What I Once Called Love: The Drafts

Just Clark

To me, you were Clark Kent.

The midwestern boy who moved in next door. The football player who somehow bumbled his way through the halls of our school. The guy who got invited to all the parties but always found himself standing against the wall while the others drank their angst away.

You were certainly handsome, with your jet black hair and shy smile, but in no way were you like the others. You didn't ignore outsiders like me.

I was your Lana Lang.

We met on your first day, nervously talking while we tried to get to know one another. We soon discovered that we could talk for hours about our latest music obsession or what book we finished that week. The other boys on our bus tried to warn you about my curiosity, but you seemed intrigued by it. It was like you were curious too.

In between classes, you would catch in the hallways to tell me how your day was going, occasionally hugging me before you had to go. We'd spend the mornings groveling about our lack of sleep and the afternoons passing back dad jokes like whispered secrets. You would point out when you thought I was prettier than normal, and I would tease you about your hair before combing it with my fingers.

We were close back then.

Years passed, and we steadily started seeing less and less of each other. You stopped riding the bus since you got your driver's license, leaving me to my thoughts in the mornings. You also beefed up quite a bit for all the sports you played, causing some girls to comment on your muscle definition versus your intelligence. You were still smart and curious, but you didn't bring up your grades when some guy betted he could outdo you on the bench press. It was like everyone wanted to gain your attention for some insignificant thing, and you didn't have the heart to turn them down.

All anyone could see was the superhero you were becoming, but to me you were Clark.

You would still stop me in the hallways to hug me with that same shy smile. You still wanted to know if I was coming to your wrestling meet that week. You even told me an occasional dad joke.

You were the same sweet boy you had always been. 

No spandex-revealed muscles. 

No brightly colored cape to fly in. 

No emotional x-ray vision. 

Just Clark, the boy next door who carried a piece of my heart.