Jack Twist watched Ennis walk away with a sadness he couldn't find the center of. He sighed as he returned to the tent to continue packing his gear, get ready to return to the real world. Ennis was already at camp, and must have discarded his bloody shirt to wash later, and changed into the only other shirt he owned. Jack sat still, as every movement split his head, hurt his heart.
He had an idea: just a spur of the moment thought. Looking both ways, Jack swiped Ennis’ bloody shirt, and stored it with his own meager belongings. He didn’t know exactly what he would do with Ennis’ shirt, but he knew why he took it.
“I’m not mad at you, Ennis.” Jack thought as he continued to pack his things. He imagined himself in his bedroom up at Lightning Flats; Ennis’ shirt draped over a chair. Jack saw himself caressing the shirt, outlining the collar soil with a finger. He’ll drape the sleeves around his neck, imagine being held by his love – remember happier days. But he will never wash Ennis’ shirt. The blood is a reminder of the hurt he experienced as they parted ways that magical summer. Jack learned a bitter lesson that summer: with every laugh, there is a tear.