Chapter 7

“Oh, goodie—on a scale of one to ten, with one being out of breath and ten being completely rested, how do you feel?” she asked, eagerly waiting for my response.

“Nine and a half. Do you want me to do it again?” I asked standing back up, ready to go.

“You don’t mind, big brother?” she asked.

“No, not at all, how about I take an out and back trip to Smallville? You know that distance ... I could go all out, without all the turns I just did. I’ll go to the ‘Now Entering Smallville’ sign, touch it and come right back, OK?”

I saw her clear the stopwatch and she raised her hand and said, “Go!”

During this run, I tried to notice some landmarks along the way, got to the sign and went straight home! I dinged the bell and saw her click the stopwatch. My energy dropped a lot. As fun as this has all been, I’m ready to stop.

“I’m going inside for a hot shower, meet you in the living room,” I announced to her.

As I walked inside, I gave Mom a kiss, and she said, “You’re stinky, get out of my kitchen!”

Thirty minutes later, Kara and I met up, sitting side by side on the sofa.

Using her hand calculator, she had results.

My times, around the farm, were all within the same 1% of time. My dead run to Smallville and back, came out to my running at over 252 miles per hour. That could mean I will be getting faster as I get older?

“Kara, to tell you the truth, there were times during that run, that I thought I had left the ground. But, I was on my feet, as I decelerated to touch the sign. It was weird. What did you see, as I came back home?”

“Probably, because you were wearing a blue shirt and dark blue pants, it was mostly a blur. A big blue blur! I can’t think of any other way to test your speed?” she admitted.

“Maybe I can,” I said, getting up. “Mom, can we go into Smallville tomorrow morning, there is something I need to purchase?”

“Sure honey, I’d let you take the truck, but you know your father, ‘Not until he’s 16 will he get to drive alone!’”

“Nice imitation of Dad, Mom ... need any help while I’m in the kitchen?”

“Set the table honey, please?”

“Sure thing, I’ve got some cool news to tell you and Dad at dinner.”

“That’s nice dear, you are such a good son,” she said. I glanced over at Kara and she was sticking her finger down her throat, mouthing ‘Suck up’ to me.

Kara, Mom and I were stringing popcorn to put on our tree that I chopped down myself with my bare hands.

Long-time neighbor, Jack Kirby, let us come on his property and take the tree of our choice for $15. He had a big stand of trees on the northern end of his property. He doesn’t do this with anyone else, Dad said. It goes way back.

Mr. Kirby is a widower, and has a foreman in charge of getting his farm work done. He is older than dad, I think in his 70s. His was born in Metropolis, but moved out, with his wife, in 1990. She died in 1994. He spends all his time writing stories, under various pseudonyms. He won’t let us read them. He has four kids, all of whom have stayed in Metropolis.

Kara and I, using Dad as our chauffer, went over there, paid the fee, and took a speed walk to the stand of fir trees. She wanted one that was twenty feet tall, but that wouldn’t fit inside our house.

I found one, that looked just right, and cut it down with a single karate chop just above the snow line.

“Show off?”

I gave her a kiss, and she held my hand as I brought it back to our truck. As we were tying it down, Mr. Kirby came out and said, “That’s a nice big one, you got there, Kal.”

“Yep,” I said. “She wanted one even bigger than this.”

I got a slap on the shoulder from her for saying that.

“You would have needed a bigger truck,” he said, then turned to walk back inside his home, that had lights up, but only right above the front door.

This is something we do each year. This was the first time, my sister and I got to pick out the tree by ourselves.

So far from town, even a small set of Christmas lights might burn our house down, before a fire engine ever showed up. With that in mind, Mom typically has us load up the tree with the standards, but we start with a brand-new set of lights spreading it very thin along the bottom and the top of the tree. Kara and I shared the responsibility of unplugging it from the wall each night.

Next, I wrapped the base of the tree in plastic, to collect the needles that always fall all. Kara covered the plastic with a homemade Christmas tree skirt.

At that point, with both Mom and Dad watching, the two of us kids loaded up the ornaments, going from top to bottom.

“Don’t forget to put the heavier ornaments closest to the trunk, Kal,” Dad often said.

After ornaments, the popcorn strands go around the perimeter in four different levels. I picked my sister up to give her access to the highest point of our fourteen-foot-tall tree.

I handed her some Christmas candy canes, to put on the upper branches.

Helping her down, I stopped for a quick kiss, before we added the tinsel. We had silver, gold, blue red and yellow to choose from. Mom watches us very closely constantly saying, “Not too much, kids,” more than once.

Lastly, Dad opened the box that had a topper that Grandpa Sam Kent brought from Ireland over 70 years ago.

It was hand painted very thick glass, with many different colors to it. Very pretty!

He handed it to me, and as I was going to hand it to Kara, I started to float, above the floor of the house.

“Kal!” my sister said, “What is going on?”

“I was just thinking how I wanted to get to the top and put it on, and this happened.”

“Well, do it then,” my father said, adding a chuckle.

I leaned in and floated higher, getting to where I needed to be, and easily slid the topper on, to applause and awe from my family.