Only Dying Roses
By Linda Seaton
from Martha
Sunday mornings before seven are always my time. Jonathan sleeps later on Sundays and Clark, well Clark is a teenager who will sleep late anytime I give him the chance. The Sunday paper rests untouched in front of me as I leaf through one of my books about flowers. Last night, Clark brought me a giant bouquet of roses taken from the Luthor estate and now I'm searching for a name. I know that they are climbing roses but cannot find anything similar in color.
I hear the purring sound of the expensive car approaching and I smile. Merely thinking the name "Luthor" will apparently bring one to your door.
There is a soft tap and without looking up I call, "Come in, Lex."
I turn to greet him and I can feel my smile fade away. Lex Luthor has taken a beating. I'm pretty sure by the way that he is holding himself he is unaware of how bad it looks.
"What happened Lex?" I ask as I rush over to open the door. He seems baffled by my question until I reach out and gently touch his chin.
He starts back and I'm not sure if it is because I hurt him or he just didn't want to be touched.
"Let me get some ice." I motion him toward the kitchen table as I scoop ice cubes out of the freezer tray and seal them in a plastic sandwich bag. He takes the offered ice pack and holds it against his chin.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Kent."
"Is your father in town?" It was past my lips before I even considered what I was saying.
"You think my father beats me, Mrs. Kent?"
He turns those eyes on me and I can't help but think of my great aunt's Siamese cats. When I was a little girl I thought they were the most beautiful and mysterious of creatures. I quickly found that they had sharp claws and a long reach. I try to shake the comparison; I may only be reminded of the cats by the strange scratches that cover Lex's face and scalp.
"Let me get Clark for you." I smile and hurry from the room.
Clark is going to still be unconscious but I'm not going back in that kitchen alone. I haven't been able to pick up my son since he turned six but this morning...
Oh, things just got worse. Jonathan is awake and walking straight toward me. I cut him off before he can tell me it's going to be a "perfect day" in his I'm-so-happy-it's-Sunday voice.
"Lex is here."
I could have just as easily told Jonathan that the barn had burned down based on the expression on his face.
"Be nice to him, Jonathan." I grab my husband's arm and half-whisper to him. "I just ask him if his father beats him."
"Martha!?"
I slide past Jonathan and rush to Clark's door. I knock.
There is muffled voice that I recognize as Clark's with a pillow over his face.
"Clark, I'm coming in."
I push open the door and regard my son buried somewhere in the pile of comforter and sheets.
"Lex is downstairs. I think something is wrong."
Clark rolls over and up. He blinks at me and then focuses.
"I'll be right down."
I wait until he is up and looking for his clothes before I shut the door after myself. Once Clark's feet hit the floor he's not likely to go back to bed.
tbc....
By Linda Seaton
from Martha
Sunday mornings before seven are always my time. Jonathan sleeps later on Sundays and Clark, well Clark is a teenager who will sleep late anytime I give him the chance. The Sunday paper rests untouched in front of me as I leaf through one of my books about flowers. Last night, Clark brought me a giant bouquet of roses taken from the Luthor estate and now I'm searching for a name. I know that they are climbing roses but cannot find anything similar in color.
I hear the purring sound of the expensive car approaching and I smile. Merely thinking the name "Luthor" will apparently bring one to your door.
There is a soft tap and without looking up I call, "Come in, Lex."
I turn to greet him and I can feel my smile fade away. Lex Luthor has taken a beating. I'm pretty sure by the way that he is holding himself he is unaware of how bad it looks.
"What happened Lex?" I ask as I rush over to open the door. He seems baffled by my question until I reach out and gently touch his chin.
He starts back and I'm not sure if it is because I hurt him or he just didn't want to be touched.
"Let me get some ice." I motion him toward the kitchen table as I scoop ice cubes out of the freezer tray and seal them in a plastic sandwich bag. He takes the offered ice pack and holds it against his chin.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Kent."
"Is your father in town?" It was past my lips before I even considered what I was saying.
"You think my father beats me, Mrs. Kent?"
He turns those eyes on me and I can't help but think of my great aunt's Siamese cats. When I was a little girl I thought they were the most beautiful and mysterious of creatures. I quickly found that they had sharp claws and a long reach. I try to shake the comparison; I may only be reminded of the cats by the strange scratches that cover Lex's face and scalp.
"Let me get Clark for you." I smile and hurry from the room.
Clark is going to still be unconscious but I'm not going back in that kitchen alone. I haven't been able to pick up my son since he turned six but this morning...
Oh, things just got worse. Jonathan is awake and walking straight toward me. I cut him off before he can tell me it's going to be a "perfect day" in his I'm-so-happy-it's-Sunday voice.
"Lex is here."
I could have just as easily told Jonathan that the barn had burned down based on the expression on his face.
"Be nice to him, Jonathan." I grab my husband's arm and half-whisper to him. "I just ask him if his father beats him."
"Martha!?"
I slide past Jonathan and rush to Clark's door. I knock.
There is muffled voice that I recognize as Clark's with a pillow over his face.
"Clark, I'm coming in."
I push open the door and regard my son buried somewhere in the pile of comforter and sheets.
"Lex is downstairs. I think something is wrong."
Clark rolls over and up. He blinks at me and then focuses.
"I'll be right down."
I wait until he is up and looking for his clothes before I shut the door after myself. Once Clark's feet hit the floor he's not likely to go back to bed.
tbc....