As he grew, and the infirmities fell away, not only his body, but his power grew in spurts of impressive proportions. It got to where he could lift the tractor with one hand, and the most amazing of things, that he kept even from his parents for awhile – he could fly. The first few times, he laughed nonstop out of sheer delight. It was miraculous.

As a teenager, he'd long since mastered his body and learned how to never reveal himself. His careful discipline turned inward then, for puberty appeared to be little different in some respects for him. His emotions flared like his body temp used to, but the only ice he had to work with was his own. So, again, he stayed back from others, remaining cautious and shy.

His height, his looks, even his awkwardness brought him attention from girls. Not a lot of them, but a few. This was a confusion he hadn't looked for, and couldn't share. Not even with Pa, who knew anyway. Jonathon Kent was a laconic man, so all he said was, "It's not easy for a man to do right by a woman, son. But it's important."

So when he kissed Lana for the first time and felt his passion rise, he stopped. She hadn't understood why he walked away from her, and the tears on her pretty face had come near to breaking his heart. But he couldn't do it to her, couldn't ask her to be his when he was something so other. He knew he would weaken if they got closer, that he would tell her. Lana was too sweet, too pure and uncomplicated. She thought he was just a boy like any other. If she knew the truth, she would shrink back from him in horror. An alien.


His father died. He heard Jonathon's heart stop, heard his blood stop flowing, watched his nerves shrivel. Right in front of him, and he had been helpless to stop it. His grief was so powerful that he ran to escape it. Then he flew, but he could not outdistance it. He hovered above the earth, tears freezing in the cold stratosphere, in so much pain that he could not focus, could not block out all the sounds of the world. Jonathon's words haunted him. You are here for a reason.

The human activity below him was a cacophony, engulfing him. For the first time, he wished that he was not here. He wished he didn't look like them, didn't feel like them. Selfishly, cruelly, he wished Ma and Pa had never found him. He wished he could float here forever, above it all, away from all the chaos and the pain. Clark closed his eyes against the waves of loss rocking him. But then one sound made its way through all the rest. It was a child, whimpering in pain and fear, calling weakly.

"Mei-mei! Mei-mei!"

Without thought, he moved, streaking down from the sky, circling the globe, following the sound to its source. In an abandoned building deep in the slums of Shanghai, a little boy of about seven was trapped under sheet rock and plaster where the ceiling had caved. As Clark lifted him out of the rubble, the boy struggled to get down in spite of his broken leg. He reached over Clark's shoulder, straining his arms towards the corner, "Mei-mei! Mei-mei!"

Clark looked through the debris and saw, slumped under a heavy block of concrete that was slipping, a tiny girl, perhaps two years old, unconscious, helpless. He seized the block in one hand, still holding the boy in the other arm, and tossed the concrete away. It landed with a thunk that sent dust up into the air, covering all three of them in a fine white powder. The boy stared at him until his little sister sat up and started to cry.

Clark Kent, eighteen years old, the child of another star, held them, telling them in his strange language that they would be all right. Somehow, they understood. He carried them to the hospital, finding his way through the dingy back streets by way of sound and smell and x-ray vision. Then he disappeared as quickly as he could. When he alighted back in Kansas, he found his mother sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, watching the sunset, her eyes dull and far away as they often were since Jonathon's death. He kissed her cheek. She came out of her reverie to smile at him, and take his hand.

He knew then that he would have to go soon. He couldn't say it to her yet. But he could feel it growing inside him. How far he would travel he could not have imagined.