Chapter Text
You were young when you married him. A few years working in a diner after high school and then you met him. A nice farming man, a boy still. Not the most handsome, but a nice, friendly face. Always very polite to you. Holding doors with a gusto that made you blush.
Godlovin’, your mother said. She was ecstatic at the prospect of your marriage. Your father had been dead for three years then. She was lonely, poor woman. Your elder brother had joined the army and you barely saw him, even on his leaves.
He would always tell you to get out of Smallville and see the world, but you could not be like him. A daughter had to take care of her parents. Besides, you liked knowing the people around you. People were different in the big city. Things were different in places like Metropolis. There was crime.
Danger.
At least that is what newspapers like The Daily Planet told you.
You always expected to have children. It was just the way things went. In high school, you recall some girls leaving early, because they got in trouble . You did not know what that meant back then, until people started whispering about who and who drove out in their cars to the lake. You were not one of those daring girls.
You were adamant to stay out of trouble.
But after marriage, when everyone else in your year also got married, you were the only one without a baby stroller to push. You saw a doctor of course. And then another one. They told you what to eat and gave you supplements. Your mother gave you home remedies as she was convinced those would be more effective than whatever some big city doctor could give you.
It was your fault that there was no baby and you tried very hard for a while to be perfect. Perfect in shape, always neat hair and clothes and such. It was nearly impossible with the work on the farm, but you tried.
Your brother sent cards on Christmas and your birthday. He was stationed abroad and stayed there. Got married there too and then he sometimes sent a picture along of his kids. He only called when your mother got sick, but you barely talked.
Long distance was expensive.
You did not tell him how much the sight of those children stung. A strange, unbridled envy that pushed you to cross the street when seeing an old friend approaching with her family. Always the same conversation.
First about their children. Polite smiles from you, where they were expected. Then a slight hesitation on their face after a while.
A careful inquiry.
How is the husband, oh, that is nice. Sometimes they asked directly, sometimes they merely remarked on how long you were already married. You always tried to keep the smile on your face. You did not even need a child. The farm was work enough.
Still, the more distant the chance became, the more you envied those happy, little families. You worried that Jonathan would leave you as your house remained empty. After the third doctor, you did not really speak about it with him. But as the cows calved, it was all you thought of.
When you hold your mother’s hand as she takes her last breaths, your sorrow is clouded with the pressing idea that there will be no one to hold yours. You find the baby clothes she kept as you empty her house after the funeral. You start crying as you lift your brother’s baby shoes in your hand.
Your longing grows with the crops. You pray to God. You curse Him. It does not help you either way.
You read the magazines and you call the numbers that cannot help you. At the fair, you go to the woman that reads the future in your hand. Your hand feels clammy in hers. You feel ashamed for hoping and trusting her for an answer. She bows her wrinkled face deeply over your palm and hums.
You wonder whether she says the same to everyone. Interesting, yes. The stars, yes, the stars have the answer to your sorrow.
Sure. You stare at the stars every night. When you were younger, you dreamt of becoming an astronaut. Your brother laughed at you of course. Like there was money for you to go to university. Like a girl from Kansas could ever reach the stars.
John finds you staring at the stars. He hugs you. Still as tight as he ever did. A falling star. He whispers in your ear that you ought to make a wish.
You do.
The star gets brighter and brighter and the light starts to burn your eyes. His hands squeeze your arm and pull you inside.
A meteorite.
It crashes noisily next to the barn.
He goes to look, while you stay inside and strain your eyes behind the glass of the door. When he returns, he can barely speak. Keeps shaking his head and eventually just pulls you outside. There, amidst shining shapes of metal, lies the baby, softly, restlessly grumbling and crying. You close them in your arms as you stare with your husband at the dark night sky.
You both expected the police or the government to come looking for the child. A boy. Small and perfect, with ten little fingers and ten little toes. You go to church and pray to thank your God. The child is the miracle you have been waiting for.
You help Jonathan to close the metal ship in a corner of your basement. To be covered in cobwebs and forgotten.
You finally have a baby of your own to show off to the other mothers.
With his dark hair and light eyes, he grows up to run around like a little angel.
Some days, you catch him looking at you with a strange intensity for such a young child. It is in those moments that you remember that he will never be entirely yours. You will never know where exactly he came from, beyond all those shimmering stars.
He looks normal.
Human
. Nothing like the aliens that sometimes flash past on the television. Of course, you have never had a child before, but he appears to be like any other baby. Crying and worrying you, later stumbling his first steps and stressing you out as he walks between the cows and the corn.
Clark is just like any other Smallville boy.
—
Clark is not like any other boy on the whole wide planet.
You still do not understand how it took you so long to notice. You might blame the constant heap of tasks that comes with living as a farmer’s wife. The whole summer, Clark does like you did with your brother when you were a young child; run around barefoot and disappear until it is time for dinner.
You taught him well about where to be careful and not to swim in any lakes alone. There is no need to worry. He knows the whole wide area around the farm in a way only a bored little boy can learn to see his surroundings. You know there is no one in Smallville that is a stranger, but you still warn him to be careful. You still sometimes have nightmares about someone taking him.
His school report was good, so you gave him a ball to play with. Ever since he could walk, you have been saving money for his future education. If he wants to return to the stars, you will make sure that he can become an astronaut.
It is the speed that you notice first.
Initially, you try to convince yourself that young boys are faster than you remember. After all, you are getting older and with that also slower. It gets harder to convince yourself, however, when the boy starts moving miles in the blink of an eye. Suddenly he will be standing at your shoulder, while your eyes still see a faint shape next to the barn.
Then it is the strength.
He does not even seem to realize it. That lifting a car like it is a feather, is not normal. It is then that you sit him down and, with Jonathan by your side, explain where he came from. For the first time in a decade, you swat away the cobwebs and you study the metal shapes with new eyes. As he touches its hull, the ship hums.
You steer him back upstairs and tell him to be careful. To hide it at school and such. But as he asks you why, you struggle to find a good answer. You do not want to frighten him. The idea of making him feel different, fills you with despair.
You catch him staring up at the stars more, after that.
You stop going to church after that. Somehow all that is written in the Bible cannot explain your own personal miracle. Not merely a man made in His image, but a boy with the ability to fly. You wonder if whoever sent him will ever come back.
You wonder whether they will take him away from you.
As you see him exiting the basement, trying not to be caught, you know he wonders that too.
He grows taller with the crops. Stronger, too. You joke with Jonathan that he will eat you out of house and home.
Ever since you told him, he likes to watch The Wizard of Oz . Laughs that he is the reverse Dorothy. Despite his laughter you wonder whether he would like to click his heels thrice to know a home he never got to see.
In high school, he does not make many friends and you worry for him. That is the nature of motherhood for you. You know he hates making you worry. He smiles and shakes his head that there is nothing you should care about.
You try to remember yourself as a teenager, but it feels like too long ago. You give him his father’s hand-me-downs and watch as he grows into them. He is well-behaved. No detention in school, no sneaking around.
Still, you look into his eyes. He hides things from you. His own secret abilities that he thinks will scare you too much.
Seemingly every time you come into the kitchen, he is bowing over the newspapers from Metropolis. Tracing out the stories about heroes with his scissors. Carefully placing them in the scrapbook you gave him for Christmas.
Looking up and smiling at you, when you come in. Helping to carry your groceries. You have raised him well, for sure.
The older he gets, the more you know he will not stay in Smallville. He will outgrow this place like he outgrew his clothes. You know you will not be able to keep him close forever, but still the thought of losing him hurts.
Watching him with Miss Lana Lang. She likes him, you can tell. You worry for a bit whether you should give him a talk or tell him to keep his room door open. But when you try to breach the topic, he assures you there is nothing to worry about. That he is just friends with her.
You find yourself wondering whether he would even be able to have children of his own with a human. Selfishly, you think about grandchildren and you realize that you have become your own mother.
Someday perhaps, when the right girl comes along.