July 27, 2007
Lazy L Farm, Quanah, TX
Jack smoothed the sheet as he tucked it around the edge of the mattress. It was pale blue—it reminded him of the color of a robin’s egg. He remembered the first sheets he and Ennis had ever bought together, way back when, when they bought this bed. “A man’s bed,” said the salesman, and they got men’s sheets—plaid—to christen it. Jack smiled, thinking of Ennis’s surprise. “I’m used ta white, Jack,” he said shyly. “I ain’t ever slept on colored sheets.”
He fluffed the pillow and propped it against the headboard. How many hours of conversation had they shared in this bed? Pillow talk, his mother used to call it, one of the few times she ever alluded to the intimate conversations that lovers share. He doubted she had many of those conversations with her husband—his father—but she knew he and Ennis shared countless private moments. “It makes me happy ta see you happy, Jack,” she had said on her first visit to the farm. “He’s a nice boy an loves ya very much.”
A soft noise startled Jack and he turned to see Ennis standing in the doorway. “Penny for yer thoughts, cowboy,” he said.
Jack shook his head. “Nothin special,” he said, “just thinking bout my mama.”
Ennis nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been havin a longing fer her too,” he said. “Guess when ya get older, people from the past are on yer mind.”
Jack smoothed the coverlet and stepped back. “One thing I’ve noticed bout memories—ya tend ta remember the good stuff and forget the bad.”
“Memory amnesia.”
“What?” asked Jack.
“Memory amnesia. That’s what it’s called. Memory amnesia.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Are ya kiddin?”
“Have I ever kidded you?” said Ennis, with a wink.
Jack looked at him, shaking his head and trying to hide a smile. “Let’s go eat,” he said, heading out the door.
(323 words)