(Here's my 'drabble', I know, it's way over again, but it's almost done...)The Find
(July 2003)
The artist got up again and made coffee. Soon the coffee machine was gurgling, the only sound in the room. The birds were singing outside. Ennis closed his eyes, but there could be no sleep. The artist came over behind him and laid a gentle hand on his back.
“You okay, are you tired?” He asked, in a quiet voice, “I can drive you home if you like.”
Ennis looked up. The sun was now streaming in behind the artist, giving him an ethereal glow. Ennis shook his head “no, I’m fine, I’ll be okay, some coffee will be good, but just go on.”
The artist made two cups of coffee, and brought them back to the table. “You’re sure?” he asked again. Ennis nodded. The artist continued “I went out the day after the funeral, I went down there so fast, I forgot half the things I needed. I bought a sweatshirt, a couple of shirts and some underwear too.” The artist laughed “I forgot those.”
”I wasn’t out long but when I got back Bobby was in her bedroom. It looked like everything was turned upside down. There were blouses, socks, stacks of letters. Lots of letters, from friends, far off relatives, business people. Also, there was the package on the bed, the one with the postcards. I asked Bobby about it. I asked if I could look at it. He didn’t answer. So I opened that package and I began reading the postcards. At first they didn’t make sense, the notes on them, the two different handwritings. They didn’t make any sense at all.”
“The first one that got me thinking was one that said something like, ‘we had a great time, just like I hoped. Ennis brought some cans of beans, everything was so good, but not the same.’ I remember thinking ‘how could beans be so important? Not the same as what?’”
“I sat there for a while, just looking at them. Then all of a sudden, it hit me. It just hit me like a ton of bricks falling right on me. ‘Bobby, did you know your Dad was….was gay?”
“He didn’t answer, not even a shrug. I wanted to ask him again, but I left it at that. I asked him what he wanted to do with the postcards. All he said was ‘don’t care.’ So I asked if I could have them, he said yes. I don’t know why he didn’t care.”
“I spent hours reading them, over and over. I couldn’t stop. As much as I loved Bobby, I never imagined that anyone could love someone as much as he loved you.” Ennis let out a ragged breath. The artist went silent for a moment and then went on, “I decided at that moment that I had to find you. I wanted you to have the postcards, I needed for you to have them.”
Ennis's breathing then became even more frayed. The artist placed an arm around his shoulders. Ennis looked at the ghostly face, but he could not see. All he saw was all the missed chances in front of him. The voice dropped to a whisper “I also had to meet you, I had meet the person who could inspire so much love.”
The artist’s hand moved tenderly across his back. Ennis closed his eyes, he longed for sleep and for dreams.