He wasn't Superman here. He was just Clark.
Later, after the biscuits were golden brown and the tractor belt was fixed (without a single twisted piece of metal), they sat on the porch swing as the sun bled orange and purple across the horizon. clarkandmartha
“Pa’s tractor needs a new belt,” Clark said, nodding toward the barn. He wasn't Superman here
“You know,” she said, nudging him. “Your father always said the strongest thing you could be was kind. He’d be proud.” “Pa’s tractor needs a new belt,” Clark said,
Clark closed his eyes. Above them, a distant star—the one he’d never seen, the one that had sent him away—began to twinkle. But it had nothing on the warm, steady light burning in the kitchen window behind him.
He washed his hands at the sink, the water pressure a pathetic trickle compared to the force he could summon, and took his place beside her at the counter. For a while, they worked in silence. The only sounds were the soft thump of the rolling pin and the distant drone of a tractor on a neighboring farm.
He let out a breath. “I am tired, Ma.”