Haight Ashbury, San Francisco California 1967 "Summer of Love"
TITLE: Summer of Love
RATING: R (for sexuality)
DECADE: 1960's
SUMMARY: When Lois runs away to San Francisco, a love stricken Clark follows to bring her back. Set during the summer of 1967.
PAIRINGS: Clark and Lois
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was written for the summer Clois fanfic challenge.
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How does it feel to be on your own,
with no direction home,
like a complete unknown,
like a rolling stone?
- Bob Dylan ("Like a Rolling Stone")
Smallville, Kansas- Summer 1967
Clark Kent stepped into Chloe Sullivan's house and smelled incense in the air. Patchouli, and something else he couldn't quite identify. There was no telling really, and no point in trying. Despite the heady odor, the little house looked normal from where he stood. White walls were covered in old family photographs of grandparents, friends, and the portraits of soldiers, long dead in wars past. A very large television set sat on the floor in front of the sofa, with a half full bottle of Coca-Cola abandoned on the coffee table. Sunlight filtered into the room through sheer, lace curtains, probably twenty years old.
If Clark were to walk into any other house in Kansas, including his own, it would look much the same way. Middle, rural America was not really a diverse place. Men had come home from the front lines after World War II and created cookie cutter neighborhoods across the country. The women, regardless of how hard they worked during the war to support themselves and their families, stepped into line and supported the regimented lifestyle of their husbands. It was all they knew, for their own fathers and mothers had done much the same after the first great war ended in 1918.
Underneath the heavy rules and regulations of the "greatest generation," the children grew dissatisfied and restless. They longed to express themselves creatively, and dared to wonder what it would be like to stray from the beaten path. Lacking courage, these children, nearly adults themselves now, daydreamed and writhed in their beds late into the morning, waiting for something- anything to come along that would change the status quo. Most kept these feelings to themselves, and a great festering began. It was a fire in the belly that demanded release. Not even a man of steel can resist the tantalizing possibilities of change.
In this sleepy town though, there was one place that radiated freedom. It was the beating heart of Smallville; a hidden jewel buried beneath the cobwebs, warm like honey, flowing out, radiant and bright. It called to Clark, provoked his senses, electric and alive. It lived in the very same, normal house he now stood in. You couldn't see it from the street, where little girls jumped rope on the sidewalk, but somehow you could feel it. Every so often, even the kids who played jacks in their driveways cocked their heads to the side and glanced over at the Sullivan place, their attention pulled as if by some magnetic current. The paperboy who rode past on his bicycle every morning couldn't help but glance up at that second story window in wonder. They all could feel it, could feel her behind those antique curtains.
Music wafted out of her open window and poured out onto the lawn below. Forbidden music. The devil's dance. It was raw, and honest- sharp like a paper cut. Music that could change the world. The psychedelic sounds of Jimi Hendrix vibrated unknowingly into the very core of each passerby.
Purple haze all around
Dont know if Im comin up or down
Am I happy or in misery?
What ever it is, that girl put a spell on me
Even he, as inhuman as he was, fell under her enchanting spell, perhaps even more so than a regular person might. He had all the strength in the world to withstand the harshest of elements, but felt his defenses weaken under the light of her smile. She was strange, an outcast almost, in this rigid society of rules and appointments. He may have appeared to be just like all the rest, but Clark's very existence made him an outcast as well, and he yearned for the freedom to be true. He saw in this girl, opportunity. Possibility. She was the very meaning of life itself.
Lois.
So lost in his reverie, Clark failed to notice when his best friend, Chloe, stepped into the living room.
"What's coming off here?" she asked with a laugh, seeing him staring into space. She placed a hand on her hip, and waited for his answer.
"Nothing," he muttered, pulling himself together. Chloe arched an eyebrow, and headed for the stairs, her bright blue mini skirt barely covering her modesty. He averted his eyes as she climbed, but didn't miss the flash of soft, milky thighs. Chloe had been the most adventurous girl Clark had ever met, before setting eyes on Lois. And before even she came to town, there had only been the cheerleader type…
"It's like I told you on the phone," Chloe said, nearing the top. She pulled herself up, and turned back to Clark, her blond bob swishing around her neck. "She's been…frustrated."
"I know."
"Talking utopia and transcendental consciousness, and then last night…nothing. She went quiet."
Chloe opened the door to Lois's bedroom, and there on the empty bed sat a copy of Time magazine, the cover story entitled: "The Hippies: The Philosophy of a Subculture."
She nodded towards the magazine. "It's marked."
Clark picked it up, and turned to the marked page, where the hippie code was circled in black.
"Do your own thing, wherever you have to do it and whenever you want. Drop out. Leave society as you have known it. Leave it utterly. Blow the mind of every straight person you can reach. Turn them on, if not to drugs, then to beauty, love, honesty, fun."
He sighed. There was no doubt where she would have gone, but he still had to ask. "Are you sure she left town?"
"Of course I'm sure. She took her suitcase, her favorite records, and all of her good underwear." Chloe pointed to the appropriate drawer as proof.
"Right," Clark responded with a catch in his throat. He declined to peek into the drawer, but did wonder privately what "good underwear" looked like.
Since her father, Sam Lane, had been deployed to train soldiers for Vietnam, he decided to send his two daughters to live with cousins. Lucy went to his brother in Florida, while Lois, the older and wilder one was shipped off to what she called "Shitsville, Kansas." The General thought she wouldn't get into as much trouble in such a small town. Lois moved in with her cousin Chloe, and uncle Gabe.
Smallville simply wasn't ready for Lois Lane. She crashed in with her music and infectious enthusiasm, the beauty of change sticking to every surface.
Lois had met Clark at his school locker in late May, and talked him into cutting class with her on a hot, but beautiful sunny day. They'd stopped at the corner store for an icee she desperately had to have, and were now crossing Chandler Field, barren this year to let it rest. In the place of crops were a sea of tall flowing grass, and a smattering of wildflowers, which Lois bent to pick up every so often. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her.
"Don't you ever want to get out man?" she'd asked Clark dreamily.
"To do what?" he'd replied softly, dazzled by the intimacy of their walk.
She grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes pleadingly. "Just out! See the world. LIVE baby!" She took his other hand into hers, and he felt himself tingle at her touch. "I wanna see everything before I die. Feel the wind in my hair. Go where it's all happening. Don't even worry about why or how, just GO baby."
He didn't know what he looked like on the outside, but inside something sparked. Her brown eyes looked deeply into his, and out of nowhere she reached up on her tip-toes and kissed him full on the mouth, her lips warm and moist, the taste of her cherry flavored icee still on her breath. Her kiss was brief, but intense, as though she'd shared her entire body with him in that one instant. An exhale, and it was over. Clark blinked, and when she pulled away, he felt as though a part of himself left with her. Lois grinned devilishly and took off running.
"Where are you going?" he yelled to her retreating figure.
"Who cares!" she yelled back.
To his inhuman eyes, she seemed to be moving in slow motion, long hair loose behind her, ankle length, full skirt waving around her knees. She skipped and jumped and looked so alive, he felt as though she were taking all of the sunshine with her as she left. He laughed, when she began to sing loudly.
"If you're going to San Francisco,
be sure to wear some flowers in your hair...
If you're going to San Francisco,
Summertime will be a love-in there."
The memory made him smile.
"Earth to Clark," Chloe said, pulling him out of his reverie. Regaining his attention, Chloe continued. "We have to get her back. If her dad finds out that she's run off to San Francisco, he'll pack her ass off to a convent. For real."
"When does he call?"
"On Sunday, so we have two days to go there and bring her back. Kicking and screaming if we have to."
"I'll have to go by myself, or else we won't make the deadline." Chloe opened her mouth to object, but Clark cut her off. "I have to run there, and I don't know what would happen to you if I carry you that fast, and that far." Her face fell, and he added softly, "Besides, it may not be safe for you there."
Chloe was the only person other than his parents who knew of his extraterrestrial abilities. He trusted her completely, but worried that with his focus split, in who even knew what kind of environment they'd be in, he might not be able to make it in time if something were to happen to her- an absolutely unthinkable scenario. Clark knew that like everyone their age, Chloe was curious about the mysterious revolution taking place in San Francisco. Her reporter's instincts practically demanded that she witness and write down everything. In this instance though, it just wasn't possible.
"I'll call you before we come back," he said gently, pulling her into a warm hug. She was disappointed, but resigned.
"Well, you'll have to tell me everything, and I mean EVERYTHING Clark. I want to know how it looks, what it smells like, what music they listen to and do your best to remember how it feels. I know you're not exactly…human," she said delicately. "But pay attention to the details and take notes about everyone else around you."
"I'll try my best," he laughed, making his way out.
"Try harder than that!" she called to his retreating figure.
Haight Ashbury, San Francisco California- 126 seconds later
The world started again when Clark skidded to a stop at the corner of Haight and Ashbury, and he couldn't believe his eyes. Away from Kansas for the first time in his life, what Clark saw before him both amazed and frightened his sensitive spirit. He'd expected to see this curiosity called Hippie, had seen the pictures, and heard the stories. But to see it live, in its element was something else entirely.
To say there were a lot of people would be a gross understatement. There were hundreds, right there on the street, some singing, dancing, panhandling and posing in pictures for tourists who'd also descended on the area to experience it all. Clark felt extremely out of place dressed in his small town getup, and wondered what Chloe would have thought of the scene. She too would have been out of place compared to this. The street was dirty and noisy, but so alive and electric that it seemed he could feel the concrete under his feet hum and throb. What vibrations had come from Lois's bedroom window were only a small fraction of what Clark could feel now. He was not alone.
They'd all come, a hundred thousand adventure-seeking kids, hungry for the knowledge that comes with simply being. They rejected commercialism, rules and conventions and created their own idealistic society- a world of peace, love, understanding and unity. They lived together, learned together and made love in the sun, free from the restrictions of the establishment.
"You want some blow?" a young brunette girl with freckles asked Clark suddenly, coming up to his side. She couldn't have been more than fifteen and wore no shoes, but her dirty feet and skinny legs were pretty nonetheless, and she seemed friendly, open somehow.
"What?" he asked, regretting his small town education. Had Lois mentioned this before? He couldn't remember.
The girl giggled, and tugged a small baggie filled with white powder out of the pocket of her cutoff jean shorts. "You know, blow?"
He wasn't sure which drug exactly this white stuff was, but knew his mother wouldn't approve. "No thanks," he said with a smile and shake of the head.
She shrugged, and shoved it back into her pocket, shuffling away back to her dealer in defeat.
"Wait!" Clark called, and she stopped. He pulled Lois's picture out of his jacket and handed it to her. "Have you seen this girl?"
"Mister, I've seen so many girls, I'd never be able to tell you where to find just one. But there are lots of girls here. Lots to choose from. Me and my friend over there, if you want." She pointed to another young girl who had her arms around the Haight street sign, head leaning against the pole. She stared at him, unsmiling, eyes intense.
Clark swallowed. "I actually need to find this one," he said nervously.
"Bum trip man." She gave him a look of pity and walked away.
Clark looked back down at the picture of Lois, and exhaled slowly. He would not be able to find her through human means. Closing his eyes and focusing all of his thoughts on her, Clark shut himself off from the world and listened as one by one, the noises and voices around him went silent. He became hunter, and searched through the din for the velvet voice he knew so well, the throaty laugh, the rhythm of her heart.
Everything fell away until finally he found her. Lois… she called to him like a drug
"Yeah, and what would we do?" she asked someone, sounding drowsy.
"Ride out of here on the wind, baby. Just beat it. I've got four on the floor and a fifth under the seat."
Her musical laugh. "Sounds like a riot."
Like he were caught in a tunnel, Clark felt himself drift towards her, his body moving fast as lightening to where she was. It brought him to a large two-story house being used as a commune for a portion of the many kids with no place to sleep at night.
There were so many people, it was nearly impossible to make his way through the crowd. The house was dark inside with shabby furniture strewn throughout. Blankets had been pushed off to the sides of the walls, where likely people just slept where they fell after the party ended. Music coursed through the place, several songs playing at once from different rooms. In the front parlor, they sat cross-legged on the floor and smoked from a large hookah placed at its center. They swayed with their eyes closed to the sounds of Jefferson Airplane.
The entire house held a heavy haze of smoke, which managed to mostly cover the smell of unwashed bodies. So many people, so little of the necessary commodities. But they couldn't care less anyway. They lived in the now, and were, for some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, more awake that he could possibly ever be. He could feel it even though he resisted, the sticky fingers of change crawling over his body.
Through the hall were The Beatles, their anthems raging, and in this area, the people spoke violently of politics and of their distrust in the government that supposedly served them. The war in Vietnam heavy on their minds.
Clark headed for the stairs, where people crowded on the steps, talking, laughing, and hanging over the banister to listen to The Doors coming from the kitchen.
"Jim Morrison is so boss, you just can't believe," sighed a girl with her head leaning against the shoulder of a thin man sitting next to her. He handed her a joint, which she accepted gratefully, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her lungs. She exhaled as Clark passed, eyes closed, holding the cigarette up for him to take.
"Oh," he said. He picked it up awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with it. Clark paused for a moment, and looked at the burning object in his hands. If he sat down and smoked with these people, would he be one of them? Would it bring him closer to Lois? Quickly, feeling himself weaken, Clark handed the joint to someone else, a bearded man with a multi colored bandana wrapped around his head.
"Thanks Brother," the man said, putting it to his lips.
Finally making it to the top of the stairs was a journey. Clark turned around at the landing and looked out over the railing at the crowd below. He'd never seen so many people in one house before- didn't know it was even possible. They seemed to be almost on top of each other, writhing like some kind of creature. They moved in and out of the front door in a steady stream, leaving for more booze and drugs and coming back with food or supplies. He watched as a fight broke out between several men fighting over a pair of girls, each of whom not sure who they really wanted to win. They laughed as one fell over, tripped by someone in the crowd. The girls shrugged nonchalantly, and followed the winners out of the house, content with the way things turned out.
Clark set the scene to memory for Chloe, and returned towards the sound of Lois's voice. Just hearing it made him feel weak again, and though he knew that he liked Lois, always had, this pavlonian response to the sound of her voice was disconcerting. It was not something he had ever felt before. She was laughing now, her feet shuffling rhythmically as if she were dancing. The mellow music of Procol Harum played around her.
"If music be the food of love
Then laughter is its queen
And likewise if behind is in front
Then dirt in truth is clean"
The crowd was much thinner upstairs, the people more somber and contemplative as they whispered about philosophy, art and the workings of Aleister Crowley. It was in a large bedroom that he finally found her, dancing with a group of people who swayed sensuously against each other. The music throbbed as if it were alive, and seemed to be coming out of the walls rather than the record player. With tunnel vision, he spotted her. Lois had her eyes closed, and leaned back against a man, his hands planted firmly on her hips. She wore a very short, white babydoll dress, which seemed to be transparent, her full breasts clearly outlined underneath the white tulle fabric. She wore nothing underneath.
Clark stood there at the door spellbound, unable to move forward, even unable for some reason to speak. His mouth felt tired and a little numb. All he could do was stand there stupidly, and watch her dance gently in the arms of the man and a woman too, who touched and fondled his girl.
His girl.
"Lois!" Clark called at her, finally finding his voice. It echoed into the room.
The brunette opened her eyes lazily, and then smiled broadly without shame. She left her dancing partners and ran over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Clark held onto her protectively, and eyed the people who continued dancing without her. It bothered him suddenly that they didn't care she was gone. How could they not miss her?
"God Clark, what are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly.
"I came to take you home, Lois." The annoying echo in his voice continued, and Clark actually wondered if he'd be able to take her out of here if he needed to.
A pause, and then she flung her head back and cackled. "And leave all this?" She lifted a wobbly arm up behind her, pointing at nothing in particular. She was having trouble standing by herself, and continued dancing softly with her cheek pressed up against Clark's chest. Feeling her so close made it difficult to think, as if his brain were actually melting. The musky smell of her skin seduced his senses, and he felt his body respond. He held her tightly, and could feel the rest of the world disappearing.
A clacking noise to their left brought him temporarily out of his trance, and he lifted his eyes, peering through the fog of his impaired vision to take in the room around them. Several couples were dancing nearby, wearing the same looks of drunkenness on their faces and in their movements. A few kissed and touched, and some were barely wearing any clothing. All seemed oblivious to the others around them. The heat of the room intensified, and Clark wanted to remove clothing of his own.
"Hot," Lois mumbled, feeling it too.
A clacking sound came again, and he turned his head towards it, seeing an old woman staring at him from a dark corner. The only uncoupled person, she sat alone at a tiny, round table, which was covered with strange looking seashells. Her eyes left Clark's only to look down at the shells for a moment, and then they returned to him with a twinkle. Around her withered neck, lay a silver pentagram suspended by a long chain. As he watched, the pentagram split into two.
He was about to ask the old woman why she was staring at him so intently, when Lois began kissing his neck. He felt his body dissolve, and again his brains seemed as though they were melting. The feeling was very disconcerting, and he wondered if it were similar to being drunk or high, something he had never been able to experience due to his superhuman state.
The old woman laughed huskily from the corner, drawing Clark's attention again. This time when he looked though, all of the colors were bleeding into each other and the walls surrounding them began to pulse.
"The shells never lie," the woman rasped.
Second Floor, Hippie Commune- San Francisco, California
"Lois, we need to get out of here." Clark stuttered, trying to remember exactly why they needed to leave. Truth be told, he couldn't really feel his body anymore- except for the parts connected to Lois- his arms, his chest and belly. His heart. It almost seemed as though he were disappearing, and Lois was the only thing keeping him tied down. Keeping him alive.
"We need to go," he repeated. Everything around them was dark, black almost, as if the only light was coming from Lois herself. He wondered if her skin were on fire.
She shook her head, hair bouncing delicately over her back, and gazed up into his eyes. "We're exactly where we need to be," she said with a half smile. It was a truth he felt deep in his soul, and when she kissed him, he was powerless to resist. He crumbled under the weight of her attention.
Normally, Clark was very apprehensive about the ferocity of passion. With the strength that his body employed, he feared harming a woman during lovemaking and had stayed away from them thus far in his life, keeping his distance. It was easy, more or less, to spurn their advances, for try as they might, none could crack his powerful exterior armor. Eventually they moved on, and Clark continued life alone. But there was something about Lois that he couldn't shake. Something that drew him to her, even as she berated him for being "straight" and laughed at his choices in music. Her song was of the nightingale, and she'd captured him utterly and immediately. There was no one else that even compared.
They were alone in a black room, dancing to The Moody Blues. She kissed his hands and his strong forearms, his neck, brow and then his mouth, greedy, hungry, desperately searching. Clark's hands filled her hair, and he pulled her hard against him. Her taste, her tongue, the little movements of her body… they weren't enough. Could never be enough. Hands reached and reached to find, to search for something to hold on to, something to live on. Where are you? The unrelenting need, the fucking impossibility of not getting what you must have felt like dying, like a great falling away. Smooth, overheated skin covered in too rough fabric which he tugged until it fell to the floor. Where? He picked her up- where he found the strength, no one could say- and placed her into a chair. Her eyes, wide like the ocean; he leaned down to drink from them. She reached out and pulled him to her, her strength seeming to be equal to his own. Surprising, and yet not at all. The fear rose up, the fear of hurting her, but she chased those worries away with her hands, and her lips and pulled him closer and closer until there was no more Lois and no more Clark, only this, only this. There. He found her. Warm and honey-like, she closed around him like a fist.
"And I love you,
Yes, I love you,
Oh, how, I love you.
Oh, how, I love you."
He didn't know how it changed, how they managed to switch positions to where she were in his lap. Stupid to question. Her hair falling into her eyes, shoulders blushing, fingers curled around his. Beauty, pure. Perfect. Clark's world expanded and collapsed, crashing like a great wave to the shore. It thundered in his ears and echoed her name over and over again. There would never be a Clark again without Lois.
Smelly Bus Depot- Two Hours Later
Lois leaned her head against the glass window, eyes shut tight against the glare of the sun. Clark angled his arm around her shoulders and shielded her face from its rays, to which she mumbled an unintelligible "thank you." Coming down from her trip was difficult, but she would be fine soon. Getting her home was the best thing to do right now.
"You should have left me," she says now, without looking in his direction.
"Never happen," he answers softly, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. He doesn't worry about her words. They meant nothing really. She is only being petulant at having been dragged away from her favorite sandbox.
Once Clark had managed to escape from that black room back to the stairs, the grogginess had cleared and his body returned to a semi-normal state. The magic finally released its hold on him, but for Lois, regathering her senses would take longer. He'd covered her in his jacket, and rushed her out of the house, whooshing past the people so quickly, all they felt was wind.
"How did you do that?" Lois asked before passing out.
He'd only smiled, and tucked her in closer to his chest. She thought she needed to go all the way to California to expand her horizons. Wait until she saw what only he could show her. Wait until she knew all he could do. She'd never have to leave town again.
THE END
...in the nineteen-sixties…
We were young,
we were reckless,
arrogant,
silly,
headstrong
and scared half to death…
… and we were right. – Abbie Hoffman, Vanderbilt University, 1989
Music from the Summer of Love 1967
Where I've mentioned certain bands in this story, the following songs are the ones which are featured. So consider this the soundtrack for the story…
"Like A Rolling Stone" - Bob Dylan
"Penny Lane" – The Beatles
"San Francisco" – Scott McKenzie
"Light My Fire" – The Doors
"Purple Haze" – Jimi Hendrix
"Strawberry Fields Forever" – The Beatles
"Natural Woman" – Aretha Franklin
"Pleasant Valley Sunday" – The Monkees
"Ball and Chain" – Janis Joplin
"I Can See For Miles" – The Who
"White Rabbit" – Jefferson Airplane
"California Dreamin" – The Mamas and the Papas
"Whiter Shade of Pale" – Procol Harum
"Nights in White Satin" – The Moody Blues
"Down on Me" – Janis Joplin
"Sittin' on Top of the World" – The Grateful Dead
Notes: As usual, I tried to research as much as I could in order to write this piece. Unfortunately, I was unable to keep track of every place I gathered information from. Wikipedia surely for entries on the Summer of Love, the hippie counter-culture etc. I also looked up music, attire and events pertaining to the time frame.
60's Lingo Dictionary
There are some weird phrases in this story that you might not understand. Thought I'd help out a bit…
coming off- going on, happening
blow- cocaine
bum trip- wasted effort or waste of time
beat it- leave
four on the floor- car with a four speed gear shift
fifth under the seat- fifth of a bottle of whiskey
boss- terrific, best