4
Saturday was usually one of Jon’s favorite days of the week because it meant ice cream at Maisie’s Diner with Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jonathan while his mom had her weekly work phone call with Uncle Perry. Today, however, as he climbed into the backseat of his grandparents’ old pickup truck, he found himself scared—terrified, really, and he quickly strapped himself in, pulled his knees up to his chest, and closed his eyes.
Going into town meant being near more people. And more people meant more voices, more thoughts, more feelings needling into his mind. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it all.
He felt the truck back up and then start off down the long driveway toward the main road, but he kept his head buried in his knees.
“Maisie said she’s got a new flavor this week—chocolate fudge brownie. We should probably plan to bring some home for your mom.”
Reluctantly, Jon raised his eyes and saw his grandma turned around, smiling at him from the passenger seat. But her thoughts betrayed the smile on her face.
<<I don’t think ice cream is going to cheer him up today. Lois had better talk to him soon. I bet he heard something from the kids at school. We should have…>> Regret and sadness. And a mental image of Jon’s father, tinged with overwhelming grief.
He felt tears in his eyes as he nodded and forced a smile. “That sounds really good, Grandma.”
<<Gosh, he’s so much like Clark. Like he knows…>>
<<Damn pothole.>> Jon’s eyes darted to his grandpa in the driver’s seat just before the truck swerved slightly.
“Sorry about that, Martha. I’ll fill that hole up when we get back. Been meaning to.”
<<I’ve got too much to do already. Shouldn’t put things off so long. Not even sure I can do it, or should. Damn heart problems. Maybe I can hire the Peterson boy to come out and fill it for me.>> Jon blinked and shook his head. “I can help, Grandpa. I’m strong. I’ll do it when we get home. You shouldn’t…” He trailed off and looked down at his knees again. He wasn’t supposed to know about his grandpa’s poor health. It was one of the Other Lies. Not as big as the Big Lie, but close enough. Screwing his eyes shut again, he tried to backtrack a bit. “I mean, I can help you and…well, because I bet it’s hard work, and…”
He didn’t hear their thoughts then, but he felt waves of love from both of them. The feeling pushed away all of his fears and anxieties, even if just for a moment, and he felt a small smile growing as his eyes caught a glance from his grandpa in the rearview mirror.
“You know, Jon, that would be great. Very helpful.”
And for just a few minutes, everything became quieter as the three of them rode along in the old pickup toward town. The closer they got, however, the more nervous Jon began to feel and the louder everything became. Random thoughts from voices he didn’t know seemed to slam into him, an incoherent mixture of emotions and ideas bouncing around with no apparent rhyme or reason.
<<Black is a good color. For my fingernails. Mom will hate it. Perfect.>>
<<Told the mayor he should have the gazebo painted. But blue? Why blue?>>
<<Hurry, hurry. Gotta hurry.>>
<<Ew, that’s disgusting. Who would leave a banana peel sitting here? And why? Ugh.>>
<<Beautiful day. Sun is shining. What the—>>
<<Twinkle, twinkle little star!>>By the time his grandpa finally pulled the truck up in front of Maisie’s, Jon had covered his ears with his hands again and was nearly shaking. He wanted the quiet back; he wanted the normal back. He heard himself sobbing and then his grandma’s voice, out loud this time.
“Jon, sweetie, are you okay?”
Overwhelming worry, fear. An image of a boy, just a little older than him, but with the same dark hair and brown eyes…sitting in the corner of his bedroom, his hands clapped over his ears, tears rolling down his cheeks. A memory of the boy’s words, his voice low and trembling.
<<“It’s so loud, Mom. Make it stop. Please.”>>
<<It’s just like Clark. The darn superhearing was the first thing. We should have known it would happen soon.>> “Jonathan, I think Lois was right. Maybe we should head back home—”
“It’s not superhearing, Grandma!” Jon shouted, unable to hold himself back any longer.
Why would she think he’d have superhearing? He didn’t understand. His dad was Clark Kent. Not Superman. So why would this be superhearing? And why would…? Her thoughts made no sense to him and only confused him more. He needed to get away.
Now.
It was too loud, their voices, everyone’s voices. And the feelings—all the confusion and worry and sadness. And a sharp pain in his chest. Not his pain. Someone else’s.
It was just too much.
The tears started again, rolling down his cheeks, falling in big, fat plops onto his jeans. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and, without hesitating or even considering where he might go, Jon pushed the door open and leapt out of the truck, taking off at a sprint down the sidewalk, his hands still covering his ears.
