Thanks so much for reading, everyone!! Especially joedan84.. ( I"Nothing As Of Yet"/I

Saving Us

I know, suddenly, where he would go. I am standing in the driveway in despair when I suddenly just Iknow/I. Or, I concede to myself, where I think he would go. If he isn't there, then obviously I have just irrevocably ruined something special and unique and don't deserve to make it better. Well, try, anyway. I don't know if I even deserve to get that back. How could I have Isaid/I that? Oh, my God. There is a place in the woods, near one of the creeks, that is very special. When Clark and I were younger, we used to go into the woods and explore, making up adventure stories as we traveled. One day, we were walking a creek and came upon this little place. A way down the creek, there is a break in the dense bushes that line the stream, and there is a beautiful little clearing. It is straight from a fairy tale; a little glade in the midst of the dark thorny forest. It is covered in a thick carpet of grass, and it is unnoticeable from the land side. It was just right to lay down and gaze up at the clouds, fly away and pretend that you were a princess. After we found it that one summer, we would meet at the end of the creek and walk up together every day until school started. Though we don't walk up every day any more, and hardly ever together, it has remained special in our hearts, a hide out for when the world gets bad.

So that is where I go now. I walk up the middle of the creek, skipping from rock to rock like we used to, and I hope beyond hope that he is there, because our friendship is one of the defining things in my life and I really don't want to lose it. I slow down, uneager to go rushing in only to find that he is not there. As I approach, still dragging my feet, I hear a small sound over the happy gurgling of the creek, something that takes me a moment to identify. Clark is crying. Small, contained sobs that are heart rending to hear. All thoughts of slowing flee my brain and I rush to the clearing, dropping to my knees beside Clark. He is lying on his side, curled into a near- fetal position, his hands over his face. I reach out, but hesitate. I don't know if I should be here, in this sacred place, when I am the one that has just caused all of this pain and loneliness. I finally gather the courage to lay my hand on his shoulder, only to have my heart ripped to shreds when he flinches away from my touch, like I am leprous or evil. Something he cannot bear to be around. "Clark," I whisper, pleading, pouring my heart into that one syllable and hoping beyond hope that he hears that plea and doesn't shun me as he deserves to. He stops shaking in that instant, and I watch as he calms himself enough to speak. His voice is raw, bitter, and angry, an ugly sound that makes me flinch when he says sullenly, "What?" "Clark," I say, my voice hoarse and cracking from the strain of not crying, "I'm sorry. I know that doesn't even begin to do it, but it's all I have to offer," I lose my fight with the tears now, and I welcome them, because Chloe Sullivan Does Not Cry. Maybe it will help him to see that I am sincere and more serious than I have ever been before. I can see him pause at this, my tears. He is still not looking at me, but he doesn't sound quite so embittered when he asks me, "Why? Why did you say that then?" His voice clouds with tears once more by the time he finishes this question. "I know you're not a freak! Clark, you have gifts, amazing gifts!! You're the first person affected by the meteors that hasn't tried to kill me or gain control of my mind!" I say this with a tentative smile. "I- I was scared, Clark, and I didn't know what to say. I really didn't mean it, but the only other thing in my mind were reporter questions that would have come out even more wrong than what I did say. I understand if you never forgive me, but I want you to know that you are an integral part of my life and I will be very sad if you are no longer a part of it. Clark, I- I really like you. I know that you are my best friend and realize that you probably don't see me that way, but I just wanted you to know in case you, you know, don't forgive me. Clark, I am so sorry." I slowly begin to get up and walk away, in part to give Clark his time to deal, but also to hide the tears that are streaming down my face, but am stopped by his hand grabbing mine. "Wait." One word, and a hand suddenly grasping mine. I look down, into Clark's tear- stained face, vainly trying to hide my own tears as he quickly stands and pulls me into a fierce hug. I have brief thoughts about the irony of Ihim/I comforting Ime/I, but all thoughts are banished when he sits down, me curled on his lap, and we cling to each other and cry out all of our frustrations and sorrows. A timeless moment later, I realize that we have both stopped crying and are now just sitting together, taking comfort in the presence of the other. He takes a deep breath and begins talking, and I sit and listen quietly. "You know I have abilities, right? Strength and speed." I nod, slowly. I know there has to be more to it, but I also know that this must be hard for him, so I let it lie. "Well, the fight I've been having with my dad was about telling people about them." He looks a little abashed now, his trademark blush darkening his cheeks as he looks down at the ground. "You in particular. My dad doesn't think that I should tell anyone at all, but I don't want to lie to everyone I care about for the rest of my life. I don't think that I could. I mean, I've grown up lying to everyone, so it's easy, but I just want to have someone to confide in that isn't my parents, ya know?" I nod slowly, agreeing. His frustration is clearly evident in his fidgeting, so I lay my hand on his shoulder to show him that I am here and listening. He continues, "I love my dad, and I know he only wants what's best for me, but he doesn't know what it's like. He doesn't know how much it hurts to have to lie to your best friends every day." Clark's face keeps scrunching up, like he wants to cry, so I shift around, then tug on his arm and pull his head into my lap. He clings to me like a life raft, one of his big hands curling around my thigh. I know that he has to work this through with himself, so I thread my fingers into his hair and gently play with it, a small comforting gesture. He talks to himself, snatches that make no sense. Eventually, his stream of words dissolves into a little trickle and then on to nothing, and I eventually realize that he has fallen asleep on me. It is late afternoon, but there are a few hours left until either of us will be needed, so I disentangle my fingers and carefully lean back until I am lying down, Clark's head still on my thighs. I am trying to keep myself awake, but I finally realize that it is a futile gesture, and I finally allow myself to relax and drift off, exhausted from the day's emotional toil.