Dream Girl: Chapter 13 - Reflections

Two weeks later, Chloe still lay in a hospital bed. Her condition was unchanged, although on the last brain scan Dr. Matthews ordered the activity had increased greatly. Clark hadn't moved far from the chair beside Chloe's bed. He stayed beside her, memorizing every strand of hair, every freckle, and every curve of her face. Clark counted her breaths, her heart beats, and her pulse. He watched anxiously as she moved restlessly in her sleep, waiting for her to open her eyes after a deep intake of breath. Nurses came and went. Dr. Matthews updated him almost daily and always left him with a reason to hope. The staff was quiet, respectful and quick, always aware of the vigil husband-to-be ever by Chloe's side.

One morning, on the 17th day of Chloe's hospitalization, Clark strolled down the hall of the 4th floor Post Op Ward. "Hi Gina. Hi Donna. You doing good this morning?" Clark greeted the nurses he saw most every day.

"Fine. How are you today, Clark?" Gina, Clark's favorite nurse, responded. She was about his mother's age and always spoke to Chloe as if she were awake.

"Feeling good. I think today is gonna be a good day. Anything happen last night?" Clark asked, as usual.

"Now, you know I'd call you if something did. She had a good night. Very quiet and restful," Gina answered exactly as she did every morning when she saw the Kent boy.

Gina Vasquez had been a nurse for over 25 years. She'd seen many coma patients come and go. After the five day mark, people began to pull away. The patient became something you visited on holidays and special occasions.

When Gina met Clark, she didn't pay him much attention. He was young and good-looking. The girl probably was his high school sweetheart and they'd gotten engaged right after graduation. Love like that normally didn't last. You changed; you grew as you got older. And it didn't help when the other half was unconscious. Gina gave him three days before his visits became shorter and more infrequent.

After Chloe had been in Gina's ward for a week, Gina decided Clark wasn't like the others.

Clark Kent arrived shortly after 7:30 each morning, showered and with a clean shave. He carried with him two cups of coffee from a place called The Talon and a folded Daily Planet under one arm. He would set one of the cups on the table by Chloe's head and then drink the other one, having a one-sided conversation. Once he was done with his coffee, Clark would open the newspaper and for the next two hours would read. Aloud. Cover to cover.

Gina normally got off around the time Clark would have lunch. There were two girls, she didn't know who those were except for they were very close friends of the couple, would alternate bringing him something to eat. One, a tall girl with chestnut colored hair would usually huff in with a mess of bags smelling of burgers and other fried goodies. The two would eat right on the bed tray, laughing and talking boisterously, including Chloe in everything that passed between them. The other was a delicate looking brunette who glided through with a ruffled picnic basket and a pink thermos. Gina noticed, along with other nurses, this lunch was usually quieter than the other. If the brunette didn't get Clark out of the room as she tried to do every time, the two would eat at the table over by the window, talking in hushed tones or staring morosely at the walls. When this girl left, Clark would go back to his chair and stare at Chloe like he was looking for answers. Later, when Gina would return for the beginning of another twelve hour shift that began at midnight, she'd find Clark still there, head lolling on his shoulder. Gina would shake him gently awake. While she took Chloe's vitals, Clark would pour out the second cup of coffee he never drank and pack up to go home.

"See ya tomorrow?" He'd ask.

"Yes, bright and early. You have a nice night," Gina told him.

"You'll call me if anything changes?"

"Definitely. Go on, now. Visiting hours ended three hours ago."

And so passed the days of Clark Kent.

"You working tonight?" Clark asked, pulling Gina from her reverie.

"No. I took tonight off. My grandson's championship little league game is tonight."

"Well, good luck to your grandson," Clark told her with a smile.

"Thanks, Clark." Gina watched him walk away and down into Chloe's room. Maybe today, she hoped.

"Good morning, Chloe," Clark chirped as he entered her room. "Heard you had a good night." Clark continued the chatter for a good hour before he picked up the Daily Planet. This morning, he read absently, his mind somewhere else.

His dad died 4 months ago today. For the first time this morning, he woke and didn't expect to see his father in the kitchen, slurping coffee from his cowboy mug. He didn't expect to find his mother in the kitchen making a big breakfast for her two hungry men. What he really didn't expect was to find a large bouquet of purple irises sitting on his kitchen table. The note was from Lionel Luthor to Martha Kent, commending her for the lovely speech she gave on Farmer's Rights. Clark's stomach turned over. Feeling no remorse, Clark plucked them from their crystal vase and chucked in the garbage before he stormed out of the house.

Laying aside the newspaper, Clark took Chloe's hand in his. For purely selfish reasons today, he wanted her to wake up more than ever. He needed to talk to her. To hear her voice, feel her hand squeezing his back. To tell him he wasn't being irrational or acting like a petulant child, which is exactly what he was acting like, she would tell him.

Clark never realized how much he leaned on Chloe. Clark Kent, the man would could lift 5,000 times his own body weight and more, relied on this little wisp of a girl for his strength. With his father gone, Chloe had been the only one he could really talk to; she was the one Clark depended on to keep him grounded. Not Lana or Pete. Not his mother. Chloe, the one laying in the bed looking so small and fragile. She stood by him come what may and supported him in everything. Did she know how much he needed her? Did she know how much she meant to him?

Right on the heels of those questions came others, more difficult and more uncomfortable than the last. What were he and Chloe? What were he and Lana?

Chloe and him tried the romance route before. For one shining moment, Clark could remember being completely happy. With Chloe in his arms, gazing up at him, a sense of contentment as he had never known stole over him. And then he turned into Clark again.

Clark didn't regret saving Lana. If it were Pete or Chloe, he would do the same. He'd even run out on dates with Lana to get those two who always managed to find sticky situations.

Remembering the summer they'd been 15, Clark wanted to make it up to Chloe for the night of the Spring Formal. But she shot him down, serving him with the friendship speech. Looking back now, after the past years, Clark realized he grabbed it and ran. He wondered, sitting in Chloe's room watching her sleep, if they really had been saving their friendship or saving face? Returning to what was comfortable for each of them? He didn't know about Chloe, but Clark admitted to himself he sure didn't fight for them. Lana had been unreachable. Untouchable. Safe. Chloe was real, warm and standing right in front of him. Clark put his head in his hands.

All these questions! Would there ever be answers? And if so, what were they to be? After several moments, Clark did something he never did when sitting with Chloe. He laid his head down, taking her hand in his again and fell asleep.

To read Ch. 14, click here.