Red
A short tribute to Brokeback Mountain
Red light. Whoa now. Hold your horses, cowboy. Put on the brakes. Ain’t in no hurry no ways. Ain’t goin’ nowhere, that’s for sure. No wife. No family. No real home, just that old trailer. End a the line. Red light. As red as the shirt Jack had worn in Sixty-Seven. The color a stop signs, fire and danger. Red as the blood they had spilled together that cold, cold night in the tent twenty years ago. Whoa there. That was the kind a thought that led to others. The kind that made his body miss Jack’s ‘til it ached like a bad tooth. He was on hold until November, and he’d rather have the numbness than feel the pain of bein’ parted from the only thing that made him feel alive. He and Jack had hard words the last time they were together. Jack was fed up, sure enough. Hard to blame him. Was this light goin’ a stay red all day? He didn’t want a set here thinkin’ about how Jack might git it inta his head not ta show up next time. No. Jack’d be there. He had ta be there. They’d talk and put things right and bed down together just like they always did. Post card settin’ the date ought a show up in the mail any time now. Could stop at the post office if this dang light would change colors. Bet that post card was already waitin’ on him. Why was the damn light always red when ya were in a hurry?