Chapter 29: Joyful Faces wherever You Go
Holly reeds and hidden mistletoe,
Symbols of the season’s might . . .
Joyful faces wherever you go . . .
--“On a Snowy Christmas Night”
****
The next few weeks were filled with Christmas. I wasn’t sure how exactly, but the holiday—which had meant the world to me so many years ago—had managed to creep up on me. And now it was everywhere—in products at department stores, decorations at the Planet, carols on street corners . . . .
Yet despite the air of festivity, Lois appeared to be draped in gloom. The reason for her moroseness might have been the fiasco with Lex Luthor, but I wasn’t sure. She was constantly making negative comments about the rampant commercialism of the season, and I began to suspect her gloom could be attributed simply to a dislike of Christmas.
Finally, I asked her, “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”
“What do you think?” she asked with a strong bitterness I wasn’t expecting. “Christmas was the perfect time for Daddy to hole up with another mistress or pet project, Mom to drink too much eggnog, and Lucy and me to listen to our friends’ long lists of presents they hoped Santa would bring. We were lucky if the few presents we got were wrapped.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said in a quiet voice. Tentatively, I reached my hand out and grabbed hers, squeezing it very gently. Her countenance softening, she gave me a small grateful smile, and I found myself wishing I could hug her instead.
Pulling my hand away and resisting the urge to embrace her, I asked, “Do you have any plans for this Christmas?”
“I’m not really sure,” she answered, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. “Lucy’s run off with some guy to California, and my parents disappeared after my disaster of a wedding. We’ll probably all get together for a phone call. Mom and Dad will pretend to like each other, and Lucy and I will pretend we believe them.”
I stared at Lois, my heart aching for her. I hated that the holidays had been such a terrible time for her. They were supposed to be a period of joy and love toward one’s fellow man. I hated that she associated so many bad memories with Christmas—and I wanted to replace those bad ones with new ones.
As I considered the situation, an idea came to me. What if I invited her to spend Christmas with me and my parents in Smallville? It was hard for anyone to be downhearted during a Kent Christmas, and I knew I would enjoy spending more time with her away from work.
Superman could even “volunteer” his help in transporting us to Kansas. Maybe being in his arms would manage to cheer her up. I hated using my persona like that—especially since she seemed to think she was in love with him—but her happiness was more important than my feelings of awkwardness. I could never be with her in a romantic sense, but as a friend I could try to give her a Christmas to remember.
I was mired in such thoughts when Jimmy passed by Lois and me with a jar. “Don’t forget about the Secret Santa,” he told us. “It’s a newsroom tradition, and I’m in charge of it this year. We’re drawing names at the end of the day.”
Cat was in earshot and purred, “I would love to be Clark’s Secret Santa.”
I flushed but didn’t say anything.
Lois, however, called out after the departing Cat, “Handcuffs don’t make appropriate Christmas gifts.”
The gossip columnist paused and turned to say, “Speak for yourself,” and then she was off again.
Grinning despite myself, I turned and watched as Jimmy disappeared into Perry’s office. Interested in the reason for the big smile on the young man’s face, I couldn’t help but tune in with my super hearing.
Perry White looked up and saw his visitor. “All right, Jimmy. Now, have you thought about how to rig the Secret Santa so Lois and Clark get each other’s names?”
“Yeah!” Jimmy said eagerly. “I was thinking—maybe we could fill one jar with just C.K.’s name and one jar with just Lois’s name. Then, we can try to get them to come draw names separately—and then we swap the names really quick.”
I rolled my eyes in amusement. Their attempts at matchmaking wouldn’t work, but I could use their scheming to my advantage and save them a little trouble.
“Be right back,” I mumbled to Lois, who made a dismissive gesture with her pen in response.
I strode up to Perry’s office and knocked; then I waited a few seconds for Jimmy to open the door.
“Hey, C.K.,” the newsroom gopher greeted, looking a little guilty. “What is it?”
I hid a smile. “Jimmy, can I, uh, talk to you for a second?”
“Sure, C.K.” He came out of Perry’s office after giving the Chief Editor a backwards glance. “What is it?”
In a quiet voice, I asked him, “Do you think I could have Lois’s name in the Secret Santa?”
Jimmy’s relief was almost palpable. “Sure, C.K. Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone.”
I bet you won’t, I thought to myself in amusement. “Thanks, Jimmy.”
He returned to the Chief Editor’s office as I walked away. “Chief!” I heard him exclaim. “You’ll never believe this—C.K. asked for Lois’s name!”
“That’s great, Jimmy!” Perry proclaimed. “I’m glad we’ll only have to fill one jar with the same name.”
I stopped at my desk and looked over toward Perry White’s office. He was peeking out the blinds at me, smiling.
I nodded at him with a grin. He and Jimmy meant well, even if their plans could never come to fruition.
****
Wednesday was the day designated for gift-giving. I had made my plans and talked to my parents, and I was excited at the thought of giving Lois a great Christmas. There wasn’t much I could do for her . . . but this—this I felt I could handle.
I arrived at work early and dropped a small red package on Lois’s desk. The reindeer tie I was wearing just increased my feelings of seasonal joviality, as did my Santa tie tack. Rampant commercialism or not—sometimes it was simply fun to allow yourself to feel like a kid.
Trying to restrain my excitement, I sat at my desk and pretended to be busy. Every time the elevator doors opened, I glanced up eagerly, hoping it was Lois. When it finally was, I brought my gaze back down, trying not to look obvious.
As her heels clicked close nearby, however, I felt it was safe enough to recognize her approach, so I lifted my head. “Lois,” I said warmly.
“Clark,” she returned evasively.
It was obvious she had something tucked inside her coat, and I queried, “What’s in your coat?”
She gave me an evil look. Obviously, she had hoped I wouldn’t notice. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she returned.
I grinned at her dodge and nodded at her desk. “Looks like your Secret Santa left you something.” I felt anxious. The moment of truth was coming up. Would she see my present as a boon or a curse?
Lois picked up the box, trying to hide her smile. She undid the green ribbon holding the lid to the bottom and opened the box up. Inside was a little piece of paper which read:
GOOD FOR ONE TRIP TO SMALLVILLE, KANSAS
SUPERMAN EXPRESS
6:00 PM
DECEMBER 23
She turned toward me in surprise. “Superman Express?”
I smiled. “Yes. I—I managed to talk to him. He said he could take us both separately to Smallville and save us money on airfare. It’s a gift from him, too.” I hated adding that last sentence, but I felt it was necessary.
Her brow lowered, and I could see she was hesitant to accept the gift. “I don’t want to bust up your family Christmas—”
“Nonsense,” I told her resolutely. “My parents are looking forward to meeting you. My mom even said she’d come up to Metropolis to meet you if she had to.” It was the truth—Mom was expressing more and more interest in finally coming face to face with the woman I had talked about so much. She’d even said that if Lois didn’t come down for Christmas, then I would soon be finding my parents visiting me in Metropolis.
Lois still appeared to be uneasy. “But—it’s—it’s so . . . short notice.”
“You have no plans and thus no excuse,” I stated with gentle firmness. “You’ll stay in my room at my parents’ house, and I’ll take the couch in the living room.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to take your bed, Kent—”
“Clark,” I corrected with an annoyed look. “And if you would prefer that we share . . . ?”
“Actually, I think it’s a great idea for you to take the couch,” she backtracked.
I laughed. Personally, I was glad she hadn’t taken me up on my offer, even in jest—if she had, I didn’t know how I would have handled it. “Great.”
Lois reached into her coat and took out the present she had been hiding. As she handed it to me, she said, “It’s not quite the same, but . . . ”
Resisting the urge to sneak a peek with my x-ray vision, I took the gift from her and unwrapped it. It was a framed picture of her and me at my desk laughing. “When was this taken?” I asked, staring down at it with a smile.
“I had Jimmy take it a few days ago,” she admitted.
I suddenly recalled how Jimmy had acted strange a few days ago when I had looked after hearing a clicking noise, and I smiled. “It’s perfect. I love it.” I set the frame next to my monitor. I was glad to finally have a picture of Lois. I had thought of asking for one a few times but chickened out, not wanting the request to come out as sounding strange.
“You know—it’s kind of odd that we both happened to be each other’s Secret Santas,” Lois commented.
“I asked Jimmy for your name,” I admitted, looking down at my hands. “And I also asked Perry if we could have a little extra time off for Christmas.”
“You really thought this out, didn’t you?”
I looked at her and smiled. “I sure did. I’m glad you’re coming, Lois. I’m going to make sure you have a great Christmas.” That was a promise.
She averted her eyes, and I thought I saw a flash of pain in them. Her parents really had ruined her childhood . . . . And that was why I was going to help her forge new memories. Lois Lane was a wonderful person. She deserved every drop of happiness I could give her.
We began working on a story, but we had only been at it for a few minutes before Lois suddenly and inexplicably started to panic. “Clark, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What?” I frowned. I wasn’t sure what she meant.
“I don’t know what to give your parents,” she said flatly.
“Excuse me?” I still wasn’t following her logic.
“I need to give them a gift if they’re going to be my hosts,” she explained in agitation. “It is Christmas after all.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to get them anything—”
“Yes, I do, Clark,” she insisted.
I started to protest once more, but the resolution in her eyes caused my words to die unsaid. “All right, all right,” I conceded, realizing how important this was to her. “How about we go shopping after work? Will that make you feel better?”
She considered it and then nodded. “Yes.”
I gave her a gentle smile. “All right, then.”
****
The next day, I felt more like a kid on Christmas Day than an adult on December 23rd. I couldn’t wait for Lois to meet my parents. It was going to be one of the best Christmases I had ever had—and I wanted it to be that way for Lois.
I took first my bags and then Jericho to Smallville, where my mother seemed almost as excited as I am.
“I’m so glad she’s going to come,” Mom declared. She sounded just as excited as I felt.
Jericho jumped out of my arms on the porch, and Mom ushered him inside, closing the door after him. She gave me a quick hug and then nodded toward the sky. “Now, hurry back to Metropolis, or you’ll be late picking up Lois.”
I laughed. “I’m going, Mom.” I flew away with a whisk of my cape and sped toward Metropolis, thinking about how glad I was to be able to spend this special time of year with Lois.
I hovered above Lois’s apartment building for a few seconds. I was going to have to be very careful. I didn’t want her to fall any further in love with my Superman persona than she already had.
Taking a deep breath, I descended and alighted on the sill of Lois’s open window.
Lois stood up from the couch. She had bundled up for the trip to Smallville, and I was glad—I had forgotten all about how cold it would be for her for someone without super thick skin. She greeted me with a smile, “Superman.”
“Hi, Lois,” I said in return. “If it’s all right, I’ll take your bags first, and then I’ll take you.”
“Thanks for doing this, Superman,” she said shyly.
“Anything to help out a friend,” I told her as I grabbed her bags. Hopefully, the word “friend” would remind her where we stood. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
I dropped her luggage off in Smallville and then returned. As I stood in the window, I saw her smiling down sadly at a frame that held the same picture she had given me—Clark Kent—as a present. My breath caught in my throat. What did it mean? Did Clark Kent make her sad? Was it wrong of me to try to include her in my family Christmas?
Hesitantly, I ventured, “Lois?”
“Sorry,” she said, turning away from the frame and smiling at me. “I’m ready, Superman.”
I gathered her up in my arms, expecting her to nestle into my chest, but she seemed very distant. I, however, remained quite conscious of her closeness. The trip to Smallville suddenly appeared a lot longer than it had before I held Lois up against me.
Lois’s preoccupation meant I didn’t have to try to create small talk—which was good, as my thoughts were a jumbled mess.
I had somehow become dependent on Lois’s touch. There had been a time where I cringed away from it—but now I craved it.
Maybe it was a result of living without human touch during those painful and lonely years following my experience in Africa. Or maybe it was just because her very presence was intoxicating to me. The more I lived with her, the more I couldn’t live without her.
And now that she was in my arms, I wanted to lower my face to hers and kiss her. But I had to remain in control. Kissing Lois—as Superman—would be disastrous. So I remained quiet, glad when at last my parents’ farmhouse came into view.
I set down in front of the porch, where Mom was waiting. I let Lois down slowly, feeling bereft as she stepped away from me. Mom greeted Lois with open arms, pulling the startled reporter into an embrace.
“You must be Lois,” my mother said over Lois’s shoulder. She pulled away to study Lois’s face. “Please excuse me. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel almost as if I know you.”
It was all I could do to keep my face expressionless and refrain from saying, “Mom!”
Then my mother turned to me with a smile. “Thank you, Superman. We appreciate you doing this.”
“It’s no problem, M-Mrs. Kent,” I replied, almost slipping and calling her “Mom.” I nodded at them both. “I hope you all have a merry Christmas.”
“You, too, Superman,” Lois returned as I rose into the air.
As I flew out of sight, I heard Mom say to Lois, “Clark’s waiting inside with Jonathan. I’ll take you in, but first I want to point out a few things about the farm to you . . . . ”
She was giving me time to get inside and settled, and I took advantage of it. I changed into my Clark Kent clothes and slipped inside the house. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, but he pulled me into a big embrace when he saw me.
I smiled and hugged him back. Then we both sat down at the table.
“Are you doing all right, son?”
I looked at him, noting his expression of concern. “Yeah, Dad. I am.” What was startling was that it was true. I really was doing good. I hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.
He smiled back at me. “I’m glad to hear it.”
When Lois and Mom finally entered, Dad and I turned our eyes to them.
“Lois,” I said warmly as I stood, trying to cover up my sudden feeling of awkwardness. “Glad you made it. I see you’ve already met my mom.” I gestured toward Dad. “This is my dad. Dad, this is Lois.”
“Hello, Mr. Kent,” she said, shaking my father’s hand.
“Oh, please,” Mom said, “call us ‘Martha’ and ‘Jonathan.’ Like I told you earlier, we’ve heard so much about you—you’re already almost like family.”
I grinned at Lois. She seemed a little overwhelmed at how welcoming my parents were.
Perhaps Mom sensed that, for she suggested, “Clark, how about you show Lois around the house and take her stuff up while I make us all some hot chocolate?”
“All right,” I acknowledged. I gestured for Lois to follow me, and I took her into the living room.
I saw that Mom had already set up five stockings. Each stocking had a name on it in fabric paint: Mom, Dad, Clark, Jericho, and Lois. Each stocking also had a holder. Jericho’s stocking, I noted, had a bone on it, and his stocking holder was a dog wearing a Santa hat. Seeing it made me smile, but I quickly returned my eyes to Lois.
She had walked up with fumbling steps to the reindeer stocking with her name on it. Looking fascinated, she touched first the stocking and then the ceramic reindeer stocking holder which kept her stocking upright. She seemed touched by the personalized Christmas object.
My heart went out to her. Lois’s past Christmases must really have been lousy for a simple stocking to affect her so much . . . . Which was why it was so important that I had brought her here for an old-fashioned small-town Christmas.
Dad followed us into the living room, and he smiled at Lois and commented, “You can either take the stocking home with you when you return to Metropolis or keep it here for next year.”
“Wh-what?” Lois stuttered. She looked at Dad and then the stocking, flushing, and then she turned her eyes to my parents’ undecorated Christmas tree.
I had reddened a little myself. Real smooth, Dad, I thought.
As Lois took a few steps toward our bare tree looking bewildered, Mom came into the room. Seeing Lois’s expression, Mom explained, “We don’t decorate the tree until Christmas Eve, and we don’t put out presents until Christmas morning. It’s tradition.”
“Why?” Lois asked, puzzled.
Mom glanced at me affectionately, and I looked down at my feet in embarrassment. “When Clark was a little boy, he used to get so excited about Christmas, and he would constantly touch the ornaments and usually break some of them. As for presents, well, he would shake them to try to guess what they were—and that occasionally ended up with them breaking, too. So we started to delay decorating the tree and putting out presents. When Clark got older, well, we just continued to do it how we’d always done it.”
As I stared at the tree, I couldn’t help but think to myself with amusement that it was good I hadn’t had my present strength when I was a boy. More than just a few presents and ornaments would have been broken if that were the case.
“Clark, go take Lois’s stuff up to your room, and then set your stuff by the couch. I mean . . . unless you are . . . ” my mother trailed off suggestively.
“Mom!” I exclaimed with a blush. She knew fully well we weren’t doing what she was implying.
“Well,” she returned impishly, her eyes glinting.
I glared daggers at her briefly before turning away. “Come on, Lois,” I muttered. I grabbed Lois’s bags and took them up the stairs to my room, where I sat them down.
“So, this is your room,” Lois commented, gazing around in interest.
There were still several items of my boyhood scattered about the room—a signed baseball here, a plastic trophy there . . . . I hadn’t had the heart to throw much out after leaving for college, so in some ways it still seemed as if a kid lived there. Perhaps it was the books lining the bookshelf that were the greatest clue that an adult had spent a lot of time in there. Ten-year-olds didn’t read Paradise Lost.
“I like it,” she told me with a smile and an approving nod. “It’s cozy.”
“Good.” I grinned. “I rather like it myself. Come on—let’s go back downstairs.”
****
We went and had hot chocolate with my parents, who chatted happily about everything from the farm to the latest scandal in Metropolis politics. Lois laughed frequently and seemed to be enjoying herself, and I was glad.
I was worried about her—and her past Christmases weren’t the only reason. She always kept herself at such a distance from people, and what had happened with Lex Luthor certainly hadn’t helped her. She was such a kindhearted and passionate person . . . . I just wished more people knew her the way I did. She really did deserve a man who would treat her as she deserved. I wished I could be that man, but it simply wasn’t possible.
When it was time for bed, Lois said reluctantly, “Well, I’d probably better head for bed. Good night, everyone.” She nodded at my parents and then gave me a warm smile before she headed toward the stairs.
“Good night, Lois,” I told her in a raised voice, my parents also chiming in.
She turned and smiled at us in gratitude. Jericho trotted over to her, and I called out after him, “Traitor!”
But he just wagged his tail and continued on his merry way. I watched them go with a smile.
“Clark, I love her.”
“Pardon?” I asked with a raised eyebrow as I turned to my mother.
“Lois,” she explained, as if it should have been obvious. “She’s an amazing woman. I think she might be the ‘one’ for you, Clark.”
In a hushed and almost sad voice, I told her, “I can never be in a relationship with a woman.” The danger was too great. What had happened in Africa hadn’t been my fault—but Constance had gained control over me. If I could lose control because of a clock, then surely I can lose control when passionate emotions come over me. I was destined for a life of celibacy, and that was all there was to it. I couldn’t ask anyone to take that journey with me.
But Mom just didn’t understand, and she told me, “That’s ridiculous, Clark.”
“It’s my decision, Mom.” Even if it hurt, it was what I had to do.
Dad sighed. “I try not to step in too much, son, but I’m afraid I agree with your mother on this one. There’s no reason you can’t settle down with Lois. Whatever happened in Africa is in the past—”
But I shook my head stubbornly. “No, Dad. I can’t do that.”
But though I knew logically that I could never truly be with Lois, a dream had formed—a dream of Lois and me, together and in love. A dream I knew I would never be able to banish.
A dream I knew would torture me every day of my life.
