Once Clark had found the large group of pine trees leading into a cornfield, he stood just inside the entrance, getting ready to run.
The thick trees and overhanging pine branches posed a possible obstacle for Clark, but hopefully his reflexes would be as fast as he was.
Seemed simple enough last time. Just start running. His alien genetics would do the rest. Clark started off at a slow jog. Nothing happened, so he quickened his pace a little. Still nothing happened, so he started running at a medium-fast pace, and suddenly he was off.
Dodging trees, ducking under low-hanging branches and jumping tree roots as easily as if he was walking. Then he was out of the trees, speeding through the cornfield, row after row of corn. Vault over the fence. More corn. Another fence. More corn. Speeding through the Kent's backyard. Up the steps. Through the door. Into the kitchen. Stopped.
Jonathan, who was getting some pie and a glass of lemonade, looked up when he felt a gust of wind on his face and heard a loud whoosh.
"Clark!" he greeted warmly. "How are you handling it?"
"It's amazing!" Clark exclaimed, flattening his windblown hair back down against his head. "Five seconds ago, I was in the middle of a forest on the other side of town."
Jonathan just smiled. Clark sat down beside him.
"So what are you gonna do now, son?" Jonathan asked.
"It's been a long day." Clark replied. "I reckon I'm just gonna stay here."
Jonathan nodded, then held out the pie dish to Clark.
"Pie?" He asked. Clark smiled.
"Sure, dad." He answered, cutting himself a piece. For the first time since he woke up in their living room last night with no idea who or where he was, he was starting to feel like part of a family. The Kent family.
"Dad, there's something I need to ask you." He finally said.
"What is it, son?" Jonathan asked.
"Today at the restaurant, I thought I remembered something." Clark started. "But I'm not sure if I actually did, or if my subconscious just made it up because I'm so desperate to get my memory back."
"Well, what was it, Clark?" Jonathan asked, putting down his fork, focusing full attention on his son.
"Well, we were in the kitchen. Mom was making a turkey, and I was on the floor playing trucks. I guess I was about three or four." Clark explained. "You were, uh, screaming… at a telemarketer."
Jonathan stared down at his half-eaten pie, chuckling a little.
"That's something I would prefer to forget." He said. Clark's eyes widened.
"So it actually happened?" He asked hopefully.
"Yes." Jonathan said. "You were five."
"Well, maybe if I go back there, I might remember something else." Clark said.
"Clark, I don't want you going anywhere near that place." Jonathan said.
"But dad, if it could get my memory back…" Clark started to argue.
"Clark, I don't think it's a matter of where you were when you got that memory. " Jonathan interrupted. "What were you thinking about?"
"You think that's what triggered my memory?" Clark asked
"Why not?" Jonathan asked. "They're both matters of the brain. Besides, that's what triggered your heat vision."
"Dad…" Clark muttered, embarrassed. They all knew what Clark had been thinking about when he got his first flash of heat vision in science class. (once Jonathan filled him in, anyway.) And it wasn't the periodic table.
"Well?" Jonathan pressed. "What were you thinking?"
"Uhhh…" Clark thought back to that afternoon at the restaurant. What was he thinking about? Suddenly, he remembered.
"I was angry." He said.
"You were angry?" Jonathan repeated.
"Yeah, I was thinking about how it was sort of the restaurant's fault that I lost my memory." Clark said.
Jonathan was too excited by the fact that they now had a clue as to how to get Clark's memory back, to point out that is actually wasn't proven yet that it was the food that made him forget. He coughed.
"Well, maybe that's it then." He suggested. "Maybe we've just got to make you angry."
"But how?" Clark asked.
Jonathan met his gaze. They both knew. It seemed so simple now. But would it be too risky?
