(no subject)
tHE gIFT
The chocolate was bittersweet, tiny, a reminder of things that were once good -- of things far from perfect, of times that lay behind him now like an old ledger filled with scraps of memory, each scrawled in indelible ink marking significant events. Times that stirred his dreams at night and haunted his waking moments, the life he had before the final postcard he'd sent came blowing back on harsh Wyoming winds.
There was nothing inherently wrong with what lay hidden in the little box tied in velvet ribbon. It wasn't his birthday, it was simply a gift. Jenny was a sweet girl and had no idea what her little expression of love would do to her father. Ennis took the small box from his daughter and tugged at the colorful bow. She called it violet and hoped he liked it. He lifted the dark lid. There, tucked among more purple, in a bed of gossamer tissue forming a nest, was a confection reminding Ennis of a precious egg. Wrapped in gold foil already crushed and crinkled, its dull finish matched the emotions of his day.
Was it just coincidence that Jenny had come on the anniversary of the postcard's arrival? Ennis quelled tears by breathing deep, managing to smile for a moment. He touched the chocolate with his fingertip. The warm flash of the matte metallic finish was another reminder of his beloved Jack -- rare, hidden, a treasure forever missing -- the shine gone from pleasures never to be enjoyed again.
Ennis thanked her sweetly and set the small box down after replacing the lid, not saying much of anything about the gift. He changed the subject by asking his daughter how her mother was doing.
It wasn't until Jenny left, in a cloud of rising dust shaped by prairie winds, that Ennis dared to look at the chocolate again. The ribbon was cast aside -- he had no use for such frilly things -- and the lid removed. Ennis lifted the spherical object from its papery aerie; it was dome-shaped like the cupolas in exotic lands he'd never visit. He then turned it over to find a way to let the sweetness out of its gilded prison. Once he did, the foil was crushed into a little ball by nervous fingers, rolled for a few brief seconds, tossed away with a flick. He set the confection down on the tabletop so it wouldn't melt, and studied it. Dark brown and almost black, Jack's hat without a brim. The top displayed a drizzled swirl of lighter chocolate forming an eye or an opening. Ennis winced, ran and hand across his features, thumb and forefinger in the corner of each eye to wipe away the tears that dripped.
He fidgeted, face pale in remembering the assertion his daughter made, that it was special chocolate and that she hoped he would like it. She said they bought it in a little shop on Maiden Lane when she'd gone to San Francisco with her husband.
San Francisco was the very place Jack mentioned in what was to be the last of his calm appeals made to Ennis: "We could go there, you know? You'd see then that what we are ain't no big thing."
Ennis nearly clobbered Jack when he heard this but kept his hands stuffed in his pockets as he shuffled about, there at the lake's edge near the close of their last trip. He knew about the city and its people -- the men that worked there, men who danced and smiled and laughed as they celebrated living. Ennis stared at at his boot tips, unable to respond.
Jack sighed and knew not to try again. He simply let the seconds tick, standing with his hat brim tilted, kicking at dirt with his hands on his hips.
Then Ennis did some out-loud thinking: hippies lived in San Francisco. California was the land of fruits and nuts -- at least that was how he'd heard it described by most all the people he'd ever met.
"...and you met how much again?" whispered Jack hotly under his breath.
Ennis did not answer, yet the angry words escalated, cutting into the mountain air, their resonance forgotten only by the one man who left his life too soon.
The view outside the trailer window was unchanged, the brightness of the afternoon light belying the sadness wrought by the chocolate. Ennis sniffed and straightened in his seat to compose himself a bit; he'd been sobbing inside ever since he laid eyes on the naked round morsel of sweetness. Jack had called them truffles the day he brought them up to the Green River Lakes in a fancy black box from a shop down in Texas. He'd hand fed his love too many of the things when they were lounging in the tent, both undressed on the softness of blankets. It was bright that day as well, as the sun had warmed their dome-shaped habitat enough to make them to sweat.
Ennis lived his life through Jack Twist but was afraid to follow his lead. The chocolates were an easier route, and he tasted the world when each liqueur-laced confection melted on his tongue and lips.
"This one is flavored with Kahlua," Jack had said. Each bite they shared was followed by passionate kisses, fingers licked free from the sugary remnants of Mexican coffee and vanilla specks.
Ennis turned away from the emptiness of the plains to focus upon the chocolate sitting atop his desk. Without thinking, he grabbed the delicate thing with his calloused fingers so quickly he crushed the brittle coating, then closed his eyes and devoured it. The truffle melted on his tongue as he slowly chewed to destroy the sweetness, swallowing good memories along with the pain he kept. When he was done he laughed a bit as his palms flew up to free his cheeks of wetness.
Later that year, when he'd come into town for Thanksgiving at Monroe's again, Ennis answered Jenny's question. She wanted to know what he'd thought of the chocolate she gave him.
"Why, it was too much for your old dad," he said in soft tones. He was seated at her left, and his hand came around to rub her back and neck. "It was very good, but you know I don't deserve such sweetness."
Ennis noticed that Monroe remained unfazed by what he had said, then he shot a glance to Alma. Despite some puzzlement, her expression was tinged with softness. Ennis cleared his throat and jabbed at the turkey meat on his plate.
Junior sat across from him, her baby boy sitting on her lap. "Hey Jack," she whispered sweetly, "you hear that, huh? Your grandpa says he don't deserve no chocolates."
As the baby gurgled happily in response to her voice, Junior looked at her father and smiled faintly, for she understood fully what he had meant, having lost her Kurt the year before to an accident on the oil rigs.
Ennis managed to smile a little as the fork slid from his lips. What more could he do when there was no going back, except to grin and bear it?
my entry for the chocolate challenge!