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Norman Rockwell Life
by Kate Bolin
Chloe's convinced she's fallen in a Norman Rockwell calendar.
It's the only way to explain the way Lana and Clark are looking at
each other -- tender eyes and wide smiles, hands clasped
together as they walk, autumn leaves falling around them.
And next Clark will save a small cat from a tree and Pete will shine
shoes and the Thanksgiving turkey will be laid out by Clark's mom
with all the fixings and all the rosy-cheeked children all around will
smile and thank the Lord Jesus Christ and the good old USA.
She's sure she's trapped -- the all-plastic wipe-off Norman
Rockwell calendar, perfect for the kitchen, order now -- she's stuck
in November, and no one's gonna flip the page and move them
onto the next month.
They smile at each other again, and she's sure that they'll start
jumping through pile of leaves or spinning around or something
equally cinematic. She's walking ten steps behind them, and
she's stuck in this Norman Rockwell calendar moment, because
there's no other way to describe how perfect the entire scene
looks.
Perfectly artificial.
She licks her lips and she thinks she can still taste Lana's lip
gloss.
She knows it ended, but maybe...
Maybe someone will turn the page.
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