My neighbor is Superman. He lives in the apartment building across from mine. It's on the very top floor in the back corner. Most people would never notice the little blur that shot in and out of the window, and if they did they would think it a trick of the eye, but I'm not most people. I'm Jane Henson and very little escapes these eyes. Not only do I have 20/20 vision but I also have binoculars.

It's hard to believe even for me. Geeky Clark Kent is the last person in the world you would expect to be Superman. When I first figured out that the blur was Superman and the apartment belonged to the Kents, my first thought was affair. After all, they were plenty of those going on in the neighborhood and Lois and Superman had always been rumored to have a special relationship, not always strictly professional if you know what I mean. It took a lot of surveillance before I realized that the blur wasn't always in and out; sometimes he stayed whole nights, whole days without going back out, and sometimes when I knew Superman had to be in there, the Kents would come out. So Clark either knew about the affair and didn't care, which wasn't likely, or there wasn't an affair taking place. When I came to this conclusion, I further considered the possibility that Superman was using the Kent pad as a place to rejuvenate, the Kents were known to be Superman's friends. It was then I paid closer attention to Clark Kent, a seemingly uninteresting person. I noticed that sometimes he would suddenly abandon his wife with or without a quick explanation and it wasn't long before there would be the blur in the vicinity. Clark Kent was Superman.

I was sitting on the biggest secret a neighbor had ever discovered and I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it yet. Sell it to a paper for a good amount of dough, blackmail the superhero? The possibilities were endless. This was better than the run-of-the-mill affair or break-in. This was so much juicer. It couldn't get any juicer than this.

I was pondering all this when the subjects came into my view.

It was another typical morning for the Kents. They came out of the apartment building together, but they didn't go into the office together. Superman or Clark, whatever you want to call him, said something to his wife before running into an alley at normal speed. I'm a pretty good lip reader, but I can't lip read when his head is turned to the side. I could imagine what he had said though because the next thing I caught in these handy binoculars is a blur shooting up from the alley. He had obviously heard a cry of help, not hard to imagine in a city of this size.

"Jane! Are you spying on the neighbors again?" came the loud sound of my husband's voice, interrupting my healthy, inquiring mind.

The binoculars fell from my eyes as I turned to look at my obnoxious husband. He was watching an old boxing match from the 70s. He cared nothing for current events, not even when it came to watching sports. He insisted all the good matches had already taken place. His eyes hardly ever strayed from the screen except to ensure a beer can was empty. Sometimes I wish he hadn't retired and I still had an opportunity to keep abreast of neighborhood happenings without his yammering on about what he called spying.

"Gary, just watch your match and mind your own business."

He snorted. "That's rich coming from you."

With a small shake of my head in disgust, I put the binoculars back to my eyes and turned to the window again.

For a second, I thought something was wrong with the binoculars. Lois was strangely huge. There was only a patch of her face. On dropping the binoculars, I discovered she was right outside the window and I gave a small gasp of surprise.

Her finger curled as she motioned me outside and somehow, I couldn't help but think of the grim reaper. I swallowed hard. Then I straightened my shoulders. I had no reason to feel guilty. I wasn't breaking the law. I would confront this nosy reporter.

I joined her outside and she led me into an alley. I wondered what it was with these people and their alleys.

There was a cold, hard glare that almost made me lose my resolve as she asked, "What exactly are you doing with binoculars?"

I smiled and though I couldn't see my own face, I'm sure it was one of satisfaction, "I think the better question is what is your superhero husband doing?" I had made up my mind that instant that I would go the blackmail route.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

I had to admit that she was a good liar. She hadn't blinked, gasped, nothing to give away the fact that I had discovered the truth. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and binoculars, I would have wondered if I was mistaken. "Don't play coy with me, missy. I know all about it. He shouldn't come in and out of your window so much. That's what gave it away. But, uh, for a little payoff, I might keep my mouth shut."

She knew that she wasn't going to talk me into thinking I was wrong, so she went a different route. I suddenly found myself backed against the cold alley wall with her fist shoved in my face.

"I have friends in high places. I would be careful if I were you. You shouldn't go spitting out false accusations."

I had to admit that she was taller than me and fiercer than me. I had no doubt she could take me if she decided to use that fist. I would be lying if I said I wasn't the least bit intimidated, but I knew Superman. Superman didn't beat up non-criminals or non-villains, surely his wife held the same policy. I stated this thought out loud for Lois to hear. "Superman would never kill me. He wouldn't even beat me up."

"You're probably right, but he can have his moments, so I wouldn't test out that theory. And if he wouldn't, I'm not sure that Batman thinks the same way."

I gulped. I had forgotten Batman and Superman were friends. Heck, what superhero didn't know and admire Superman? Lois was right that not all the superheroes would be as kind toward me if they found out what I knew. I nodded, showing that I understood. My hopes of getting money from this secret were dashed.

She moved away allowing me to go back to my first-level apartment, "Remember, I had better not hear any of your rumors being spread around. I don't even want to get the suspicion that you're doing so or you just might have a late-night visitor."

I had no doubt in my mind that she meant what she said, so I'm enclosing this information in a lead box. If I should mysteriously disappear in a ray of heat, be found twisted up like a pretzel, frozen in a block of ice, you get the picture, you'll know who did it. More likely though, my death will come at the hands of a brunette reporter.

The End