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Picture Credits:
(An imitation of "White Tigers" in Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts by Maxine Hong Kingston)
When I was a girl, I learned that when I grew up I could be a writer. Writers can change the world, and women can be writers. Although I read many stories by women writers, there were few stories about women writers. There was a story about a girl whose teacher loved her writing, but criticized her many italics, and there were others whose stories were written as diaries. I learned that women are the best writers.
When I was a teenager, I read the story of Lois Lane, the woman who won the love of Superman. I remembered the comics I had read as a child in my uncle's house in northern BC; I remembered how much I had loved the story of how Lois Lane pursued the Man of Steel, at first only looking for an interview, then later seeking and winning his heart. I had once wanted to be a nurse, but then I read about the writer, Lois Lane. I would have to grow up a writer and I would have to find a Superman.
The first time I saw him, I would think he was a bird. He would be so far away, so high. Then I would realize that he was not a bird, and I would think him to be an airplane. He would swoop low and I would realize he was a man, a man flying without wings. I would be a young woman of 18 the day I saw my Superman fly away into the clouds. The critics would accuse me of repetition and no imagination, but I would write only about him. In my works I would beg him for a meeting, an interview. Every time he appeared, I would be there with a camera and a notepad. We would settle into a comfortable routine of cat and mouse.
Even when I got used to the game, I would want to meet him more. I would not care how long he dodged me; I would not give up. Suddenly, one day, another writer--a man--would catch my Superman and interview him. A rivalry would be birthed.
My Superman, now exposed by my rival's article, would come to me one day and carry me away.
* * *
The earth fell away beneath us, and I gasped and gripped his shoulders tighter. I had been on an airplane before, but this was nothing like that; here, the distance from the ground and the movement were so much more immediate.
"Don't be afraid," he said to me.
"I'm not afraid," I said out of pride.
("But it's so high," I would have said in real life, mad at story heroines for lying so much. "I'm terrified. Do you have to fly so high? So fast?")
"We're almost there," Superman said. "Relax."
We landed on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean with salt spray crashing on the shore. Superman steadied me on the wet, slippery rocks and helped me to sit down on a drier one. We sat for a moment in silence, gazing at the sea.
"I'm sorry," Superman said. "I'm sorry I gave your interview to Clark."
"It's okay," I lied. In fact, this was the meeting I had dreamed of for so long--the interview was secondary. Being with him was better than writing a story about him. But I still resented his openness with another, with my rival, a man.
After a few more minutes of silence, he took me home. The flight back was not as terrifying--maybe I was getting used to this. We landed on my balcony.
"Thank-you," I said, glad to be out of the sky.
"Good-night," he said. Then he flew away.
I watched him become a dark slash against the sky, then a dot, then a speck, then disappear altogether.
He came often after that, appearing at my window to take me on an adventure through the night. As I lost my fear of flying, our flights became exhilarating escapes and I began to look forward to them. Sometimes, he would let me glide alone for short distances, always catching me long before I began to fall.
At this same time, my feelings towards my rival were changing. Although we still competed for the best stories, we became friends. Sometimes we would even collaborate on a story, sharing the work and sharing the credit. Slowly, our friendship deepened and one day I realized I loved him. This surprised me, for I always thought I loved my Superman and no other. After much thought, I decided that Superman was not for me; he was a nice dream, but I needed someone real. So, when Clark asked me to marry him, I said yes.
When Superman arrived at my window that night, I had a speech planned for him. I was going to tell him that I loved him, but it could never lead to anything. I was going to tell him that I had found someone else. I was going to ask him to stop coming to my window. I never said any of those things. Superman spoke first.
"There's something I have to tell you," he said. "I live two lives: one as Superman, and one as a regular human being. You know me in both lives; I am Clark Kent."
I was stunned and angry. "Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked.
"I wanted you to love me for me, not because I am Superman," he said. "I'm sorry."
I forgave him because I loved him. At least now I knew how Clark had gotten the interview. After we married, I was so happy. Superman no longer came to my window, but we still went on late-night flights--now we jumped out of our own window together.
* * *
My real life has been such a disappointment.
"I wrote another story, Mom."
"Supper's almost ready. Would you set the table, please?"
I can't find my Superman. Most of me no longer believes he exists. But I still write; I must write. Maybe I can bring him to life with words.
Lois Lane and I are not so dissimilar. What we have in common are the words we write. And words are sharper than any two-edged sword.
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