2018 Writing Contest
Kryptonite
Marlene Ironside
She was totally out of patience! It wasn’t the
children, although Shelley refused to eat the
healthy, home cooked omelette and Jackson was
hollering that he couldn’t find his soccer socks.
Those were just daily details that a competent,
creative Mom and kindergarten teacher could
handle in a heartbeat.
No, the exasperating issue was David, her
brilliant distracted husband. No newspaper, no
cellphone, just those glazed eyeballs that say
her of a time when she had marvelled at this
tall, gentle scientist.
They had been quite an item. Denise had been
a popular, vivacious cheerleader disillusioned
with relationship prospects. Dealing with
conceited, aggressive boys vying for her attention
made her appreciate the quiet, humble academic
who sat next to her in the compulsory ‘Life
Management’ course. Group work got them
acquainted and the relationship slowly evolved.
“Good morning, my little superhero,” she whispered.
he’s consumed by something far from home and
family. “David!” she repeated, louder and closer
to his ear. “Jackson’s first soccer game is at 4:30
this afternoon. You said you’d be there.”
“Yes, that should work,” he muttered without
commitment as he headed for the door without
his lunch.
Seven-year-old Jackson, wise beyond his
years, entered the room and grasped the
situation. Dropping his soccer socks at his
chair, he scurried to grab Dad’s lunch, smiled
conspiratorially at Mom and raced to the door,
thrusting the juvenile Superman bag into his
father’s thin, agile fingers. “Have a good day,
Clark,” he grinned up at the man he idolized.
“Thanks, Bruce. Buckle up in the Batmobile,
right?” momentarily David seemed aware of
his surroundings, fist bumping his son and
smiling sheepishly at his pretty wife. The small
exchange between father and son reminded
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The whole ‘Superman’ joke had started because
such a brainiac had attracted ‘Dynamite Denise’.
Then, as now, she felt confident that she was the
only woman for him, but she couldn’t compete
with his other love, his research.
Meanwhile, across the city, another little
boy slowly raised his tired eyelids and saw his
Grandma there, intent on his face. He didn’t
have the energy to smile, but his intense brown
eyes focused on her. “Good morning, my little
superhero,” she whispered. She had always
called Tommy that, but after the devastating
accident that took his parents and older sister,
it took on new meaning.
Tommy had been clinging to life for days,
cognitive and serious. He knew that ‘innovative
new procedure’ meant that he was the first
and there were no promises. The surgeons and
research team had met in his room, explaining