Author Topic: Across Pont Champlain  (Read 2705 times)

Offline malina

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Across Pont Champlain
« on: June 28, 2007, 03:25:18 am »
My friends... I have written something a little bit strange, I think.
You see... some months ago, I became haunted by this song that I heard. It's called "Your ex-lover is dead" and it's by The Stars. I had never heard of either before. The first little bit of it is the verse at the beginning of this story.
The song is so haunting because it explores what is for me the most sad and depressing alternate universe of all... what if two people part and never meet again and just.. somehow.. forget? And life just gallops bizarrely on..
I'd love comments.... I said 'TBC' but... we'll see. Thank you for bearing with me and reading!
xo m.
_________________________________

God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
You smiled and said yes I think we've met before
And in that instant it started to pour -
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name..


- "Your Ex-Lover is Dead', The Stars

It was a million miles from the purple skies and inky nights of rural Texas; Paris like a thousand points of muted amber light, and Jack still not used to the flickering paraffin lamps they used over here since the global collapse of the oil industry back in 2012. It was what brought him over here, though, and what made him, once and for all, a rich man... richer than old Newsome had ever been, the oil they'd discovered in Texas, some of it on Jack's own ranch, now worth a hundred times its weight in gold as it fueled the last remaining combustion engines for the rich and powerful heads of Europe. Jack Twist, past retirement age now, black hair shot all through with silver, sitting in a silently purring electric taxi in an eight thousand dollar suit; Jack lookin' across the seat at the shielded face of the man he never thought he'd see again, the elderly man who had staggered so awkwardly in the gilded candlelit reception hall that Jack just had to whisk him outa there, if only to watch Ennis stare down at his twisting fingers, not talking, not moving, lookin' like he'd do just about anything rather than look Jack in the face.

Ennis was as cold and numb as if he'd been submerged in a mountain stream in mid-January. Hadn't felt right from the beginning, man of his age so far from home for the first time. He'd ignored all his daughter's arguments at the beginning, till he realized what it was really all about; she wanted to come along on this trip, now that his son-in-law, who Ennis'd always thought of as a Wyoming rancher, was suddenly a Food Systems Analyst and summoned to the United Nations Global Food Management Conference. Jenny wanted to come, and was afraid to leave Ennis alone. Thought he'd set the place on fire or somethin', or else just forget to eat an' end up droppin' dead, likely as not, with no one around. Then they'd come home to a fine old mess. Ennis, realizing what was going through Jenny's mind, said okay. 

Said okay, an' look what happened. First night here, at that fancy reception in an ill fitting suit borrowed from his son-in-law, Ennis found himself staring into a man's blue eyes and losing his grip on the last fifty-five years. Like slipping into some mountain stream, or into a dream of a boy that never could have been him, not Ennis del Mar, doin' things Ennis del Mar never woulda done. That's what his mind said, trying to shut out memories of a summer on a mountain. His body told him different, remembering another man's face close to his own, blue eyes intense, curved lips parted, meeting Ennis's own and making him feel suddenly as helpless as a newborn calf, legs like jelly, insides melting. Ennis remembered mountain skies and tall grass all around him, swaying and towering over him, as he and the man lay in an indentation made by their bodies, grass scratching their naked backs, panting and weak like they'd run one of those marathon races. Next second, Ennis remembered even more.. remembered being cradled and rocked like a baby against a man's chest, in a man's strong arms, and that moment, candlelight and black suits all around him, he thought he must be dying. No pain in his body, but his whole being just givin' out from under him, like Ennis del Mar could stop existing now – isn't that what dying would feel like? Ennis stumbled and caught the side of a table with his hand. Jack put his hand out and caught Ennis by the elbow. Come with me, he whispered smoothly, his rich voice a mix of accents now in addition to the Texas twang. Out into the rain, and in the back of this long, strange, silent car.

Jack leaned forward and gave instructions in French. Conduisez, s'il vous plait. Just drive. Can't be him, Ennis thought. No rodeo cowboy from Wyomin' talks like that. Next second, remembered the eyes. Couldn't see the man's blue eyes now, too dark in the car and Ennis was lookin' down. Was him, alright, though. Why now? Ennis thought. Why like this, why here? Ain't seen the man since the summer of '63.

Shit, thought Jack. He doesn't even remember my name. He's probably gonna pretend he never got the card I sent him in '67, or the one two years after that, after my first divorce. Thought movin' back to Wyoming would help me find him – now here he is, more'n' fifty years later, in a car in Paris, an' the son of a bitch won't look at me. Well, we'll just drive. Didn't come all this way through life by givin' up easy. Nor by pushin', neither. We'll just drive. Conduire. He wanted to grin, proud of his French, acquired so late in life; stopped himself, though. If he started grinning, next thing, he'd be chatting up a storm. Not what he wanted; not the thing to do in this case. He would just sit quiet in the shadows of the cab, sit there all night if need be, let Ennis talk first.

Shit, look at his rings, Ennis thought, his gaze finally moving from his own hands to Jack's. Rings on a man – like that Godfather or somethin', except, Ennis somehow knew, Jack's weren't like that at all. They were tasteful, gold and a few dignified stones accenting the warm and supple fingers... Ennis's mind convulsed with another involuntary memory, the man's hands touching him, both of them naked in the sun, those fingers tracing a warm line of pleasure all the way down his belly, down further to his cock, those fingers cradling and encircling.. Shit, Ennis thought again. True, then. Those flashes, those thoughts, those memories he'd pushed down as soon as he felt them surface... all true. Course they were. Never even thought otherwise, really, 'cept those thoughts were never no use to him after that summer.

He suddenly thought back to an episode that happened about three of four years back, comin' to the dining table at Jenny's and seein' Hank with the paper all spread out, readin' an item to Jenny. They both stopped an looked at him as he walked in, slight apprehension in their eyes. What? He asked. Whatcha hidin'?

Same-sex marriage, pop, Hank replied. United Nations declared it a basic human right. Ain't no states can outlaw it now, two men or two women wanna get married. Hunh, Ennis grunted, not really interested. People could do whatever they damn well pleased. His grand-daughter, Francie, bounced on his knee then and said that she wanted to marry a girl, a girl, a girl... an' she had the girl all picked out already, an' it was her best friend, Ericka. An' they was goin' ta live together an' have nine or ten babies. Ennis grinned and pushed the girl's silky hair off her face. She just looked so damn happy, and Ennis felt something big in his chest start to melt. But later, clearing up after dinner, Jenny apparently felt the need to apologize for the topic of conversation. Ennis froze, feeling like he'd been caught out.. froze, holding a plate with a grip strong enough to crack it, an' managed  to say, S'alright, hon. Fifty years too late, though, he muttered to himself, no idea he as talkin' loud enough to be heard.

Fifty years too late, he muttered again, in the back of the silent cab cruising through wet Paris streets. Nah, said Jack. Look at those lights, Ennis. All those goddamn lanterns. Like we're back in the fuckin' nineteenth century! Whole different world now, not too late for anything.

Dreamer, thought Ennis, not saying it out loud. Always was a dreamer, this man. Lyin' under the stars an' makin' wishes, sayin' how we're gonna come up to the mountain summer after summer an' herd sheep, makin' me believe it too, when we both shoulda known it could never be that way. And, rememberin', he felt in his gut all the pain of the first moment of separation from .... from this man. This man, Ennis's lover. Felt it the way he'd felt back in August of '63, a full fifty-five years ago now, watchin' the black pickup drive away without a backward glance, knowin' that his life was over before it was even startin', knowin' he had to put this man an' his blue eyes out of his mind forever, his stomach clenching in shock and pain like someone was pullin' his guts out, yard by yard. Felt it again now, in the Paris cab, same gut clenching pain, or maybe a heart attack, maybe he really was dying, 'bout time anyhow.

Crouchin' in the culvert, back in '63, Ennis was suddenly sure his friend would come back an' find him. Like his mind couldn't deal with so much pain all at once and he took refuge, for the last time ever, in fantasy. A warm hand on the back of his neck, a soft voice. Y'okay there, friend?

Fifty-five years later, doubled over in the cab, Ennis felt it. Like he was dreamin'.. warm fingers on the back of his neck, that firm hand touching him, fingers stroking, the hard ridges of warm gold rings. The  low, rich voice, instantly recognized, through years and continents. Jack's voice. Jack. The last thread holding memory back broke in Ennis's chest, and with it the pain suddenly melted too. Ennis looked the man full in the face and spoke his name. He remembered everything, and maybe it wasn't goin to kill him, or maybe it was. No matter. “Jack”, Ennis whispered, voice ragged. Saw the warmth spring into the blue eyes, so he said it again. “Jack”.

TBC.
« Last Edit: June 28, 2007, 03:36:57 am by malina »

Offline Daphne7661

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Re: Across Pont Champlain
« Reply #1 on: June 28, 2007, 09:32:43 am »

Fifty-five years later, doubled over in the cab, Ennis felt it. Like he was dreamin'.. warm fingers on the back of his neck, that firm hand touching him, fingers stroking, the hard ridges of warm gold rings. The  low, rich voice, instantly recognized, through years and continents. Jack's voice. Jack. The last thread holding memory back broke in Ennis's chest, and with it the pain suddenly melted too. Ennis looked the man full in the face and spoke his name. He remembered everything, and maybe it wasn't goin to kill him, or maybe it was. No matter. “Jack”, Ennis whispered, voice ragged. Saw the warmth spring into the blue eyes, so he said it again. “Jack”.

TBC.

Malina, I LOVE THIS!!!!!

It is so perfectly out of the realm of any thinking I may have had of our Jack and Ennis, and yet, totally believable...  bringing Jack and Ennis full circle...  Jack, the dreamer.. the optimist.. the one with all the zest and desire for the "sweet life" and yet 'settling' for money instead, which is as Jack was B.E. (Before Ennis)....

And Ennis...the frightened child... afraid of facing his own demons and emotions.  One can hide from oneself for only so long...  Eventually, all those stuffed emotions come out in the face of another situation, or the situation itself!!!   I love that Jack and Ennis meet back up again after 50 some odd years, and yet, that spark.. that flame is as easily lit as it was on Brokeback during that summer long, long ago....

...Nice to know ya, Ennis del Mar...

Offline malina

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Re: Across Pont Champlain
« Reply #2 on: June 28, 2007, 01:15:17 pm »
Thanks, you guys! I am so bewildered by where my mind leads me sometimes  ??? .... and I never in my life thought I'd be attempting to write something 'futuristic'... truly, never! But that's just how it came out... and I'm glad if it rang true or held together.
xo m.