After nursing a single beer for three hours, Jack left the bar, drove to the nearest motel, and got a room for the night. He threw his bag on the floor and flopped into the almost comfortable chair next to the floor lamp. His thoughts crashed around his brain like waves hitting rocks when the tide came in.
Finally, he walked over and sat at the desk. Pulling out a piece of motel stationary and an envelope, he started to write, hoping his frustration, anger, sorrow and determination could be read in the words he wrote.
4/6/74
Ennis –
Finally figured it out today. You’ve got no time left for me, never had, never will. No time for yer ‘summer friend’, no time for the love I’ve sent you all these years, just no time. The seasons change, people change, but you don’t, can’t, won’t. Still locked up in the past.
Well, friend, I’ve got no more time left for this revolving door you got me spinning in. I can’t stand it, so I’m gonna fix it. Gonna find better things, gonna spread my wings, travel some other roads, find out what else is out there in the distance, better things, away from you. Don’t spend time wondering why, just look in the mirror.
Forget Brokeback, forget postcards, forget May, forget me, just forget everything. I quit.
Jack Twist
*******
April 24, 1967
“Yeah, Maryanne, what is it?” he growled into the receiver.
“Got a delivery for you out here, Mr. Twist.”
“I’ll get it later, too busy right now.”
“Fella that brought it says he has to give it to you personally.”
Fuckin’ process servers. “Okay, send him in.”
He didn’t look up as the door opened and closed, didn’t register it when the lock clicked, had to finish organizing these client files before he left today. “Just leave it on the desk.”
A hand set down a well-worn rectangular white gift box with the name ‘Dayton’s’ on the cover, and pushed it across the papers towards him. He froze. He knew that hand as well as his own, knew each callous and scar, knew the opposite hand, knew the body they were attached to. He had kissed every square inch of that hand, had felt it run through his hair, caress his back, his chest, his… He swallowed hard, still not looking up.
Knew that kind of box, too, from his childhood, hadn’t seen one in over ten years. His trembling hands reached for the box, pulled it over close, one hand held it secure on the desk, the other lifted up the lid. He sucked in his breath, and stared through blurry eyes at the contents.
Inside lay a shiny rectangular object, slightly dented, the raised letters of the maker hardly legible, worn down nearly even with the surface. He ran his fingers across the surface, caressing it, swore he could feel it hum, could hear the music, could see the fire, could smell the smoke and the pines and laying shoulder to shoulder next to him their backs against the big log.
“Took it from your pack that last day, after we tussled. Had to have somethin’ to remind me that you were real, that those days were real, that the thing we’d had was real, even if you weren’t there. Those years between, when I couldn’t stand it, I’d get it down from its hiding place, run my fingers across it, close my eyes, find you there. After you found me, still did it, more often than before.”
A drop of wet marred the month-end sales report.
“Didn’t treat you like I should’ve all these years, never meant to make you feel second best, ‘cause you’re not. You’re always on my mind, Jack.
“Never took the time to say things I should’ve, like how happy I am when I ‘m with you, that you and me... that I got… Never been much for words, don’t know where all this is comin’ from…” The tone of voice changed. “Yes, I do.”
Jack lifted the shiny object from its home, and held it gently in his hands, afraid it would break if he grasped it too hard. Two drops of wet landed on the slick surface, trickled down onto the palm of his left hand.
“You were right what you said in that letter, been locked up tight by the past, lettin’ it tell me what to do. Sometimes easier that way, not havin’ to think, but know now I was wrong. Didn’t hold onta you when I should’ve back then, ain’t gonna make the same mistake now. Hope your love hasn’t died, mine hasn’t. Give me another chance. Please. Know I don’t deserve it, but if you would, if you do, I won’t let you go again, Jack, I swear.” Even though he was not the swearing kind, and Jack had never asked him to swear to anything.
The hand put down a wrinkled rectangular piece of paper on top of the other papers on the desk, and pushed it towards him. Trailways Bus Line. Riverton to Childress via Denver. $84.26. One way. No return.
Jack’s heart pounded so hard he thought it could be heard down the hall, in fact he hoped it would be, ‘specially in the office of a certain someone. Pounded from hearing him say the words he’d wanted to say himself for so many years, but never had the courage.
He finally looked up into care-worn loving dark brown eyes, hardly noticing the hat held by the brim in the fingers of both hands, or the body nervously shuffling from one leg to the other.
“That’s the most you’ve said to me in ages.”
“That’s more’n I’ve said to you ever.” Ennis looked down at his hat. “Should’ve said it before, and then some.”
“Time wasn’t right, ‘til now.” Jack paused and smiled. “Looks like you’ll need a lift wherever you’re goin’.” He looked Ennis in the eyes. “Where are you going?”
Ennis looked right back into Jack’s. “With you. Where’re you going?”
“Home, my former home that is, to finish packing. Wasn’t sure after that, just away from here. Tonight.”
“Mind if I hitch a ride?”
“No, don’t mind, want that, and want you, always have, but I can’t do all the driving any more, you gotta do your share.”
“Can do that, gonna need some help, though, ain't had much experience drivin' long distances.”
Jack wiped his face with both sleeves of his shirt, stood up, took a last look at the papers on this desk, shrugged his shoulders, and walked over to get his hat from the horseshoe hook on the wall. On his way back towards the door, he picked up the ‘Dayton’s’ box, replaced his harmonica in it along with Ennis’ one-way ticket. Closing the lid, he offered the box to Ennis. “Here, keep these safe for us.” A statement, a question, both.
Ennis took the offering, letting his fingers linger around Jack’s as he did. Holding on tight to their box, he reached his free hand around Jack’s neck and pulled him close for a kiss.
“You bet.”
*******************
No Time, The Guess Who
You Were Always on my Mind, Willie Nelson
Topic: Introducing the "Jack with Ennis" Fan Fic Game - the BetterMost Edition (Read 2160755 times)