Dear Emmaline Chapter 4
Title: Dear Emmaline
Author: Bud [cwby30]
Genre: au
Disclaimer: Brokeback Mountain and these characters (except the OCs) belong to Annie Proulx, Jake Gyllenhall, Heath Ledger and others. I'm just borrowing them for a short time. No disrespect intended. I do this for me for fun, and make no money off any of it.
Summary: A letter forces Ennis to rethink his relationship with Jack, and sends him on a trip to Lightning Flat, where he meets more than Jack's parents.
Author’s Note and/or Warnings: PG13 [M/M situation suggested]. Follow the links!! I appreciate all the comments. And I apologize for the long wait for Chapter 4. Things happened, should be smooth riding from now on.
Thanks again.
Bud
Chapter Four
Gradually he climbed up from the depths of unconsciousness. Eyes closed, he moved his head back and forth, realized he was lying down, and tried to sit up. It didn’t work. He fell back, took a deep breath, exhaled and lay there experiencing a variety of emotions. He felt exhausted but invigorated, dizzy but centered, scared but fearless, hesitant but determined, alone but enfolded. Why?
This time he made it. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and sat, head in hands, elbows on knees. Cracking his eyes open, he looked downwards and saw a blue shirt in his lap. Smiling he grasped them to his chest. And then it hit him, the why.
The shirts! The pictures! The maelstrom! The woman!
He looked down at the floor, but found no trace of the postcards. He looked up at the rest of the room, but nothing was out of place to his eyes.
Did that really happen?
Do it! Fix it! echoed in his mind.
It must have happened. But…
Do it! Fix it! echoed in his mind.
This demand raised more questions than answers. Sure, he had to take charge of his life and make things right with Jack. But what did “fix it” mean, what was “right”? Agreeing to see Jack more often? Four times a year? Every month? All the time?
He shook his head, trying to dislodge those images from his youth, of what had been an older man, left mutilated in a ditch to die because of whom he lived with all the time, whom he loved, and then trying to dispel the hateful harsh words of his father that Earl deserved what happened to him just like all queers deserved it.
NO! He didn’t deserve that! Jack don’t deserve that! I don’t deserve that!
He pressed both hands to the sides of his head, so it would not burst from all the emotions. He jumped up, forgetting that the shirts still remained in his lap. Suddenly remembering it, he grabbed for them and caught them before they could hit the floor and maybe disappear like the postcards from the maelstrom when they hit the floor.
Did that really happen?
The quick motions caused him to lose his balance and almost fall. Catching himself on the iron bedpost, he stumbled over to the window, and plopped down heavily in the chair. Desperate to fill his mind with other things, he looked about the room. He was surrounded by Jack, pieces of his life, all there, yet jumbled, waiting for someone to sort them out again, put them all together again in the right order. The small boy cowering from his father, the bitter teen forced to leave high school to work on the family ranch, the crestfallen youth finding and losing love in one summer, the young man running away towards another dream, the older man coming back again and again.
But why? Why come back here? Why come back again and again? Why endure the scorn and hate? Why? What is he lookin for here? What was he lookin for and dreaming about as a kid lookin out this window? What is he lookin for now? What does he hope to find? Why keep comin back when I kept turnin him away? Why?
He heard no answers, only tears welling up, tears of frustration and pain, tears he could not stop even had he wanted to, tears falling drop by drop onto faded blue chambray. He thumbed over those tears, trying to wipe them away, as if by doing so he could at least wipe away the pain he had caused Jack. He discovered he could not, instead the tears became imbedded in the fabric, a part of it.
Nothing ever comes easy to me, never!
His frustration boiled over even more as he rubbed the fabric harder. And then stopped. His were not the only tears embedded in faded blue chambray. They joined others, long ago dried up. Layer upon layer. He was not the only person to hold these shirts and spill tears of sadness and frustration on them. Jack had spent years on years feeling this fabric, as he felt his hopes and dreams fade away.
He had his answer to “why” Jack came back here again and again. As Jack sat here, and looked around here, he could pretend he was a kid again, with his hopes and dreams still intact and his life still in front of him. Before rodeo, before Brokeback, before… before him, before Lureen and Bobby and LD, before disappointment after disappointment. Jack could put up with his father for a little while, so long as in return he could have time to sit and dream again.
And cry into the shirts. Cry for the love that Ennis would not acknowledge, cry for the dreams slipping away, cry for the little cow and calf operation that would never be. All because of him.
But he could fix that now, he could agree and move up here to live with Jack.
But what if people find out about Jack and me? What would they do? What would he do?
But some people already knew about them. Jack’s folks knew, and Jack was still alive and healthy. Alma knew, and he was still alive… well, sort of. Sometimes he though Don had figured it out, made sense if he did, offering the cabin more than that one time. Maybe others knew and said nothing.
They had been safe up on Brokeback, with no one around to see, no one to know. Or had they? Jack said Aguirre came up twice, and both times had some powerful field glasses. What if he..? What if he’d seen something?
Shit! Bet that fucker saw us doin’ it! Would explain why Jack changed after that, didn’t wanta do it out on the meadow, had to be in the tent, or somewheres really private. Bet that’s why Aguirre made us bring the damn sheep down early, too. And why he snarled at us that last day, and threw the money on the desk. Damn him! But…he didn’t do nothing else, didn’t pull out a tire iron or nothin… Paid us what we earned up to then, and just tossed us away, like we were trash. Maybe Jack was right, maybe most people don’t like it, but they ain’t gonna hurt ya, just turn their backs on ya.
He remembered what he told Jack that summer, about this being a one-time thing between them. One time thing is right, Jack fuckin Twist! One and only time for me, you’re the one and only one for me. Knew durin that first year and every time after that I should never have let you outta my sight. Not going to make that mistake this time, not ever again.
But would Jack let me go now? Turn me away like I did after the divorce? That phone call to Somebody New! Has Jack really figured out how to quit me, like I dared him to do not even a week ago? What should I do? What if…?
His previous resolve began to crumble, despite all he had gone through in this small room, despite the evidence of the shirts held tightly to his chest, despite the maelstrom and the woman’s insistent voice.
What if what? What are you afraid of? What is your worst fear? echoed in his mind.
That voice!
What was he afraid of? Losing Jack. How to keep him? He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do. Man up and tell him, tell Jack, accept Jack’s love, and fight for it, fight to keep it and them both alive and well for as long as they lived.
What are you afraid of?
What was he afraid of? Nothin, not no more!
Then what are you waiting for? Do it! Fix it!
Voices from downstairs reached up him and penetrated his state of mind. He released his hold on the shirts just enough to check his old pocketwatch, and found that only twenty-one minutes had passed since he walked up the creaking stairs, not the eternity it felt inside.
He carefully slipped his shirt out from inside Jack’s shirt, and put Jack’s shirt inside his.
My turn, Bud, my turn to hold you and protect you and love you and make our dreams come true. But twenty years won’t be long enough, have to be double that at least. You’ll see.
Standing up on no longer wobbly legs, he looked about the room. Something had changed. He had changed. The room felt warm and inviting now. Made him smile, calmed him down. No more cryin here!
Good! About time!
Startled, Ennis looked about, saw no one.
Did that really happen? Yeah, guess so, must have. Better to believe that than think I’m goin nuts.
Straightening up, he and the shirts, still safely held in his arms, walked downstairs together.
tbc
Chapter 5: http://cwby30.livejournal.com/33369.html
Author: Bud [cwby30]
Genre: au
Disclaimer: Brokeback Mountain and these characters (except the OCs) belong to Annie Proulx, Jake Gyllenhall, Heath Ledger and others. I'm just borrowing them for a short time. No disrespect intended. I do this for me for fun, and make no money off any of it.
Summary: A letter forces Ennis to rethink his relationship with Jack, and sends him on a trip to Lightning Flat, where he meets more than Jack's parents.
Author’s Note and/or Warnings: PG13 [M/M situation suggested]. Follow the links!! I appreciate all the comments. And I apologize for the long wait for Chapter 4. Things happened, should be smooth riding from now on.
Thanks again.
Bud
Chapter Four
Gradually he climbed up from the depths of unconsciousness. Eyes closed, he moved his head back and forth, realized he was lying down, and tried to sit up. It didn’t work. He fell back, took a deep breath, exhaled and lay there experiencing a variety of emotions. He felt exhausted but invigorated, dizzy but centered, scared but fearless, hesitant but determined, alone but enfolded. Why?
This time he made it. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and sat, head in hands, elbows on knees. Cracking his eyes open, he looked downwards and saw a blue shirt in his lap. Smiling he grasped them to his chest. And then it hit him, the why.
The shirts! The pictures! The maelstrom! The woman!
He looked down at the floor, but found no trace of the postcards. He looked up at the rest of the room, but nothing was out of place to his eyes.
Did that really happen?
Do it! Fix it! echoed in his mind.
It must have happened. But…
Do it! Fix it! echoed in his mind.
This demand raised more questions than answers. Sure, he had to take charge of his life and make things right with Jack. But what did “fix it” mean, what was “right”? Agreeing to see Jack more often? Four times a year? Every month? All the time?
He shook his head, trying to dislodge those images from his youth, of what had been an older man, left mutilated in a ditch to die because of whom he lived with all the time, whom he loved, and then trying to dispel the hateful harsh words of his father that Earl deserved what happened to him just like all queers deserved it.
NO! He didn’t deserve that! Jack don’t deserve that! I don’t deserve that!
He pressed both hands to the sides of his head, so it would not burst from all the emotions. He jumped up, forgetting that the shirts still remained in his lap. Suddenly remembering it, he grabbed for them and caught them before they could hit the floor and maybe disappear like the postcards from the maelstrom when they hit the floor.
Did that really happen?
The quick motions caused him to lose his balance and almost fall. Catching himself on the iron bedpost, he stumbled over to the window, and plopped down heavily in the chair. Desperate to fill his mind with other things, he looked about the room. He was surrounded by Jack, pieces of his life, all there, yet jumbled, waiting for someone to sort them out again, put them all together again in the right order. The small boy cowering from his father, the bitter teen forced to leave high school to work on the family ranch, the crestfallen youth finding and losing love in one summer, the young man running away towards another dream, the older man coming back again and again.
But why? Why come back here? Why come back again and again? Why endure the scorn and hate? Why? What is he lookin for here? What was he lookin for and dreaming about as a kid lookin out this window? What is he lookin for now? What does he hope to find? Why keep comin back when I kept turnin him away? Why?
He heard no answers, only tears welling up, tears of frustration and pain, tears he could not stop even had he wanted to, tears falling drop by drop onto faded blue chambray. He thumbed over those tears, trying to wipe them away, as if by doing so he could at least wipe away the pain he had caused Jack. He discovered he could not, instead the tears became imbedded in the fabric, a part of it.
Nothing ever comes easy to me, never!
His frustration boiled over even more as he rubbed the fabric harder. And then stopped. His were not the only tears embedded in faded blue chambray. They joined others, long ago dried up. Layer upon layer. He was not the only person to hold these shirts and spill tears of sadness and frustration on them. Jack had spent years on years feeling this fabric, as he felt his hopes and dreams fade away.
He had his answer to “why” Jack came back here again and again. As Jack sat here, and looked around here, he could pretend he was a kid again, with his hopes and dreams still intact and his life still in front of him. Before rodeo, before Brokeback, before… before him, before Lureen and Bobby and LD, before disappointment after disappointment. Jack could put up with his father for a little while, so long as in return he could have time to sit and dream again.
And cry into the shirts. Cry for the love that Ennis would not acknowledge, cry for the dreams slipping away, cry for the little cow and calf operation that would never be. All because of him.
But he could fix that now, he could agree and move up here to live with Jack.
But what if people find out about Jack and me? What would they do? What would he do?
But some people already knew about them. Jack’s folks knew, and Jack was still alive and healthy. Alma knew, and he was still alive… well, sort of. Sometimes he though Don had figured it out, made sense if he did, offering the cabin more than that one time. Maybe others knew and said nothing.
They had been safe up on Brokeback, with no one around to see, no one to know. Or had they? Jack said Aguirre came up twice, and both times had some powerful field glasses. What if he..? What if he’d seen something?
Shit! Bet that fucker saw us doin’ it! Would explain why Jack changed after that, didn’t wanta do it out on the meadow, had to be in the tent, or somewheres really private. Bet that’s why Aguirre made us bring the damn sheep down early, too. And why he snarled at us that last day, and threw the money on the desk. Damn him! But…he didn’t do nothing else, didn’t pull out a tire iron or nothin… Paid us what we earned up to then, and just tossed us away, like we were trash. Maybe Jack was right, maybe most people don’t like it, but they ain’t gonna hurt ya, just turn their backs on ya.
He remembered what he told Jack that summer, about this being a one-time thing between them. One time thing is right, Jack fuckin Twist! One and only time for me, you’re the one and only one for me. Knew durin that first year and every time after that I should never have let you outta my sight. Not going to make that mistake this time, not ever again.
But would Jack let me go now? Turn me away like I did after the divorce? That phone call to Somebody New! Has Jack really figured out how to quit me, like I dared him to do not even a week ago? What should I do? What if…?
His previous resolve began to crumble, despite all he had gone through in this small room, despite the evidence of the shirts held tightly to his chest, despite the maelstrom and the woman’s insistent voice.
What if what? What are you afraid of? What is your worst fear? echoed in his mind.
That voice!
What was he afraid of? Losing Jack. How to keep him? He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do. Man up and tell him, tell Jack, accept Jack’s love, and fight for it, fight to keep it and them both alive and well for as long as they lived.
What are you afraid of?
What was he afraid of? Nothin, not no more!
Then what are you waiting for? Do it! Fix it!
Voices from downstairs reached up him and penetrated his state of mind. He released his hold on the shirts just enough to check his old pocketwatch, and found that only twenty-one minutes had passed since he walked up the creaking stairs, not the eternity it felt inside.
He carefully slipped his shirt out from inside Jack’s shirt, and put Jack’s shirt inside his.
My turn, Bud, my turn to hold you and protect you and love you and make our dreams come true. But twenty years won’t be long enough, have to be double that at least. You’ll see.
Standing up on no longer wobbly legs, he looked about the room. Something had changed. He had changed. The room felt warm and inviting now. Made him smile, calmed him down. No more cryin here!
Good! About time!
Startled, Ennis looked about, saw no one.
Did that really happen? Yeah, guess so, must have. Better to believe that than think I’m goin nuts.
Straightening up, he and the shirts, still safely held in his arms, walked downstairs together.
tbc
Chapter 5: http://cwby30.livejournal.com/33369.html