Public Relations

The world had changed so much since his adopted parents had found him on their property. Not just where he was at, off the family farm, where he spent his childhood doing chores, but how people interacted with each other. He bit the inside of his bottom lip and then graced the woman who had wave him over with his classic smile. He said nothing about the crime in progress which was going on a block over, Twitter had taught him that lesson when he didn't stop for a photo after he retrieved Suzy Henderson's cat from a tree. Child hater they had called him.

The soles of his red boots pulverized the gravel beneath them as he patiently waited for the women to explain what she needed, as if he could not see the flat tire she stood beside. Her hair was bright red, very clearly dyed at home, and sprung from her head with a life the rest of her aging body was lacking. The thick rim glasses were not completely unlike the ones he sometimes were, as Clark, of coarse, but the lenses in her were so thick it was as if she was looking at him through water. She used a thin scarf, with the pattern of leopard skin, to cover the folds of her neck, making every effort to look younger than she was. He thought about that day he had tried to dye his temples grey, believing it would make him more sympathetic. His Teflon strands of hair had shed the white coloring before he stopped for lunch at Ray's pizza. The woman talked on, while he worried about doing the wrong thing and getting beat up by the web. It was a world that cared more about sparkle than substance.

In the alley behind the building a block over, he could her the woman struggling for her purse. He glanced that way, as if listening even more carefully to the woman, who seemed to be explaining something about her cousin's car, and peered with his X-ray vision through the wall. There was a single man, who with a powerful tuck broke the strap of the purse and pulled it from the crying woman's hands. Superman's smile faltered causing the woman with the flat tire to stop talking. He looked back to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I've got this ma'am," he said and strode toward the car in a way that caused his cape to flutter behind him. The iconic pose was enough for her to give him the grace he hoped for.

A small crowd gathered as he knelt beside the wide black Buick. He looked for the place the jack would go and with his right hand he lifted the car a full six inches off of the damaged tire. With his left hand he loosened the lug nuts and freed the tire. It was hard not to hate the young man taking a video with his iPhone, but he smiled and posed. He removed the tiny screw, which had caused the flat, then with heat vision and cool breath fixed the hole. Their was a murmur of oohs, but one person in the back was commenting how it would never last. Supe had done the same thing for her sister and a day later she had to replace her tire.

He imagined flying into the mountains, or into space, or anywhere that wasn't here, but he didn't know how. He could fly, but he didn't know how to fly away.

He pressed his lips to the nozzle of the tire and inflated it to approximately the correct pressure. He looked up and winked when it was ready to go. He replaced the wheel back on the studs and tightened the lug nuts with his hand. He smiled thinking about the man who would try to remove them. He lowered the car to the ground and stood giving a salute.

He hugged the woman he had helped for a few photographs, then started getting his picture made with a few of the bystanders. He would wrap he arm around them and smile, trying to figure out the time he could leave and not be branded. When it came, he couldn't find the woman anymore. She was on her own. The crowd had cleared out and the woman drove away. Superman didn't feel like flying, like he was worthy to fly, so he walked home to his apartment.