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6 ⓢ country style
[It's late, but Clark is up anyway. He's making a late-night snack of baked apples for him and Lois, and because the oven in their apartment is on the fritz he's doing it in the kitchen. Chris is tucked into bed, the dogs are walked, and presumably Conner is off doing teenager-y things... he'll check in eventually.
But for now: baked cinnamon apples, the smell wafting through the kitchen, the buttery cinnamon and brown sugar topping bubbling. He's doing dishes at the sink while he waits, cleaning up after not only himself, but also whoever else has left dishes around. Who says the ghosts should do all the work? His journal lays on the kitchen table.
And he whistles cheerfully while he's at it.]
I made a few extra baked apples. Come help yourself in ten minutes, if anyone's interested.
------ Private -------
[And some hours later:]
Hey, Mom.
I know it's been a really long time since I've written. You remember how things get here; you're either up to your eyeballs in things to do and things to deal with, or you're left with so much free time you can just drift and lose track of time.
Married life is amazing. It's funny how almost nothing changes but a title, but it really does feel different. Lois and I had been living together for well over a year anyway, and we spend many of our days reading and writing and trying to put together this whole Paradisa puzzle just like we did before we were married, but it still ends up feeling so different. I can't compare this feeling to anything else in my life; I wake up every morning feeling humbled that of all the people in the world, Lois Lane chose me, and thankful that I'm going to get to spend the rest of my life with her.
We've got Chris with us, too, and Conner just returned. It's weird to be twenty-eight -- twenty-nine next week, I guess! -- and have a kid and a teenager, but given how unusual so much of my life has been, it's something you just accept as usual. It's just
[Long pause.]
Well, the room just changed and I'm sitting in some weird Greek-style office, and I'm wearing a toga. I should see what's going on and get back to this letter later, so that's all for now.
Love you and miss you,
Clark
But for now: baked cinnamon apples, the smell wafting through the kitchen, the buttery cinnamon and brown sugar topping bubbling. He's doing dishes at the sink while he waits, cleaning up after not only himself, but also whoever else has left dishes around. Who says the ghosts should do all the work? His journal lays on the kitchen table.
And he whistles cheerfully while he's at it.]
I made a few extra baked apples. Come help yourself in ten minutes, if anyone's interested.
------ Private -------
[And some hours later:]
Hey, Mom.
I know it's been a really long time since I've written. You remember how things get here; you're either up to your eyeballs in things to do and things to deal with, or you're left with so much free time you can just drift and lose track of time.
Married life is amazing. It's funny how almost nothing changes but a title, but it really does feel different. Lois and I had been living together for well over a year anyway, and we spend many of our days reading and writing and trying to put together this whole Paradisa puzzle just like we did before we were married, but it still ends up feeling so different. I can't compare this feeling to anything else in my life; I wake up every morning feeling humbled that of all the people in the world, Lois Lane chose me, and thankful that I'm going to get to spend the rest of my life with her.
We've got Chris with us, too, and Conner just returned. It's weird to be twenty-eight -- twenty-nine next week, I guess! -- and have a kid and a teenager, but given how unusual so much of my life has been, it's something you just accept as usual. It's just
[Long pause.]
Well, the room just changed and I'm sitting in some weird Greek-style office, and I'm wearing a toga. I should see what's going on and get back to this letter later, so that's all for now.
Love you and miss you,
Clark
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I think you're right, strapping young bloke such as yourself.
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Well, in the meantime, I'll just be extra careful not to spill.
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[Pushing off the doorframe, she wanders on over to the fridge to grab a beer. What? If it's not too late for Clark to bake apples, it's not too late for Jenny to have a drink. X-(]
The ghosts'll do that for you, you know.
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Call me old-fashioned or a country guy if you want, but I think it maintains a work ethic. Menial chores aren't something I need a vacation from, and whether my kid is watching or not, I can't teach him about responsibility while letting it fall to someone else when I'm not looking.
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You've got a son? Bit young for that, aren't you? You ought to be wading around in alcohol every night and throwing up every morning, at your age.
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I'm nowhere near as good of a journalist as she is, but yes.
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[And a chuckle.]
Loudmouth? You mean Mark... I'd just say he's a teenager and he's learning about boundaries and how the world really works.
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I'll say I'm quite a bit older than I look, but I understand what you mean. Developmentally children but with the experiences of a much older person.
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[She taps her chin in thought. She hadn't really considered that before, though she probably should have. Then again, being misjudged on appearances can have its advantages as well.]
I suppose someone in that situation would need to develop some patience, as well.
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No reason why they can't learn, though.
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Has anyone ever physically aged apart from those who have left and come back?
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