a bow tie onto the jersey?” The politician’s face looked awkwardly vacant still.
“Well,” he said, giving Bolt a slight nod. “We look forward to seeing you there.” With that, he walked away, angling toward the press, most likely to inform them of the good news. With a shake of his head, Bolt jumped up into the air and took off toward home. He had a class to get to in a few minutes and a long shower to take between then and now. No matter how much of a hero he thought he was, being a college student definitely had to come first for Kevin. Lord knew that a backup career in lowbrow comedy probably wasn’t going to happen for him, if today was any indication, and the hero gig definitely wasn’t helping his financial situation. At least he finally found a way to use that clip-on bow tie his mom and gotten him for high school graduation.
