November, he wants to say, argue again that it'll all be okay if they can't just hold out until November, but he doesn't, he just grunts a yeah and nods his head, lowered, and walks to his own truck.
Seats are hard and cracked and he catches his pants on the door as he gets in, whispering a curse or maybe just thinking it as the engine growls to life on the first, second, third turn. Soon 'nuff, ain't nothing but the road ahead, the road and the trees and forever and Jack Twist in his goddamned rearview mirror that he can't help but look up at.
It's a long time before Jack gets all the way back into his truck and turns the key, letsd the engine cough to life. It's a long time that he stands behind the open door, watching over the steel frame as Ennis drives away.
One more barrier between them. But glass and steel ain't so immoveable as time, distance, money, promises. Ennis' no-good life is between them.
Jack's daddy is between them.
The memory of Ennis' daddy is between them.
And still Jack watches, unsmiling, his expression set, as Ennis drives away, and in the back of his mind remembers cold rushing wind, crackling embers at his feet, arms around him and a low voice in his ear.
Sleeping on your feet like a horse.
And a lullaby, hummed low, so low it might have been the wind, the river, the trees. Might have been Jack's imagination.
He closes his eyes. And when all the dust from Ennis' truck as settled back on the road, he slides into the seat, shuts the door with a clang.
Ain't nothing Ennis don't know how to do better, and he chokes back words unsaid words never said never fucking said not even back there, back on brokeback, or back in that place he can't hardly remember anymore.
And part of him wishes maybe his truck would break down, there in the middle of the road, so's he wouldn't have to drive away, leave this place, leave Jack, go back to reality. Go back to anywhere. But the trucks never been anything but a damn traitor and it chugs along until he can't see Jack anymore, until the road's a fucking blur and only partially because of the speed, and he bloodies his knuckle chewing on it as he repeats to himself
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no subject
Seats are hard and cracked and he catches his pants on the door as he gets in, whispering a curse or maybe just thinking it as the engine growls to life on the first, second, third turn. Soon 'nuff, ain't nothing but the road ahead, the road and the trees and forever and Jack Twist in his goddamned rearview mirror that he can't help but look up at.
no subject
One more barrier between them. But glass and steel ain't so immoveable as time, distance, money, promises. Ennis' no-good life is between them.
Jack's daddy is between them.
The memory of Ennis' daddy is between them.
And still Jack watches, unsmiling, his expression set, as Ennis drives away, and in the back of his mind remembers cold rushing wind, crackling embers at his feet, arms around him and a low voice in his ear.
Sleeping on your feet like a horse.
And a lullaby, hummed low, so low it might have been the wind, the river, the trees. Might have been Jack's imagination.
He closes his eyes. And when all the dust from Ennis' truck as settled back on the road, he slides into the seat, shuts the door with a clang.
Let be, let be.
no subject
Ain't nothing Ennis don't know how to do better, and he chokes back words unsaid words never said never fucking said not even back there, back on brokeback, or back in that place he can't hardly remember anymore.
And part of him wishes maybe his truck would break down, there in the middle of the road, so's he wouldn't have to drive away, leave this place, leave Jack, go back to reality. Go back to anywhere. But the trucks never been anything but a damn traitor and it chugs along until he can't see Jack anymore, until the road's a fucking blur and only partially because of the speed, and he bloodies his knuckle chewing on it as he repeats to himself
November.