Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 6)
By: Ann Nonymous
Clark stood in the rather shabby hallway of a Metropolis apartment building. The carpet, a thick brown shag that had probably been magnificent in the early 70’s, was now threadbare, exposing the padding underneath at the most well-worn spots. The paint on the walls was once beige, but now seemed almost brown with age and grime. Bright colored doors interrupted the dirty beige walls, each reflecting the fluorescent light of the halls in a blinding, tacky orange glow. He supposed this building was the type of place that was uniquely Metropolis – well-used, worn, old-fashioned, and unkempt. He often got the feeling that a lot of people that lived in the city just didn’t have much pride about where they lived, a concept that was entirely foreign to a well-raised Midwesterner like himself. What, through his eyes, was a ragged-looking building was probably considered quite high class to the person from Metropolis. The fact that his midwest born and bred girlfriend lived in a place like this and often raved to him about how lucky she was to have it made him wonder if he would even know her when she opened the door.
He raised his fist, intending to knock on the door in front of him, but hesitated. When she had called him up the other night, he had expected the worst. Everything he had ever experienced from Lana in the past few years had told him that to batten down the emotional hatches and prepare for hurricane Lana to unleash her verbal storm on him, but for once he was wrong. Calmly she had spoken, telling him that she was sorry he had to leave the other day, and that she wanted him to come to Metropolis so that they could talk, just the two of them, face-to-face. Her voice hadn’t been happy or sad, hopeful or angry, just very straightforward and matter-of-fact. His first instinct had been to shout for joy about the fact that finally, after pushing him away for so long, she wanted to see him. But as time had passed and he had allowed himself to review the call, something began to strike him as fishy. If Lana was anything, she was emotional. She could watch grass growing and be able to give a voluminous account of how it was affecting her. Given that, her lack of emotion was very troubling. He should probably be extremely worried about would happen once that door finally opened, but he found himself oddly calm as the moment approached.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Clark finally got the courage to knock on the door. He steeled himself from whatever emotions would unleash themselves at the sight of her, not knowing what to expect once he finally had to see her again, face to face. He could hear movement on the other side of the door, and after a moment the handle began to turn, almost in slow motion. At last, the door was opened, and there stood someone that he could only assume was Lana. She glanced up at him, her face revealing the soft features that he had always remembered, although there was an edge to her expression that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Almost before he could even blink, though, she quickly turned away, yelling something at her roommate. “Come on,” she said as she turned back to him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him down the hallway.
“Uhm,” Clark stammered, caught completely off guard. He had the strength to move mountains, but inexplicably he found himself being manhandled by his girlfriend and dragged through the hallway that had been fashionable back when people actually LIKED to listen to the BeeGees. And, for whatever reason, all he could think of was how strange her hair looked. He should probably be thinking about the coolness he had seen in her glance toward him, or maybe her lack of any kind of even token courtesy or manners as she had greeted him. He should even be feeling some surge of long forgotten tenderness at seeing her again after so many months, but his eyes were strangely drawn to her head. The long, flowing, golden locks that he remembered had been chopped short and dyed a reddish color, the type that made it patently obvious to anyone who saw it that it was fake. It was just this side of pink, in fact, and formed into dozens of sloppy-looking spikes that pointed in every direction.
He was vaguely aware that they were descending a flight of stairs as his eyes wandered down her diminutive form. Once upon a time, Lana had been what he considered a very classy dresser, not unlike himself. In high school, he remembered, she had been fashionable, but always modest. Whatever it was that she had on now was neither. The top was a loud pastel, frilly and too tight. And, he thought as he stifled a gasp, too thin. It certainly didn’t take x-ray vision to make out the flowery pattern of her bra underneath. Her jeans rode low on her hips – too low, he thought as his eyes narrowed. Plumbers would be embarrassed to bend over in those jeans, and that was saying something. In retrospect, it was probably a wonder he even recognized her at all, although he supposed there was no mistaking her smell, or the sound of her heart that was uniquely hers. At least that was still the same.
Eventually he found himself stopped in front of what he still recognized as her car. The death lock that her hand had held on his arm had finally loosened as she dug through her purse for keys. He opened his mouth to say something, but words just didn’t seem to want to come. He didn’t know if he wanted to say something about her new look, or maybe engage in meaningless chitchat, or inquire about the reason for her asking him there. The words fought with each other, but in the end she was the one who spoke.
“Come on, get in,” she commanded as she glanced up at him and gestured toward the passenger door. Obediently, he complied, silently hopping into the car. They rode in silence for a while, his mind still utterly blank, Lana ignoring him. Finally, as the tall buildings flashed by around him, something clicked inside his mind, and the unreality of the situation began to fade. This was LANA, for goodness sakes, no matter how she looked. He knew her, right? Surely he could start up a conversation with his girlfriend, the woman he spent a great amount of time talking on the phone to.
“So where are we going?” he asked, his voice sounding stiff and forced. She gave him a sideways glance, annoyance etched on her face.
“A nice place I know where we can sit and talk,” she said. As he gave her one of his patented smiles, she wrinkled her brow, steeling herself from his charms and ultimately signaling for him that there was no sense in continuing any conversation. Yup, he thought as he began to feel dread for the first time that night, it was going to be a long one. Very long.
*~*~*
Lois Lane paced back and forth in the crowded restaurant waiting area, dodging children and the legs of patrons sitting on the surrounding benches, occasionally shooting a nasty look toward the hostess. Nobody ever said that she was a patient person, but as her stomach growled audibly at the scent of food in the air, she wondered how long a wait would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. She was only looking for a table for one, after all. Back and forth she walked, drawing disgusted stares from those around her. With a sigh, she pulled her coat tight around herself and decided that maybe it would be best for her to take her pacing outside, where the smell of food wasn’t as great and there were no toes to step on. She checked to make sure that the pager the hostess had giver her was securely in place, and then strode toward the door. She had her hands on the polished brass handle and was beginning to push the door open when she just happened to look out the square window in front of her. There, walking toward her with an almost trashy-looking woman at his side, was her mythical anonymous hero, the magnificently handsome man who had saved her life earlier in the week.
She found herself frozen momentarily as she watched him move, his every motion so fluid and graceful. Her eyes wandered up to his face, and she was stunned to see an expression there that she hadn’t seen before, a weariness that seemed to make him look much older than he had the other day. The urge was strong to just stay and watch this man, to observe him with this other woman, to maybe make her presence known, but at the thought of that, she had a sudden flash of what would happen. This man had valued his privacy so much that the mere thought of saying his name had scared him to death. He’d probably have a panic attack if he knew that she saw him here with an acquaintance, looking very mortal, very human, and most certainly not like a hero. Not that Lois had never induced such a reaction in anyone else before – she recalled a professor or two turning interesting shades of purple when she confronted them as part of a big story, but this man was someone she CARED about. Little details like the fact that she had more or less exposed him in the newspaper shouldn’t obscure the fact that there had been a weird mutual attraction between them. Anyway, the mischievous part of her thought, it might be more fun to do a little bit of covert spying. Okay, maybe more snooping than spying, but that kind of thing was her forte. Good reporters were merely average without a healthy appetite for snooping, after all.
With a twitch of her mouth muscles and a sudden desire for her table to not come free for some time, she darted away from the door and pulled the collar of her jacket up. The door was just swinging open as she wedged herself into a spot on a nearby bench. Her gaze locked onto the ground in an attempt to be as inconspicuous and unrecognizable as possible, and she watched as a worn pair of sneakers walk by, followed by an immaculately pedicured pair of feet with cranberry painted toenails wearing flimsy sandals. As she was bringing her head around to follow their movement, the pager began to vibrate, causing her to jump. Darn it, anyway!
Lois carefully maneuvered her way out of the waiting area and toward the hostess, giving her another dirty look. This one was for the service being too fast, a contradiction from her earlier dirty look, she realized, but she had been in the middle of something important. The hostess, apparently used to abuse, just smiled and led her to a table in the middle of a long row of two-person booths. As she tried to formulate a new plan of action for the night, she noticed that she table she was being led to was right behind another one that looked like it had been recently been vacated. This held possibilities, she thought, suddenly willing the hostess to go grab the only other party of two that she had noticed in that lobby – her hero and his trashy friend.
Her appetite back and her juices flowing, Lois situated herself with her back to the neighboring empty table and prepared for a very good supper.
-/-\-
Clark looked around as he and Lana were led through the restaurant to their table. When Lana had said that she wanted to go somewhere to talk, he had kind of envisioned someplace a little more private, but in retrospect, this made sense. Even though he was sure that his abilities were at the root of what they were going to talk about, a conversation here would mean that they would need to be ignored, pushed away, which he supposed is what she had always done. Ignored them. Pushed them away. If they infringed on the fiction that their relationship had become, she forbade him from using them, ostensibly remedying the problem, but in reality just delaying it and causing it to fester. In the process she had largely ignored him, pushed him away, and made him feel ashamed to be who and what he was. It wouldn’t take much to feel resentful because of that, but anger and resentment were just things that he couldn’t allow himself to feel toward someone who had also, at times, been very tender and accepting of him as well. Maybe it wasn’t the deep and all-consuming love that he now knew was out there waiting for him, maybe it was something more sisterly. In any case, she had stuck by him, even if deep down she resented him, and he couldn’t begrudge her that. But she was making it hard, he thought as they were lead further toward the busy heart of the restaurant. Somehow, leaving things with less than the full truth just seemed wrong, but apparently that’s what she wanted.
Their table was small, in between two other tables and situated along a six foot high divider that was covered with colorful metal signs and other gimmicky restaurant memorabilia. The tables on either side of it were occupied, in both cases by lone individuals. Clark sighed as he sat down and gathered up the menu, mentally trying to figure out how to frame the impending conversation. Only after the order had been placed and the drinks had been set in front of them did he notice Lana staring at him. It was more of a physical feeling of her eyes on him, really, the type of feeling that would make a lesser man shudder. But Clark had seen that look before, and he sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for her to make the first move. He didn’t have to wait long.
“How long has it been, Clark?” she asked, a smile almost trying to form on her face. She shifted in her seat and began to stare at the stained glass light hanging low above their table. If he didn’t know any better, he could swear there was some faraway sentiment in her gaze. The optimist in him would always be there to tell him that there was, but with Lana he just didn’t know anymore. Or, maybe, he just didn’t care all that much. It was a sad testament to what their relationship had become, but it was true.
“Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, have a great time. Share special moments together that would make their parents blush. Boy and girl prepare for college, boy tells girl his biggest secret.... Girl runs away.” She sighed and looked at him, and he knew for sure the sentiment was real. She searched his face for a moment and then continued. “It seemed like a long time ago. It seemed like two different people. You know, for a long time I thought that if I thought hard enough about it, if I wished on every star and let myself believe that certain things could magically go away, then it would all be okay again. I’d wake up one day and it would be that summer again, and instead of you telling me far-fetched stories about distant planets and unbelievable powers, you’d sweep me away to my parents’ barn and we’d talk about our futures together as normal, everyday people.”
Clark looked at her and felt a twinge of sadness. Sometimes he’d wished the same thing, probably staring up at the same night sky that she had. “We can’t change who we are, though. Would you rather have not known? About me, I mean?”
She shook her head and looked down at the table. “A relationship built on half truths isn’t any better than one where one of us wishes the other were someone they weren’t.”
“So the last four years...did you ever believe that there would be a future between us?” Curiosity was a strong emotion indeed. Maybe HE needed to know that the years of denying himself his true heritage weren’t for nothing. Or maybe he was just a glutton for punishment.
Lana shrugged and started playing with her shirt. “Maybe. I mean, you cared enough for me to stick around. That’s more than I could say for...” she trailed off and her eyes got wide. She had never dated anyone but him in Smallville. He shouldn’t be surprised that she looked around in college, but still, the words felt a bit like a slap in the face.
“So what changed? Why this?” he asked, gesturing at the restaurant around them.
Lana’s eyes sparkled with something that almost seemed sad. “Because you made the papers, Clark. Just like I have always said would happen. I bet nobody else in the entire world knew it was you, but I did. And it hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, slightly dumbfounded. The papers? How would HE make the papers? A shadow of the newly vanquished fear of discovery that he had always carried around inside reared its ugly head, but Clark suppressed it once again. There was nothing to be scared of. Nothing. Not after the reaction that Bolt had received. He took a few deep breaths and regarded Lana again, seeing her famous anger lurking behind the seemingly calm exterior. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “But I had to see. I had to know. I didn’t want to hurt you, you have to know that, but...”
“But you couldn’t stop yourself,” Lana completed. She sighed and looked away, obviously not wanting to look him in the eye. “And I realized that all those half baked notions I had held onto over the years, the idea that maybe we could still be together, were built around the idea that you would be NORMAL, or at least as normal as possible. But you’re just not.”
Clark felt something inside of him snap. All the reminiscing, all the tender talk of the deeply held secrets and longings built into their relationship, suddenly felt old and stale and shallow in a way that would’ve been unfathomable even a week ago. They wanted to be a normal couple, but at what cost? For years she had wanted him to restrain himself, and he had obediently complied. In the ensuing train wrecks, floods, and fires, how many people had died? And how many could he have saved if he wasn’t so busy feeling sorry for himself? And where had all the appeasement gotten them? The illusion of normalcy had been just that, an illusion. Deep down inside, both of them had known that no amount of hiding and pretending could change who he was, and their relationship had festered. And innocent people had died.
“No, I’m not. But so what?” he said, the edge in his voice causing her to look back toward him in alarm. Leaning in toward her, he lowered his voice. “The things that make me different are the things that make me who I AM, Lana,” he hissed. “Something about seeing the innocence of the world from above makes it easy for me to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity. Sometimes that’s all you have to hold onto, especially when terrible things are happening around you all the time, things that are entirely within your power to stop, but for whatever silly, selfish, dumb reason you don’t. It’s easy to be cynical, I should know, but you have to believe that a God that created a world that is so beautiful in every way would ever do anything to hurt it. And maybe, just maybe, I was made different in order to help out when bad things do happen.”
Clark leaned back again, taking a few deep breaths. The passion in those few sentences was more than he’d shown Lana in years. “And all those differences just aren’t going to go away, you know that,” he continued, subdued. “Everything that’s happened in the last week should tell you that there’s no reason to hide in the shadows anymore. Or pretend.”
Her eyes were wide with surprise, and silence fell over the table. It was then that the waitress delivered their food, and they ate without saying a word. Neither of them needed to say that their relationship was over – they both knew. When they were finished and the bill was presented, Lana left the table to visit the restroom. Whatever cloud had hung over the table seemed to go with her, and Clark had to blink a few times as he began to feel like himself again. It was strange to think that Lana represented the worst in him, in his past, but that’s what it felt like now.
The air had been cleared for only a few seconds when the person at the table in front of him began to stir. It was odd how he never gave more than a cursory glance toward the people around him, even while he was engaging in one of the more intimate and revealing conversations he had ever had. He supposed that he had just assumed that they had been engaging in conversations of their own, or at the very least they were too polite to listen in. Or maybe some deep, dark, ostrich-like center of his brain thought that if he didn’t really see them, then they didn’t exist. But now this person turned around, and that feeling of normalcy vanished even before it had a chance to fully realize itself. There, staring at him with a broad, knowing smile, was the woman he had rescued in the alleyway. A squeak escaped his mouth as she slid around the booth divider and took a seat across from him.
“Eat here much?” she asked, and he knew that what had already been a long evening was, in fact, just beginning.
