“I can’t wear this.” Clark stared at his mother for a moment. Underwear on the outside of the costume? He’d be too embarrassed to come out of the phone booth.
Hastily, he grabbed a pair of parachute pants from a drawer beside his bed. These weren’t part of the growing piles of costumes his mother had made. He’d gotten talked into dressing as MC Hammer for the corn festival last year, and he hadn’t given the pants another thought.
They’d serve now. Although the white clashed with the rest of the outfit, it was better than the almost nude state his mother had envisioned.
He slipped them on and looked at her defiantly. She stared at him, then shrugged.
It was his costume and he’d have to live in it.
***************
The insignia really completed the costume. Even the glaring white pants didn’t look too bad in this light. Although huge blooming pants weren’t his idea of a fashion statement, at least they’d keep his private parts…private.
The news was on…something about the shuttle.
When he realized there was a problem, and that for the first time he’d actually be able to do something without hiding what he was, he felt free.
***************
The pants were turning out to be a bad idea. Clark had to fly with both hands fastened to his waistband to keep them from flying right off. It was an annoyance.
Maybe he needed suspenders.
As he neared the Messenger, he heard Lois’s voice calling for help.
He was barely aware of the ripping noise as he sped up.
****************
It was only after eating the bomb and rescuing the colonists that Clark realized that the pants had flown completely off his body.
He’d already been photographed and televised.
Maybe it was for the best. He’d looked a little silly with the pants anyway.
***************
The drunk stared up in the sky. He’d done that a lot since the angel had given him a five dollar bill the other day. He blinked for a moment as he saw something white.
Maybe it was a glimpse of a wing. A bird…a plane…another angel.
His heart leapt for a moment, then he frowned in confusion.
As the cloth landed several feet from him, he sniffed. The world was going to hell in a hand basket when even the angels were dropping their drawers.
Still, they’d make a good second layer of pants, help keep him warm. Maybe a little of that angel luck would rub off on him.
“Send me a coat!” he yelled up in the sky.
It never hurt to ask.