Superman, and that secret wardrobe

'She is either a Clark or a Kent'.

I stared at the laughing adults, my only frame of reference in a fast moving world. We had a new house, grumpy neighbourhood, strange school, and information was being hurled faster than it could stick. Pennies had changed to coins with animals on them. I knew my big sister had started a new job, and had collections of the old coins, but I couldn't remember what she was doing. Her new wardrobe was exciting but I knew I wasn't supposed to be living in it.
School was weird; the teacher loved the fact that a Preppie could read well, but was not happy that I wouldn't stand up the front and read. My place at the Prep table had the wrong name on it. I didn't have a bag hook. I couldn't remember names, directions or find happiness.
But, words caught attention. If I read, or spoke or wrote, people turned. I was so tiny for five, that any progress grew smiles. I was never told what my sister did when she went to work. I couldn't remember her title, but it sounded impressive. I knew she had created a world of beautiful clothes that took me away from the vulnerabilities of the reality. That mattered. Somehow when nothing added up to answers, having a superhero about, created safety. I could only relay that with words.