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It was on a Thursday during the seventh spring of his life when Jon Kent realized his mother was right: having superpowers did come with a downside.
It began as a typical day as he threw on the clothes his mom laid out for him and hurried into the kitchen to grab some breakfast before heading off to school. Jon thought about how lucky he was, to have the same domestic routine every day, adding in bursts of excitement that came from your dad being Superman. Every morning he woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast with his parents, got dropped off at school by them, then later got picked up by them; most of the time they both came, but sometimes dad got called away for superhero stuff.
Jon didn’t mind. He loved that his dad was Superman, and especially that he inherited his Kryptonian powers—it made life that much more exciting (and dangerous, but Jon didn’t understand danger yet in his young life). Like now, Jon tested out his super senses as he stood in the hallway, inhaling the scents coming from the kitchen: he detected scrambled eggs, sausage, English muffins, raspberry jam and chocolate milk, which meant his father was the one cooking this morning. Smiling, Jon flew into the kitchen, ducking beneath Clark just as he turned to place three plates filled with food onto the table.
“Slow down, bud!”
“I’m not Bud! My name’s Jon!”
Jon smiled when he heard his dad laugh, plopping down in his seat and licking his lips when Clark placed a plate of delicious breakfast in front of him. Clark ruffled his son’s dark hair up affectionately and planted a kiss against it, sitting down beside him as Lois hurried into the kitchen.
“Good morning boys!”
Lois did the same thing to her husband, ruffling the hair he had just spent twelve minutes slicking back and kissing it dramatically, making Jon laugh at his father’s expression. Clark smiled a second later, though, straightening his hair and gently pulling Lois back for a real kiss. Jon made a grossed out noise and focused on his breakfast, distantly listening to the news channel and the windchime rattling out on the porch. The chimes seemed louder than usual, even though it wasn’t very windy yet; it distracted Jon a little as he tried to zone in on what the weather reporter was saying.
Strange. That wasn’t making any sense to him, either—the colors were too bright, too vivid, too fast, making Jon wince when they kept changing rapidly, showing the wind and temperature patterns for the next few days. He looked down at his plate for some relief, shrugging the incident off, though the windchimes still seemed like they were dangling together right over his head, ting, ting, ting…
“Jon? Time to go!” His father said suddenly. How long had Jon been zoned out? “Don’t forget your backpack.”
Jon quickly finished the rest of his breakfast and flew into the hallway to pack his homework safely into his backpack, hurrying back to meet his parents at the front door. He kind of had a headache, but Jon was super, and supers didn’t let something like a headache bother them. Clark slid his dorky glasses on, pinching Jon’s cheek when he laughed at him, sliding into their jackets and heading out the front door together.
“How is it possible that we run late every day?” Lois wondered, groaning when she looked at her watch.
“Because you and dad spend so much time kissing—mwah mwah mwah!” Jon teased, making kissy faces.
“Well, the boy’s got a point,” Clark agreed, sliding a hand around his wife’s waist. “Last one to the car has to do dishes tonight!”
Jon took off in a sprint, although doing dishes was kind of fun when they had singing competitions, happily buckled in by the time his parents arrived at the car. Clark went down the list, making sure nobody forgot anything before turning the key and igniting the car’s engine; Jon actually flinched when it roared to life, rubbing his ear to try and readjust his hearing. Then his dad turned on the radio, like he always did, playing the 1980’s top hits countdown over the growl of the engine as they headed into Metropolis.
“It’s just another Manic Monday (ooh oh), I wish it was Sunday (ooh oh), caus’ that’s my fun day!” Superman sang in surprisingly good pitch.
“It’s Thursday, honey,” Lois laughed.
“Well, it’s still a great song!”
“That it is.”
Shaking his head, Jon turned to gaze out the window as they drove—usually watching the trees go by was entertaining to him, but today everything was off. The sunshine was too bright where it shone, glittering between the branches too quickly, blinding Jon every few seconds. When he tried to focus on the trees, their leaves and twists and bark, the images kept getting muddled, jumping from one miniscule detail to the next until they blurred into one continuous, dizzying picture.
Jon frowned, narrowing his eyes and trying to not focus so hard, to not look into great detail like his super instincts told him to: he tried, but then they got further into Metropolis, where the cars and skyscrapers and people were. Jon told himself to stop trying so hard, to just look, like normal people did, without zoning into all the microscopic details, but there was just too much going on—he couldn’t keep his attention on one object, like he was watching a movie on fast forward and the pause button was broken.
“Jon?”
“Huh?”
His parents were both turned in their seats, looking at him in concern.
“We’re here,” Clark said, giving him a little smile. “You better hurry, before the tardy bell goes off.”
“Right!” Jon nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.
“Forgetting something?” Lois hinted. Jon got up from his seat to kiss his mother goodbye, letting her boop his nose lovingly.
“Now who’s making us late because of kisses?” Clark teased. Jon popped one onto his cheek, too, then jumped out and hurried towards the school, giving one last wave to his parents, who waved back before driving off.
Today will be great! I did my math homework, and if I do well on the science quiz, I get a sucker! And Mom packed me vanilla pudding in my lunch—score!
Jon was happy as he put his backpack away and sat down at his desk, saying hello to his friends and greeting their teacher when she walked in. Some of the kids were being noisy, but they quieted down once the teacher called for attendance; Jon had just confirmed his presence when the final bell suddenly went off. Unprepared for just how loud it was in his ears, Jon flinched violently in his desk, grabbing his head and wincing in pain until the six seconds finally ended.
The echoing hounded his brain for several seconds after, the voice of his teacher sounding far away for another long minute. Jon slowly put his hands down, expression still pained as the headache he felt earlier fully formed, spreading from his forehead to his temples. He kept telling himself to be tough, that supers didn’t let something as silly as a headache stop them, pushing away his discomfort to focus on what his teacher was saying.
But his headache didn’t go away—and usually Jon loved school, but today, every little thing was bugging him.
The girl that sat in the corner desk kept chewing on her pencil. Jon could hear it each time she bit down, nibbling on wood like a beaver. When Mrs. Jensen wrote with her erasable marker, Jon swore he could hear it squeak against the white board at each stroke, never mind what she was writing—the red hue also drove him crazy, able to see the moisture from the marker, the bright lights overhead reflecting off the red and making it look extra shiny. Jon couldn’t hear his own pencil where it clumsily wrote his name, but he could hear the pencils next to him, and beside him, and behind him, scratching against paper as each student began their worksheet.
This seemed to be getting more intense with each class, and the consistent exclamations of the hourly bell didn’t help matters, startling Jon every single time with its deafening RIIIIIIIIIIIIING! He couldn’t even enjoy his vanilla pudding, feeling too sick and distracted to eat at lunch time, head getting dizzy as hundreds of conversations carried their way into Jon’s ears from every single table in the cafeteria.
The teachers were discussing their day so far, complaining about disruptive students and the ones falling behind. Sara from first grade was bragging about her new puppy. The janitor in the hall was sloshing his mop around after some kid dropped their food tray. Jon’s skin crawled when he heard the boy sitting next to him cut his chicken breast into pieces, knife colliding with the plate underneath it, clang! clang! clang! The girl across from Jon was smashing her beans up, creating a disgusting, moist smooshing sound with each press of her spoon.
By the time Jon made it to Mr. Henderson’s history class, he was feeling quite sick and overwhelmed, entire body tense with anxiety as he took his seat. All the things he was supposed to remember for their quiz seemed far away, buried deep within his mind behind all the clutter—Jon couldn’t even recall what the topic of the quiz was, what they had been studying for an entire week, things he swore he had memorized just this morning.
It’s alright…we have a quiz today, so it’ll be quiet, Jon thought hopefully. Yeah…once it’s quiet, I’ll be okay. Only a few more classes, then I can go home.
But it wasn’t quiet. Jon’s classmates weren’t being rowdy, listening to Mr. Henderson as he explained the quiz contents, but the classroom was by no means quiet, mostly because Jon could hear all the other classrooms, too. Down three hallways was the gym, where the first grade class was screaming and running and throwing things. In the room next door the third graders were doing a math game, cheering for each student that got an answer right. The librarian’s heels were clicking against the floor as she walked to the computer lab, and they may as well have been steps of thunder for how loud they seemed to Jon.
Stop! Why can’t I stop hearing?! Just stop listening!
No matter how much he begged his body, his super senses, they wouldn’t stop. Jon’s pleas went unheard by himself, vision becoming blurry as they welled with tears, not to mention the kaleidoscope of colors and pictures and shapes harassing him everywhere he turned. Jon tried to force the tears back down, because they were only making things worse, and he already felt uncomfortable enough, suddenly hyperaware of the sounds he was making: his sneakers squeaked against each other under his desk, his fingers were tapping against the wood at an alarming speed, tap tap tap tap tap tap tap, and his jeans were rustling and making that terrible swooshing sound…
When one of his classmates stuck their pencil in the electric pencil sharpener, a shrill, awful shaving sound filling the room, Jon couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t sit still when his body was begging for release in any form, running or twisting or squirming or flying, anything to brush off the building intensity it was trying to juggle—Jon jumped out of his seat and fled for the door, already halfway out when his teacher called for him.
“Mr. Kent! Where are you going?!”
Jon practically collapsed against the opposite wall, stopping himself just quick enough to not leave a human shaped dent in the bricks. He hoped feeling the rough texture of the bricks would help ground him, but they only made things worse, hoodie catching on their edges and making the fabric tickle Jon’s arm in the worst way. Jon didn’t think he could notice anything else, but he heard Mr. Henderson’s quick footsteps coming after him, step, step, step, step, stopping where his student was hunched over against the wall, trembling.
“Mr. Kent! What is the meaning of this?”
“I don’t feel well,” Jon whispered fearfully, curling in on himself tightly. “I don’t feel well…”
“Oh—I see. Well, I’ll take you to the nurse. Follow me.”
Bad timing—as soon as Mr. Henderson helped Jon up, the bell went off again. Jon quickly covered his ears, yelping as the ring blasted through his brain, momentarily overpowering every other noise. He could barely walk anymore, feeling like his body wasn’t real, like it was an outer shell he desperately needed to peel off, rip off, even, in order to be comfortable. Jon didn’t know where he was going or what planet he was on, led blindly to the nurse’s office as he kept his eyes pinched shut with agony, trying to push all the sensations far, far away.
When the ringing echo faded enough for Jon to hear voices speaking to him, he opened his eyes only to be greeted by a bright white light that hung in the nurse’s office, whimpering and rushing off to the nearby bed, diving into it and sticking his head underneath the pillow. The cushioning didn’t deter any sound in the slightest, Jon unable to unhear everything, no matter how hard he tried to turn off his super powers, powers he never knew could be so uncontrollable.
Jon never knew a dripping faucet could drive a person crazy. He never knew the sound of kids having fun outside could make him so angry. He never knew the world could be so agonizing, so frustrating, so overwhelming. Jon always saw the world as a great, wonderous place, one he saw from a unique point of view because of his powers—he didn’t see it that way today, though. Today, Jon felt nothing but fear, fear for everything out there that demanded attention from his little body, an entire world throwing all its terrors and woes onto him without warning.
Jon Kent didn’t feel very super at all.
The poor superboy whined in agony, and the tears started flowing shortly after. Jon didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was going to explode any second, a rocket that erupted after takeoff, a computer system that got overloaded with code. As if hearing every single noise on the entire block wasn’t enough, Jon’s body began to react to his emotions, heightening its sensitivity to feel everything surrounding it: the fabric of the pillow began to feel tickly, like a hundred spiders crawling over his hair and down his neck. His skin was flushed with heat, hoodie and jeans much too heavy, feeling like the humidity was past one hundred percent. Jon hated it, and worst of all, even with all his super abilities, he couldn’t make it stop.
Jon distantly heard the nurse and teacher talking to him, but their words were jumbled with everyone else’s; they tried prying the pillow away from Jon to examine him, no match for Superboy’s white knuckled, superhuman grip.
Make it stop…make it stop…please, make it stop…
Jon didn’t know how long he spent curled up crying under the pillow—he hopelessly wished his cries would somehow become louder than everything else and give him one thing to focus on, but all the other little noises continuously penetrated through. Pencils dropping, balls bouncing, teachers lecturing, keychains jingling, music playing…however long it was, to Jon it felt like forever: a terrible, awful forever that was really probably only an hour before a familiar steel grip was suddenly able to pull the pillow slightly off his head.
Jon gazed up through his tears, momentarily blinded by white light that seemed like the sun to his sensitive eyes—then he made out the concerned face of his father, his superhero, blue eyes looking greatly concerned. At first Jon couldn’t make out what he was saying, too many noises still rattling around inside his chaotic brain for him to focus; Clark leaned down further, until he was right up against Jon’s ear, pulling the pillow further away.
“Jon. It’s dad,” He said lowly, calmly. Jon could hear it, but that didn’t mean much—he had been able to hear everything for the past five hours. “Listen to my voice, okay? Block out everything else and focus on me.”
“Can’t,” Jon cried, choking on another sob. “It’s too l-loud! Too loud!”
Jon frantically tried to pull the pillow back over his head, but Clark stopped him, gently picking his son up and holding him against his chest. The world became a blurry, scary, enormous place again, hundreds of voices and sounds consuming Jon’s burnt out mind, each jumping to get ahead, to be the loudest sound. Clark was carrying him somewhere, but Jon was sweaty and twitchy, and his dad was holding him too tightly, and his clothes felt uncomfortable, and the tag from his jeans was tickling his tailbone, and…
The stupid bell went off again, or maybe it didn’t, but Jon heard it still, giving another anxious cry and clutching his father’s shoulders, coming close to ripping the fabric of his nice suit, though it felt like he just couldn’t dig his fingers deep enough.
“Wan-na…g-o…home,” Jon hiccupped, wondering if his dad could hear him through all the sounds. He could barely hear himself, but he still heard the rustling of Superman’s clothes loud and clear.
“We’re going, Jon,” Clark said quietly, though it may as well have been a megaphone to Jon. “I’ve got you…it’s okay…”
Jon waited to be placed inside their car, hearing so many engines and tires and stereos he really thought they were in one, but then he felt a cold burst of air shoot around him. The wind became so loud it quickly drowned out all the other sounds, swallowing them like a whirlpool; it flapped against Jon’s body, which unfortunately didn’t sound too great, either, Jon harshly covering his ears as he realized they were flying. They were flying higher and higher, all the sounds that had been harassing Jon getting further away. Their echoes were still there, though, not so easily forgotten as Jon whimpered against his father, still silently begging for everything to just stop.
Finally, it did.
Clark landed them on something, but Jon didn’t hear the landing. Maybe they were sitting on a cloud. He was too far gone to care, crying and sniffling as his father readjusted them, sitting down himself so Jon was on his lap. Clark cradled his boy against him in comfort, one hand holding his legs as the other wrapped around his torso, fingers rubbing Jon’s head in gentle strokes, trying to ease the raging headache.
Jon wasn’t even upset at how un-super he was being—he was just upset, and wanted his dad to hold him and tell him everything would be okay.
“Shhh…it’s okay, Jon,” Clark whispered, voice now sounding as soft as intended to Jon. “It’s alright…focus on the quiet…everything’s quiet up here. Focus on the quiet…”
Eventually, after another forever, Jon stopped being able to produce tears, just sniffles once in a while, head still throbbing as he held onto his dad as hard as he could, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him. As he grounded himself, finally able to focus for the first time in hours, Jon tried to listen to his father’s gentle suggestions: he was afraid, but he opened his hearing again, and heard exactly what Clark said: quiet.
Wherever they were, most of the earthly sounds Jon was familiar with had faded, and this new place really was quiet, an endless, vast area of emptiness. In fact, when the sound of his own pounding heartbeat wasn’t as loud, Jon realized the only other sound he could hear was his father’s heartbeat.
It was steady and even, calming, absolute, just like Jon needed. He began counting the beats, one by one, until after a while, it was the only sound echoing in Jon’s brain.
Sniffles sometimes interrupted Jon’s counting, reminding the boy just how exhausted he was: he felt like he had run a marathon. He kind of had, only it was a marathon of emotions and sensations, not the fun kind that gave you an adrenaline rush. Jon kept counting until he forgot which number he was at. Only then did he peek his head out from where he hid against his father’s shoulder and saw that they were in space—on the moon, to be exact. Earth was however many miles away, looking small and quiet from where they saw it, just a blob of green and blue, completely harmless.
Jon stared blankly past it, towards the endless black and the stars twinkling not too brightly. It was quiet. Sound couldn’t travel through space—Jon learned that in science class this year. It was comforting, knowing nothing would be able to break through the extensive space between them and the nearest planet, nothing loud enough to reach their ears. Unless something alien related happened, of course, which Jon guessed was the reason he could still hear Superman talking.
“You know…when you were just a little baby, you had fits like this, where you couldn’t verbalize what was wrong, and everything seemed to hit your senses at the same time,” Clark explained, keeping his voice soft and low. “Your mother would talk to you, sing to you, even cry with you sometimes, but nothing seemed to get your attention. There was just too much going on inside that super little body of yours.”
Jon listened carefully, letting Clark take one of his hands and run it along smooth fabric of his father’s suit. He felt the clean texture, the solid, inhuman muscle beneath, letting it ground him further to the present.
“You know she hates seeing you in pain of any kind, so she had the great idea for me to bring you up here, in space. The moment we landed here, you would stop crying. Everything would become still. I would stand here, holding you in my arms, just like I am now, and for a while, life would just…stop.”
Jon wanted that moment. He didn’t speak for a long time, quiet as he rested against his dad’s body, letting himself be not a superboy, but just a boy. After a while the supreme calmness of space finally brought Jon’s body to a standstill, easing his fried nerves and restoring him to how he usually was—well, mostly. He was still sad about what happened, and sadness wasn’t a ‘usual’ Jon Kent feeling.
He was thankful it wasn’t, hoping this feeling would never become a ‘usual’ for him.
Jon leaned back to look at Clark, rubbing at his red, tear stained eyes, not knowing how much it killed his father to see.
“It…got so loud,” Jon tried to explain, shaking his head when he remembered. “Every sound…I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t…make it go quiet. It was too loud.”
“I know…it gets to be too much sometimes, hm?” Clark said. Jon nodded wildly in agreement. “The special abilities we have are supposed to be gifts, but the truth is, sometimes they feel more like a curse. It’s difficult to turn them off when it gets overwhelming.”
Jon nodded again, glad he had someone in his life who completely understood him. While Jon Kent was virtually indestructible, today made him realize that he had weaknesses just like everybody else. In that way, he was normal—a normal second grade boy who lived in Metropolis with his mom and dad. That idea calmed Jon down a lot, realizing he didn’t always have to act like a superhero. Clark put a hand to his son’s face, bringing his attention back as he gave a reassuring smile.
“It hurts being super sometimes, Jon—but we’ve got each other. We’ll figure it all out together, right?”
Jon nodded, giving his father a warm hug before leaning back again, together looking out at the wide, empty space that separated them from earth, their home. Even with all its fears and toils, it was home—and while Jon was happy for the peace and quiet, he was also happy they would get to return.
***
A few weeks following Jon’s episode, Lois picked him up from school on another Thursday, and they drove home in the warm evening sunshine of spring. He hadn’t had another bad episode since that day, although the school bell still irritated him like no other, but Jon had been practicing his grounding with Clark for moments when he could feel overstimulation creeping up. Jon felt soothed by the trees he saw today, able to watch their blurry shapes without getting a headache; there were birds chirping and yapping on a streetlight, and Lois was singing under her breath.
“Just another Manic Monday…”
“Mom, it’s Thursday!” Jon giggled.
“Alright, you caught me,” Lois laughed as they pulled into their driveway. “Who can hug your dad the fastest?! Go!”
As soon as they were parked Jon shot out of the car, fumbling his backpack over his shoulder as he rushed into the house, using his super hearing to locate where Clark was in the kitchen. He was reheating the Indian takeout he picked up with his laser vision, just finishing with Jon’s plate when the boy flew into the air to give him a hug.
“Dinner’s ready—oof! Hey, kiddo,” Clark laughed warmly, swinging him around. “Are you and mom racing again?”
“Yup! I win!”
“He won, but really, I think I’m the real winner,” Lois said, leaning around Jon to kiss her husband.
“Well, both of you have earned a grand prize! Jon, I saw yours sitting on your bed—you better go check it out.”
“Is it a puppy?!” Jon gasped excitedly, spinning in the air and almost nailing his dad with his backpack.
“Is it a puppy?” Lois raised an eyebrow. Clark just shrugged and gave an innocent smile, which wasn’t reassuring. “Well, then, what’s my grand prize?”
“Whatever your heart desires, honey.”
“What if it’s not my heart that has desires—”
Jon flew down the hallway and burst into his room, tossing his backpack aside and quickly doing a scan of his room. There was no puppy, but there was a square box with blue wrapping paper and a gold bow sitting on his bed. That was weird—how did his dad know Jon would win the race today? Did he unlock new psychic powers? Did his mom tell him she was going to lose on purpose, just so they could get their son a gift? Superboy didn’t put anything past his parents. They were weird.
Jon made a curious noise as he put the box on his lap and sat down, Clark entering his room a moment later with lipstick poorly wiped off his lips and face.
“What’s inside, Dad?!” Jon asked eagerly, pouting when he tried to use his x-ray vision, only to see nothing.
“Specially lined so it doesn’t ruin the surprise,” Clark winked at him. “Go on, open it!”
Jon tore open the paper and tossed the box’s top aside, pulling the tissue paper up to reveal a brand new pair of dark blue headphones. They looked really heavy duty, not the average headphones Jon saw in stores, not at all like the flimsy ones he had to listen to music with; he inspected them carefully, surprised at how heavy they felt even beneath his strong hands. Clark leaned down in front of him, pointing at the logo etched into the side.
“I bought them from Wayne Industries,” He explained. “For full price, too.”
“Didn’t Mr. Wayne give you a coupon?”
“No! Can you believe that guy?”
Jon giggled, but didn’t immediately put the headphones on. He looked a little hesitant, like he was afraid they were actually a machine that sucked his brains out of his ears or something—after a moment of contemplation, Jon held them out to his father, who accepted the headphones and placed them securely over Jon’s ears. Then something strange happened: Clark was still talking, but Jon could no longer hear him. He saw his mouth moving, but no sound hit Jon’s ears.
Jon looked at Clark in confusion, glancing around his room to see if maybe he had stepped into some sort of bubble—there was no bubble, but Jon still couldn’t hear anything. All the sounds he had just been able to hear were no longer audible to him. Not the wind, not the house creaking, not Lois pouring herself a glass of wine, not even the family of birds that nested outside Jon’s window.
It was quiet. The world was quiet.
Clark slid the headphones down around Jon’s neck after a minute, smiling at him hopefully.
“Well? Did I get my money’s worth?”
“They…block out noises?” Jon clarified, touching the headphones in awe.
“Yup! They’re made with special materials I don’t know the names of, but I do know they’re strong enough to block out most sounds and noises. I figure you can take them to school, or whenever you go out somewhere in public that might get too loud.”
Jon slid the headphones off, examining them as he thought about all the new possibilities: if he got permission from his teachers to put them on at school, he would be able to focus better. Sometimes it was hard to do homework because he could hear people talking in other rooms, kids in gym class yelling and running…the playground especially got to be a little much. But now, if it did get too loud, Jon could turn it all off for a while. It could be like his own private moon, a quick fix when it wasn’t possible for him and Superman to fly all the way into space.
Relief. Jon felt relief.
“Um…Jon?” Clark addressed, getting a little worried at his son’s silence. “Are they…okay? If they’re not stylish enough, I can ask Bruce to make them a little flashier.”
Clark was silenced by Jon standing up to throw his arms around his father in a tight hug, still holding onto the headphones with one hand.
“Thanks, Dad! These are great! Really terrific!”
“You’re welcome,” Clark smiled, pressing his lips into Jon’s hair, feeling a sense of relief himself. “And if you’re having problems being super, just let me or your mom know, okay? We want you to tell us so we can help you in any way we can—all you have to do is ask.”
“I know. And you can borrow them, Dad, if it gets too loud at work, or at Justice League meetings!” Jon offered sweetly, holding the headphones out to his father. “And if I get too loud, you can wear them then, too.”
“Oh Jon,” Superman sighed, standing up and taking Jon’s soft little face between his large hands. “I wish you could stay my Superboy forever.”
“No way! I’m gonna be Superman one day, Dad, just like you! Superman 2.0! Well, not yet, though—I still have to pass second grade. But after that I will!”
Jon was glad to hear his father’s laugh, deciding to leave the headphones in his room for now, because it was dinner time, and he wanted to hear all about his parents’ day, and to hear their reactions as he told them about his own.
That night, after he did his homework and put his pajamas on, Jon put his new headphones on. He opened his curtains and plopped down on his bed upside down, so he could gaze out the window; a cool night draft snuck through glass, gentle and not at all irritating against Jon’s skin. It actually felt kind of nice. Jon closed his eyes for a few minutes, just listening to nothing, and when he opened them, he saw the bright moon peeking out from behind a row of clouds.
He didn’t pretend to be back on the moon with his father. He stayed right where he was, in his childhood bedroom in Metropolis with his parents right down the hall, glad he now had a quiet place wherever he went. As much as Jon loved hearing the world, his world, its sounds and noises and songs, he liked hearing the quiet, too.
Feeling the moon’s white rays beam against his skin, Jon closed his eyes again, and listened to the quiet.