Clark sat silently on the thick tree branch a hundred feet in the air. He leaned back against the trunk comfortably, watching the scene before him in amusement. Two female orangutans shared a meal just a few yards away in a durian tree, stripping the skin from the large fruit and chewing generous bites before spitting out the seeds.
Both the females were mothers, and their infants had started the meal sleepily clinging to their mothers’ backs. But now their curiosity had gotten the best of them, and much like human toddlers, they were climbing all over their mothers, reaching for the food, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
He laughed as he saw the mothers finally snap, gently chiding their babies until they ran off to play together, chittering and chasing.
Immediately, and instinctively, he thought that he couldn’t wait to tell Lois about these orangutans. It was the same thought he’d had yesterday when he watched a group of proboscis monkeys splashing and swimming in the river. And the day before, when a brilliant rainbow stretched over the treetops.
She was everywhere he went, whether he was alone in the canopy like he was now, or at a crowded street market in the capital city, or chatting casually with old friends in their home over a shared meal.
It had been a week since they said goodbye, his heart aching as she wiped away tears.
When he had arrived in Metropolis for their scheduled visit, he had convinced himself that no matter what he felt for her, he was deluding himself if he thought she felt it too. He needed to just be grateful for her friendship and have fun during their time together.
And then it took her only forty-eight hours to turn his world upside down.
She hadn’t just laughed with him, and confided in him, and sparred with him the way she did in their emails and phone calls. She had also cuddled with him and held his hand and gazed into his eyes with a longing that couldn’t be misinterpreted no matter how hard he tried.
There was a moment, when she was in his arms on the couch laughing about his wild man image, when he was sure she was going to kiss him. They had paused, frozen, inches from each other, and the look in her eyes made his heart skip a beat.
And he knew. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him, didn’t want to be with him. She was holding back, scared to leave the safety of their friendship for a romantic relationship. He knew she had been hurt in the past, and he knew she was skeptical of long distance relationships.
He also knew – by the way she reacted to him – that she was attracted to him. He knew she cared for him. But that moment, that was when he understood that whatever was holding her back was as painful for her as it was for him.
When they lingered in the doorway of her apartment saying their goodbyes, his heart had been so conflicted by her tears. He hated to see her cry. He ached to see her so vulnerable and pained. And yet…she was crying for him. Because she wasn’t ready to let him go. Because she wanted more time with him. Wanted…more…with him. It had filled him with hope.
And now, a week later, she filled his mind day and night. He was haunted by her touch, her sweet scent, the taste of her mouth.
The thought of going another three weeks without talking to her was almost unbearable. But he had no other option. He couldn’t just go back. He had been planning this trip for months. He had made plans with friends he hadn’t seen in years. He looked forward to this month of freedom all year long.
Even if he could cut his trip short, even if he wanted to do that, that wouldn’t solve his longing for her. He couldn’t just go back to Metropolis uninvited, unexpected. So he would have to go home. He couldn’t give up this month of travel and exploration that fueled him all year long for the opportunity to call her and hear her voice on the phone a few hours every week.
But he longed for her. He ached to tell her how he felt. To share his adventure with her. To share his life with her.
The orangutan mothers finished their meals and called for their babies, who came scampering back. Clark watched them settle themselves on their mother’s backs, and then the mother’s swung through the trees, searching for another source of food or perhaps for a quiet place to rest in the afternoon heat.
Clark floated out of the tree, drifting aimlessly around the canopy for another half hour before deciding to head out himself. He shot skyward, gliding over the Danum Valley Conservation Area, avoiding the areas he knew were frequented by tour groups, and then zipped to the hut where he was staying this week, a property owned by a friend of a friend. It was small, but more comfortable than his accommodations the last time he had stayed in the area.
He tossed his pack on the bed and then turned to face the small desk that sat beside it. He hesitated, an idea forming, but unsure if it was brilliant or terrible.
Then he thought again of the tears in her eyes, her lips against his cheek. If there was even a chance she was missing him as much as he was missing her, this could be their lifeline.
He opened the single desk drawer and pulled out a notepad and a pen. Then he took a deep breath and began to write.
Dear Lois,
It has only been a week since we said goodbye, and already I’m wondering how I thought I could go a whole month without hearing your voice.
I knew that I would miss you. But I didn’t know that every day there would be something that reminded me of you. Everything I see or taste or hear, I want to share with you.
I have tried to convince myself that I can wait three more weeks to share these experiences and thoughts with you…and maybe I could. But I don’t want to. This trip has been wonderful so far, but it would be better with you. Everything is better with you.
I have no access to phones or email here, but I have pen and paper, and an unceasing desire to write to you, so here we are….
When I was here five years ago, I spent months searching the forests for proboscis monkeys. They are endangered and sightings are increasingly rare, and though I searched off and on for months, I was never able to spot them in the wild. And then yesterday, I hiked into the forest with no agenda, and almost immediately stumbled across a troop of at least twenty, splashing and playing on the river bank. I watched them for an hour, in awe of what I was seeing.
Suddenly they began to screech, first one and then another until finally the whole troop was howling and scrambling for the shore. Finally I spotted the source of their panic: a crocodile, only his eyes visible above the water.
I understand the circle of life, the delicate balance of predator and prey within the food chain. But in that moment, I could think only of the monkeys with their funny noses and round bellies, and how happy and peaceful they had been before the crocodile’s approach.
I watched, holding my breath, as the troop scattered into the trees, their distress calls echoing around me. The last to exit the water was a young monkey, not a baby but perhaps a teenager. I couldn’t help but imagine that he had delayed responding to the distress call, too cool to show fear or worry – the same bluster I see on my students’ faces so often as they wave off concerns about their futures.
The crocodile lunged, snapping his teeth, but the monkey was just fast enough to escape him. His feet hit the sandy shore and propelled him across the beach to the tree line. He scaled the first tree in his path, then swung from branch to branch, almost as if he was taunting the crocodile.
I had a moment of sympathy for the crocodile then, knowing it was going without a meal, and that it was not evil, but just doing what it was created to do. But it was fleeting. My heart was with the monkeys. The crocodile can find another meal.
Today I found the orangutans I’d been expecting to see yesterday. They are more solitary animals, but not territorial, and I watched two females feasting on fruit while their offspring played together.
They seemed so human – the mothers just trying to eat and have a moment of peace, while the babies climbed them and stole bites of food. Some of my earliest memories are of my mother and Lana’s sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea, shooing us back outside as we returned again and again to beg for snacks, and I couldn’t help but see those memories from a different perspective as I watched the tired and exasperated looks on the faces of the mother orangutans.
There is something so humbling about sitting quietly in the forest watching the animals. It reminds me of our conversation on the top of Met Tower, when you said that being so high above the city humbled you because the people below were just living their lives without sparing a thought for us.
As I was sitting yesterday, watching the monkeys splash in the water, I was thinking of that conversation. And I was reminded of a poem, written during the first World War.
There Will Come Soft Rains
By Sara Teasdale
(War Time)
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
When I studied that poem in college, I remember my classmates talking about how depressing it was to think that mankind could disappear without a trace; how futile it felt to believe that nothing we do matters in the grand scheme of the universe.
But I thought it was beautiful and comforting. Because no matter what horrors we visit upon ourselves, no matter how big our mistakes, the world goes on. And not just limps along, scarred and damaged, but thrives and flourishes. No matter how cold the Winter, Spring comes again.
When I imagine what you are doing while I’m gone, I know you are working hard. I love your drive, your determination, your ferocity. You refuse to just watch the world. You demand that it be a better place, and because of you, it is.
But I hope you are also finding moments to rest, to recharge and repair your heart. I hope you remember that night above the city and the universe’s permission to take a breath and rest awhile.
I loved every minute of our weekend together. My only regret is that we didn’t have more time.
I miss you, and I can’t wait to hear your voice again.
Clark
Before he could talk himself out of it, he folded the letter and slid it into an envelope from the desk drawer. He addressed it quickly, and then stepped outside and shot upwards, curving an arc over the South China Sea and landing with a thump in a quiet alley in Kuala Lumpur.
It didn’t take him long to find a post office, his heart in his throat as he handed over the letter. He tried to recall again exactly how she had looked at him when they said goodbye; the feel of her arms around his neck, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go. She would welcome his letter. He had to believe she would.
He stepped back outside the small building and took a deep breath. He felt better, more relaxed, having spent the last hour with her by proxy. Even though it would be a week or more until she received his letter, and weeks beyond that before they could discuss it, he felt closer to her just for having written it.
Before he had walked more than a block or two, he heard cries of distress. He paused, listening for a minute, and realized he was overhearing a robbery. He ducked into an alley and shot skyward, dropping back down behind a phone booth a half mile away, and darting out just in time to see the woman who had screamed, scrambling to hand over her purse to a man with a knife pointed at her. She was in shock and moving slowly, fear rendering her uncoordinated and clumsy, and Clark could see the man with the knife growing impatient. He took a step forward.
Clark lowered his glasses and aimed a concentrated beam of heat vision at the knife, heating the metal to scorching. The startled would-be robber dropped the weapon in shock.
The woman looked from the man, to the knife, back to the man, and then turned around to run, nearly crashing into a uniformed police officer. The officer assessed the situation quickly and moved in to make the arrest.
Clark smiled to himself and turned away, the shocked ramblings of the arrested man fading as he walked casually in the opposite direction.
He wandered the city streets, enjoying the sights and sounds. He loved the anonymity of being in a big city. It was so much easier to help and then slip into a crowd of strangers and disappear.
He made his way to the local food market, sampling the fresh fish and snacking on sweet pancakes filled with crushed peanuts and corn until he had his fill.
A display of postcards in a shop window caught his eye, and he thought of Lois again. He found himself inside without conscious thought, picking out a handful of cards for her. He flipped through the options carefully, choosing cards that showcased some of his favorite regions and attractions. And he imagined her smile as she opened her mailbox to find these reminders that he was thinking of her.
****
Clark floated gently to the water’s surface, breaking through and floating on the waves. The sun shone brightly, and he took a deep breath, and imagined he could feel his cells recharging.
After a while, he rose above the waves, floating in midair and allowing the sun to dry him. Eventually he drifted back to the beach, found his pack and spread out a blanket on the sand.
He lay back in the sun, smiling as he thought about the brightly colored fish that had played peek-a-boo with him in the coral reef, and the elusive octopus he had watched melt into the rocks, its entire body morphing in color and texture until it was almost entirely indiscernible.
Yesterday he had spent all day visiting island after island, dropping in for a drink or lurking to watch the size of the crowd. He hadn’t known exactly what he was looking for, only that he would know it when he saw it.
And he had.
Finally, just a short ferry ride from the city of Surabaya in eastern Java, he found her island. It was just as she described, beautiful and sunny, but private. There was no hotel, only a series of huts, each equipped with modern amenities, ringing the beach. In the center of the island, there was a restaurant and an outdoor bar, each staffed by locals, along with a small building he assumed was the administrative offices and front desk.
It was late afternoon, and the bar was far from crowded, but the bartender was as busy as he was likely ever to be, and Clark had ordered a drink and an appetizer, sitting at a small table off in the corner. He had eaten slowly, savoring the delicious food and the sweet drink, and had thought that he could see her here in a sundress, and a floppy hat with a paperback in one hand and a drink in the other. He ached for her then, dreaming of a future where they could visit together, where he could lay beside her on the beach talking about everything and nothing and sleep all night with her in his arms.
After he had paid his tab and made his way across the shared part of the island, a sudden movement caught his attention. A young couple was exiting the main building, a small paper gift bag in hand, and he realized there must be a small store inside.
A quick scan confirmed it. It was just the basics – some over the counter medicines, sunscreen and aloe, hats and towels. And there, by the counter, a rack of postcards.
He had smiled and shook his head, unable to resist. He found the perfect card, a sweeping photo of the beach showcasing a single hut and a couple lounging in chairs on the beach. They were facing away from the camera, but the woman wore a floppy hat, just as he had imagined her doing. He asked the woman working the register if he could purchase a stamp and mail it there, and she nodded eagerly in confirmation. He purchased the card and the postage and smiled his thanks as she handed him a pen.
He paused for a moment, trying to condense all the things he was feeling into such a tiny space. Finally he jotted down a single sentence and handed it back to the woman at the register, slipping out of the building and into the shadows before leaving the island altogether.
Today he was on a beach of a different kind, one of the Spratly Islands, a chain of a hundred tiny uninhabited islands in the South China Sea between Borneo and Thailand. The various islands were claimed by at least three different countries. But those claims were rarely acted upon, and the islands were almost entirely as they had been for hundreds or thousands of years, unspoiled by human hands.
Here he could relax entirely, free not only from the responsibilities of his job and his family, but free also from the worry that someone, somewhere would see him do something suspicious. Freedom to be fully himself.
This month every year gave him the opportunity to use his powers more freely. He thought nothing of floating up into the canopy, bouncing from island to island, popping over into the next country for dinner. He allowed himself to help those in need more freely, moving on before anyone could become suspicious.
But his time spent in uninhabited spaces was a step even beyond that. Here he didn’t have to look or listen or take any precaution at all.
It was the only time he was ever able to use his powers so openly, so naturally. The only time when he was fully, completely, himself.
He thought of her again, suddenly and without warning. Imagined her here with him. And then the familiar longing in his heart turned to worry. He tried to imagine telling her about himself – his origins, his abilities, his secret. Was it even possible to share this part of himself? He had never told anyone. Ever. And he couldn’t even imagine how he would start. How he would ever be able to say the words aloud.
“I’m not from here,” he said softly, hearing the words out loud for the first time in his life. “I was born on a dying planet, in a galaxy so far away that humans haven’t yet discovered it.”
He shook his head sadly, imagining her confusion.
His father’s voice rang in his ears. “They’ll lock you in a lab and dissect you like a frog.” The never-ending refrain of his childhood. His father was a good, kind, loving man, and Clark knew he had only been trying to impress on his young son the importance of keeping his differences a secret. But his stomach still turned every time he heard that phrase.
He wanted so badly to believe that he and Lois had a future together. That it was possible for him to have all the things he ever dreamed of – love, a family, a home with a partner who loved and accepted him exactly as he was.
But in order to have that kind of relationship, he would have to risk everything. Not just his heart, but his life, and his parents’ safety.
That had been a scary enough prospect in theory, when the woman he imagined telling was nameless and faceless. But now, he tried to imagine handing that precious, guarded secret to the country’s best investigative reporter and shuddered at the thought.
She was kind, and good, and he knew her goal was not to ruin the lives of innocent people. But if she believed the world had a right to know that an alien walked among them – an alien with super-human strength and abilities – she would feel compelled to do what she thought was right, even if it pained her to do it.
But maybe, with enough time, if their relationship grew, there would come a point when she wouldn’t feel that the public had a right or a need to know. He wanted to believe that they could reach a place in their relationship where she would guard his secret rather than expose it.
He sighed and tried to recall every sweet moment between them. Her head on his chest, her lips on his cheek, her fingers entwined with his. He tried to imagine the woman who laughed with delight as he spun her around the dance floor writing the article that ruined his life, and he couldn’t do it.
His mind drifted back farther, to their first weekend together, when the draw between them was so strong that she had changed her mind at the last minute and given him her number.
When his students had come flying into the conference room, eager grins on their faces, and announced that she was in the lobby and had asked them to find him, his heart had leapt. It was all he could do to walk down the long hall without breaking into a run. And then, when he had stood in front of her and said he had heard she was looking for him, she had whispered, “All my life,” and his heart had exploded.
It was that whispered confession, not meant for his ears, that had given him hope that she might feel the same things he did. It had given him the courage to call her, the drive to set up an email account to message her, the boldness to ask if he could visit her. And now he called on it again, to sustain him when he feared that the future he dreamed of with her could be his downfall.
