SCINTILLATE | CLARK KENT: I

FIVE

October 25, 2015. Sunday. 12:35 pm.
• • •

Clark had asked if we could get together again at the café we had met at, and I agreed. The date wasn't until next Sunday, the only night the both of us were free, but I was already antsy and trying to figure out what I was going to wear. I was now slumped against my couch, in an old t-shirt, socks and my hair was a mess.

I had finished my questions for the interview this Wednesday, and I was now scribbling haphazardly onto a page of my sketchbook.

My knees were pulled up, and my sketchbook was resting on my thighs as I ran the pencil back and forth. On the news today Superman had saved a little boy from drowning. The entire thing was recorded with a teenagers cell phone and Jimmy had called me saying Perry was going to jump down his throat on Monday. I had to reassure him that Perry wasn't going to hold it against him.

I had a strange need to draw Clark, and that's what I was doing, but in between the news and Jimmy, Clark had somehow turned into Superman, and I couldn't stop. How funny is that? I finished and set my pencil down staring at the sketch as I bit my lip. He did resemble Superman, but at the same time, he didn't. Something was off. I slid the sketchbook away and pulled myself up off the couch. I needed coffee. My tired brain was turning Clark into Superman.

Superman was on the news a lot lately not just by the media coverage of his rescues but because of the hearing and all the media attention it was getting. Every news outlet was covering it.

I couldn't help, but feel bad for him. He was only doing what he was meant to do, protect those who can't defend themselves, and the people were turning against him.

My Keurig whirred to life, and I set a mug on the counter with coffee grinds and sugar already inside. I was getting anxious about the date. Do I count the first one as our first date? If this was technically the second date, does that mean that he could kiss me?

And it's not a very romantic kiss on the cheek- not that I didn't enjoy that. I paced around my small quaint kitchen and drummed my knuckles against the wooden counter. The mug filled and I added sugar and creamer and stirred it in.

My TV lit up, and I watched as a frantic reporter appeared on the screen. As soon as I had attempted to make my way over to my TV- and by attempted I meant took at least two steps. A man in dark blue and red came crashing through my balcony doors. Glass shattered and sprayed across the room, my mug fell from my hands and the coffee splattered onto the floor, and I screamed ducking behind the counter. On my hands and knees, I shuffled towards the edge of the bar and, I couldn't believe what I saw.

"Superman?" I gasped.

He was getting to his feet and didn't seem to hear me, but he had fallen on my coffee table, and that was now flat and demolished. Damn it. Standing tall he was gigantic and looked powerful. He whisked his cape around as he turned to me. In his hands was my sketchbook and I watched wide-eyed as he smiled down at the sketch I was drawing earlier.