A DAY IN THE LIFE

for Gen X

by Mackenzie

1:02 AM

When Kon wakes up on Monday morning, he discovers that, during the night, the alarm clock has broken. Set firmly at 1:02, the second hand clicks forward once, then back, forward and back, continuously, torn between one point and another. Kon decides to take it as a sign, of what he does not know, and burrows back down deep under the covers.

1:02 AM

"Conner Kent! You come down here and start your chores!" For an older woman, Aunt Martha's voice sure can carry with no trouble.

Groggy, Kon is unsure of how much time has passed between his first awakening and this second one. Instinctively, he checks the clock - 1:02. He groans.

6:10 AM

Kon glances at the kitchen clock before grabbing the customary handful of bacon that awaits him on the counter (he stuffs all four strips into his mouth at once - he's been told a few times that he has a big mouth, he guesses this proves the opinion) and slamming out the back door. The ground is crusty with frozen dew under his feet, crunching beneath the weight of sturdy Dr Martens. His breath comes in ghostly white puffs, and the sky is suspiciously cloudy.

The barn is warm, though, and Uncle Jonathan is already inside, milking a cow. They nod to each other silently as Kon takes a bucket and stool and sits, cracking his knuckles. The cow he sits next to takes a shuffly step away. She was the first cow he ever attempted to milk, and she's never forgiven him for it; the glare she'd given him when he first grabbed her teats looked very much like Tana's the first time she let him feel under her shirt.

"Aw, c'mon, girl," Kon tells the cow, and pats her flank.

"Moo," the cow lows threateningly, and if looks could kill, well, Kryptonite has nothing on Bessie here.

Kon decides it's best just to get to business. He squeezes, and the milk hits the bucket with a metallic hiss. He has to concentrate; even though he has the grace to spiral through the air without a second thought, delicate things make his big hands clumsy. But the bucket's only halfway full before his mind begins to drift away to the time when he first met Robin, and Tim had been flung over a cliff, and even though Kon was hacking his guts up from being -

The cow gives a startled moo when he squeezes too hard, and Uncle Jon calls out, "Quit daydreaming!"

6:58 AM

"Find it, find your tree, Krypto," Kon mutters. "Come on, it's right there!"

Kansas is not known for its many woodlands of wonder; there are all of four trees on the Kent property, spaced well away from each other, but Krypto needs to check each one, sniffing inquisitively and circling before moving on to the next. Kon helpfully shows him the right tree, the one Krypto insists on marking every morning, afternoon, and night, pointing and screaming at the uncannily deaf-eared dog.

When Krypto finds his tree - the last one - he makes a satisfied sound of recognition and finally lifts his leg; the urine steams in the cold morning air.

Back inside the house, Aunt Martha has left out a plate of pancakes and eggs, but they're only lukewarm. Kon covers it all with maple syrup and tries to make due, while Krypto falls asleep under the table with his head on his master's shoe, contented.

7:31 AM

The worst thing about Uncle Jon's truck, Kon figures, is not that it's old, an ugly color, loud, and without a decent radio, but that it's so damn slow. They have to leave extra early in order for Kon to get to school on time, and all suggestions that he be allowed to fly to school (which would save both time and gas, he thinks) are frustratingly ignored.

He excitedly tries to tell Uncle Jon about the new Found F150s, big trucks with a backseat and beds twice the size of the little pickup's, which, most importantly, can go really fast. Kon's a little sketchy on the details - he's not a car person, prefers to be his own personal mode of transportation, and so he has to rely on the advice of Tim, who avidly reads all the latest car magazines, and Bart, who digested the San Francisco Central Library's entire automotive section in about a minute.

Uncle Jon just laughs, "Well, that's all good to know, but I think I'll stick with what I've got. I've had good luck with this before, and like they say, if it ain't broke, don't fix it." He glances at Kon, and without missing a beat adds, "Now, put on your glasses, Conner."

Kon frowns, takes them from his front pocket and shoves them on his nose.

He supposes he's broke.

8:23 AM

It's true; Kon doesn't know a thing about the French Revolution. He deserves the 'F' he got on this test - he wrote that the Bastille was the kind of bread Marie Antoinette said not to eat, after all. But he also has a very good excuse for the 46% he scored. If Mr. Muehlbauer, his history teacher (Clark's too, once, and neither man ever lets him forget it), would listen, he could very calmly explain that he'd meant to study, really, only an alarm had gone off in San Francisco Savings and Loan, and while the Titans (just this little weekend extracurricular he's involved in, it'll look great on a college application, he swears) don't usually deal with simple robberies, this group had been heavily armed, and they'd all been close by anyway. One thing led to another, and -

And Kon is not stupid. He'll take the 'F.'

It still would've beat the 'my dog ate my homework' excuse, no contest. Though Krypto's been known to do that on occasion, too. He's priceless, yes, that hound.

10:17 AM

In Biology, they are going to dissect fetal pigs. The teacher passes them out thoughtlessly, gloved hands smacking down on each table pathetic little piglets with scrunched up eyes and pink protruding tongues as he lectures about the anatomy of mammals, and how a pig's internal structure is remarkably similar to that of a human being.

Kon stares warily at the fetal pig, sickeningly sweet formaldehyde glued to its form. He does not see much resemblance between himself and a dead piglet, but then, Kon is not all human - Kryptonian blood (cloned, but almost as good as new) runs through his veins also. Really, he sees more similarities between the pig and Elizabeth, his lab partner. She will not help dissect the pig. She shoves the instruments into his big hands and claims that she gets too squeamish to help.

"But I can't!" Kon protests. "I mean, I can't even milk a cow with these - "

Elizabeth assures him that these things are not quite the same, and hurriedly begins to take down notes.

But Kon doesn't want to do it either. He's seen what the inside of a person looks like - bloody and wet and writhing, still alive. He's seen bones snap, crack, pop, like the cereal, their owners screaming to God and their assailants for mercy. It is nothing like this nearly cute little piglet, whose bones sound like cellophane crunching and who lets scalpels poke halfheartedly at its innards without protest.

The teacher pauses and tells Kon that he's glad to see him take something seriously for once.

12:12 PM

If the rest of the Titans went to Smallville High School, they'd fit pretty seamlessly into the little cliques that cluster in the cafeteria at lunch.

Kory would sit with the prettiest, popular girls, far away from Raven, who obviously would want to be with the Goths at the other side of the room.

Gar, he goes with the drama kids, and after some consideration, Kon places Vic with the hall monitors, standing sentry along the back wall.

Bart is in with the random weird kids, who wear clothes that don't always match and laugh at jokes no one else ever understands.

Cassie, maybe, would end up with the athletes, as a softball player or something.

Tim is the hardest to pin down - Kon can see him with the geeks, the ASB, and the jocks, so finally he just gives up and imagines all the Titans sitting right here with him, at the table in the corner where he eats Aunt Martha's big turkey sandwiches every afternoon. The picture, all of them together, is so right that Kon can't bring himself to ask even the weird kids if he can join them.

1:58 PM

He's forgotten to do his book report. The plan was to get it done over the weekend, but funny how meeting up with an angry, violent Deathstroke can change priorities; Of Mine and Men, Lennie and Squiggy - wait - didn't seem as important when his best friends were in danger.

And the scary thing is, he lives for that danger. He doesn't want to die, of course not, and he wants his friends alive; at night sometimes he still wakes up in a sweat, remembering the look on Bart's face as he died (sort of). No, he wants them alive, forever. But - the adrenaline, the air searing over his skin, the crack of knuckles against stone and steel and bone, the, the, the -

Kon's pencil splinters in his hand.

He has a headache, situated vicariously between his eyes and hidden under the soft curve of his skull, and now he has nothing to write down the homework assignment with.

4:00 PM

The detention slip just said 'Insolence.' It was given last Friday; Kon can't remember exactly what he did to deserve it, but he sat for an hour as punishment for the transgression, staring up at a clock in comfortable working order until he was told he could leave.

The halls are empty as he pushes through the door to the front courtyard. It has begun to snow, fat flakes dancing down from the sky like fairies, but no matter how earnestly Kon chants, "I don't believe in snow, I don't believe in snow, I don't believe in snow," they keep falling.

There are times when he can hardly remember what Hawaii feels like, and there are times when Hawaii is all he can remember.

5:49 PM

At dinner, Aunt Martha talks about the pies she's going to make for the church fundraiser (apple and pecan), and how the barn cat had her kittens in the late afternoon. Uncle Jon tells them that he wants to start the harvest early next year, that there's a model of John Deere that's looking pretty good, and how one of the neighbors lost a cow during the night. They talk of their day. Kon only tells Krypto to stop begging and asks that they pass the ketchup, please.

8:15 PM

Clark calls in; he does so a few times a week if he can't come to visit, just to let his parents know that he's still all right. He talks to Aunt Martha first, for a long time, and she nods and clucks her tongue sympathetically. Uncle Jon speaks to him next, and repeats the news about the harvest, tractor, and cow before passing the receiver on to Kon.

Clark is the only person who can leave Kon in total awe and complete self-loathing all at once. His voice is so calm, so reassuring, always just shy of selfless martyr. He wants to talk about Responsibility, of doing what's Right and Expected - the same, same, same old song. There are adjustments for Kon to make still, but soon - and Kon can practically see the American flag unfurl behind Clark's head, hear the inspirational choir begin practicing in the background. It's all stuff Kon has heard a million times before, from at least a dozen different people, and he understands the importance of it all. He just doesn't want to hear it again, doesn't want to think about it anymore - it makes him think of the apartment complex being destroyed, of Tana dying before he could even blink, of all his failures, faults, defeats.

But, "I heard about how the Titans handled the situation with Brother Blood," Clark goes on. "You did well - I'm proud of you."

And Kon wants to grow up to be just like him.

1:02 AM

When Kon finally finishes his homework, the house is quiet. He can hear the rustle of every page as he closes his algebra textbook, no super-hearing necessary, and each floorboard squeals when he undresses and slips between the cool, crisp sheets that smell a little disturbingly like Aunt Martha. He closes his eyes, waits for inevitable sleep to envelope him, but it does not come. After a long time spent staring up at the ceiling, he tries counting sheep - no, cows, the farm doesn't have sheep - and counts backward from one hundred, then a thousand. He tosses and turns until the sheets are untucked and hopelessly twisted.

Finally, Kon reaches below the covers with a sigh and grasps himself - his secret weapon against insomnia.

He lets his fingers do the work; this is instinctive now, no need to consider technique at this point. Just lays back, legs bent and spread, boxers bunched around his knees as he works himself, a tight, slow pump with his thumb curving across the head. Dimly, he thinks of Cassie at first, then Batgirl, Kory because what red-blooded male wouldn't, Knockout (in spite of everything), Tana (pushes away the memory of that face guiltily), and for a few very confusing moments, Tim, and then he's coming, coming.

There is no moan, no gasp, just the awkward sound of solitary heavy breathing. After a few long minutes, he arches his back, tugs the boxers back onto his waist, and wipes his hand on the bedsheet. Another heavy sigh, and with an arm tucked lazily under his head, Kon closes his eyes.

He still can't sleep.

Another day begins - sometime after 1:02.

Next to the bed, the broken clock ticks on.

back