Superman, Jr.

“Your coffee is getting cold.”

“Thanks.” He picked it up,  sipped it. “I had the strangest dream. I was Superman’s son. They named me Superman, Jr. and made me dress in the red and blue suit. I had to wear it to school. The cape was always in the way.”

She started laughing. “That is pretty weird. Could you fly?”

“That was the thing. I didn’t have any of the powers. I was just a regular human. But I still had to wear the suit. My mother was the same mom I have now, only she was a real jerk. Your father works very hard. The least you can do is honor him by wearing the suit. It was awful. I wasn’t super at all.”

She leaned to kiss him, smiling. “Well, I think you’re super.”

That evening they grilled out in the apartment’s rooftop garden, the lights of the Chicago skyscrapers gradually coming on as the sky darkened into sunset. It was getting colder, so for once they had the place to themselves.

Again and again, he found himself irresistibly drawn to the ledge. He looked down on the cars and taxis rolling down Michigan Avenue, so near and yet so far.


Sunday Photo Fiction