Bitter & Twisted - Chapter Two: Ask The Dust.
Title: Bitter & Twisted
Author: louisestrange
Subject: 1990 - No one in the world for the old Lightning Flat ranch to go to when John Twist dies except the grandson he never met. Seems, though, that Bobby Twist might have another reason for wanting to go to Wyoming….
Disclaimer: Annie Proulx started it and she's the one reaping the financial rewards. I own nothing but a few ideas. I just do this for fun, or something like it.
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Note: Movie canon. A more substantial chapter this time, from Bobby’s POV.
Feedback: Never enough feedback, never enough.
Chapter Two: Ask The Dust.
“Well, you know what I think about this whole business,” Bobby’s mother, Lureen, told him as she sat authoritatively behind her big oak desk at work, lips red and pursed with disapproval.
“I’m taking the time off anyway, Momma. Just giving you warning. Plan to head out Sunday, be back within the week, more’n likely.”
“Ain’t nothing up there but dead men and bad memories.”
Bobby sighed, it’d been like this since he told her about the letter he’d received from an unknown lawyer named Peterson about his unknown Grandfather named Twist. The ranch his Daddy’d grown up on in Lightning Flat, Wyoming had been left to him - albeit by default rather than will - following the death of John Twist, Snr. and was now rightfully his to sell on or fix up, although the lawyer had explained in his letter - then again in the telephone conversation that followed it - that he’d be happy to sell the old place on for him, save him the trip and the trouble. Bobby had thought on this and decided to decline that offer and go up there himself, find out just what he’d been left and what was left there of his Daddy. His mother thought this was a bad idea, and had told him so till she was near blue in the face.
“We’ve been over this, Momma. I just wanna see it. I’m all set to go.” Bobby said, turning to leave the office, pausing and craning his head back as she had the final word on the matter.
“Fine,” she said, not looking up, focused suddenly on the stack of papers in front of her. “I never could stop your Daddy neither.”
*****
That lawyers letter - a sterile white and watermarked shock he found waiting innocently on the kitchen table on Wednesday morning, two weeks before - had brought with it a world of unwelcome memories and unanswered questions. Bobby felt no real sadness for the grandparents he never knew at all, but instead a renewed sadness for the loss of the Daddy he only got to know a little, and anger that he’d never been allowed to grieve or ask questions or even reminisce because he’d been warned not to; when his Daddy died, he became the man of the house and hell, hadn’t his Momma been through enough already? For that reason, he’d kept the letter to himself for two whole days before he told his Momma the news. That time Bobby spent just thinking about it: the dead granddaddy he never knew, the death of the grandmother no-one had thought to tell him about and the sad fact that his only connection with those people and that place was dead, too. Only one time he’d ever asked to visit them - back in ’83 when his Daddy died and half his ashes were sent up there to his folks - but Lureen said no to that, put her foot down with a firm hand and, at sixteen years old, there was nothing he could say that’d change her mind.
Instead, he was sent to Fort Worth to stay with his Grandparents for the best part of three weeks, no room for grief in that house and sure no time for talk about Jack Twist. He’d known before then that there was no love lost between his Grandpa and his Daddy, and it seemed that Bobby was too much his fathers son for LD to think much of him either. LD had lost interest in him around the same time Bobby’d lost interest in playing junior high football and had barely looked at him since. Those weeks were long and strange, filled with forced conversation and avoidance of the only obvious thing to talk about. Only words LD’d spoken to him in that whole time of need were at the funeral - “Boys ain’t supposed to cry like that, Bobby, don’t be such a damned sissy.” - and then at the end of his stay in Fort Worth: “I hope you got it in you to be more of a man o’that house than your Daddy ever was.” That same day his Grandma took him aside and warned that he wasn’t to upset his Momma with talk about his Daddy, or to pay any mind to what people might say. He agreed and, until now, had kept his questions about his Daddy mostly to himself, except for rare times when his tongue had slipped or something had to be said, times when Lureen’d get a stony look on her face; featured taught and eyes glazed. Though he knew their marriage hadn’t been happy in those last years, the death of husband hit her hard and it seemed to Bobby that her way of coping with the whole sorry mess was to try and forget that Jack Twist had ever existed. Of course, Bobby’s existence made that hard to do and he’d been told as much every time he made her mad or the gin in her blood reached her tongue and set it loose. From these times he’d learned that he’d turned out just like his Daddy, and although nothing much else was ever said on the matter, he was sure it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
*****
The day after receiving the letter from Mr Peterson, Bobby thought about calling and asking him to go right ahead and sell up. He wondered what the point would be in going to Wyoming now: no one to greet him there, just an old house, some dead land and half a family dead along with it. Even as he thought it, he knew that’s what his Momma would say too, when he got around to telling her. But he wanted a reason to go - he wanted to see where his Daddy grew up, the place he came from and, though he’d hated it at the time, returned to year after year. That sparked an idea: his Daddy went there year after year not for his folks or the ranch he’d grown up on in Lightning Flat, but for fishing trips with his friend. He remembered postcards coming confirming the trips, and the occasions he’d got to one first - hoping to tell his Daddy he had mail from his friend, knowing that news always made him happy - only to have it snatched from his little hand like a hungry coyote grabbing at a fresh kill. He knew even then there was something special in those trips, something neither he nor his Momma could ever hope to compete with.
Bobby waited till Lureen was out for the afternoon, having her hair done, and took to the attic to look for what he knew was there - a box of little things his Daddy’d left behind: an old harmonica, two dull rodeo belt buckles he remembered playing with as a child and other knick-knacks, but mostly that box held postcards - forty or more of them, held together by a thick red rubber band - some plain and some decorated with scenes of Wyoming; The Grand Tetons or other anonymous mountains and prairies, all with a Riverton address and the same loopy cursive, all signed Ennis.
He picked his time to tell her, more than a dent made in her gin bottle that evening, and he showed her the letter first. Her reaction was quiet but not surprised; she spoke evenly with her eyes low and her hands folded in her lap. “’Bout time you got something from them, jus’ be thankful for the windfall, though don’t expect much from what I heard ‘bout that old place.”
“You ever go there?” he asked, already the most the two of them had spoke about his Daddy since the accident and neither one of them had yet mentioned him directly.
“Nope, never did. Never been to Wyoming. Your Daddy never asked and neither did I.”
“What about that friend Daddy used to visit up there - Ennis? You ever meet him?”
Lureen paused like she was trying to remember and blinked her eyes a little too rapidly. “No, your Daddy never did see fit to introduce us. I talked to him once though, a while after Jack’d…after your Daddy’d passed on. Seemed real upset,” She picked up her drink and sipped first, followed it with a long swallow. “Y’know Bobby, I think that Ennis Del Mar must’a knew your Daddy better’n I ever did. Knew him longer and sure spent more time with that sonofabitch than he did with me an’ you over those years, huh?”
That night, he left it at that. He didn’t want to push her too far, but the bitterness in her words and the sadness in here eyes just baited his curiosity. He knew then that he had to try to contact this Ennis fella and find out all those things about his Daddy that he never got a chance to learn for himself. He wrote a short letter, explaining the situation, who he was and that he’d like to meet a good friend of his Daddy’s while he was out there, that he’d like to buy him a beer and hear a few stories, and sent it to the address on the most recent of the postcards. He had no way of knowing whether or not it’d find it’s way to Ennis Del Mar, or if he was likely to get a reply even if it did.
*****
A couple of times in the months after his Daddy’s death he went alone to where the Childress half of his ashes were set to rest and asked them - him - things he never did get around to while he was still alive: why he could make time for fishing trips and bars and extra hours at work but never for him, why his Momma didn’t want to talk about him, what his Grandma meant by ‘don’t pay no mind to what people might say’. Those trips didn’t make him feel any closer to his Daddy or any closer to the truth; all he felt was foolish for talking to a pile of ashes, asking questions that dust couldn’t ever answer and so he hadn’t been back since, left those questions buried there, too.
From then on in, anytime he wasn’t at school, he was working for the family business - Newsome Farm Equipment. He hated it; soon found he was no salesman and wound up shining tractor grates and making cups of coffee, but his mother always insisted she couldn’t do without his help, not since LD had had his heart-attack and given up work for a quieter life in Fort Worth. Bobby mostly kept to himself there - at that age, he wasn’t much of a talker, but even at that conversation always seemed to dry up whenever he entered the room. He guessed that was just the price of being the boss’s son.
Working some, though, had made Bobby keen to gather prospects for a future that involved something other just working for his Momma. He vowed to work hard at school and wanted to go to college - he saw it as his only means of escape and dreamt of leaving Childress the way some folks dream of winning the lottery. High school had been no picnic and it didn’t look to improve when he started his Junior year almost a month late, following his Daddy’s death and his time in Fort Worth. He’d grown awkward as a teenager - he was shy and unsure of who or what he was. On his return to school that year, he’d learned the few friends he’d had had found no trouble replacing him and, while they still made nice in the halls and classrooms, there was no place for him in their group. He found himself on the edges of things - not cool, not a geek - just that kid whose Daddy died in the summertime, his body found by the side of the road, bloody and broken like a clumsy buck. The details they didn’t know where soon made up, some would ask him about it: “Is it true your Daddy blew himself up out on the freeway?” and some would tease: “Ain’t you the son of that faggot got beat up last summer?” Kids were cruel, even if they were old enough to know better, and when the faggot story kept cropping up, he didn’t take them at their word, instead thought it must’ve been made up just for him: a variation on the story all the kids knew - a way for them to tell that faggot Bobby Twist that that they knew what he was and that his kind deserved a dead Daddy.
*****
A week had passed with no word from Ennis Del Mar in Wyoming. Bobby guessed he could’ve moved, or that the letter was lost or delayed in the mail. No way of knowing. He’d called Peterson in his Crook County office. He wanted to clarify the detail - that the place was really his, that there were no hidden catches. Peterson told him all he needed was for him to sign a few papers, reiterated that he could send these to him in the mail, save him travelling all that way - he’d take care of everything for him for a small administration fee. He’d made up his mind by then though, not about what’d happen to the ranch, but that he wanted to see Lightning Flat; wanted to see where the other half of his Daddy’s ashes lay and, maybe most of all, he wanted to find Ennis Del Mar.
“That’s just about the dumbest thing I ever did hear you say, Bobby,” had been Lureen’s immediate response when he told her, although he’d elected not to mention his plan to find Ennis. “I don’t see how you could’ve thought this through any. You might sell farm machinery but you ain’t never been on no Wyoming ranch, let alone try to run one.”
“I don’t plan on tryin’ a run one, Momma,” Bobby rolled his eyes and laid a hand on her forearm, spoke calmly as he could. “It’s mine and I guess I just wanna see it, see where Daddy grew up and…I don’t know what all. Ain’t nothin’ bad can come of it. I don’t plan on stayin’ out there forever.”
“You never think there might be a reason your Daddy was so keen t’get away from that old place and outta that dusty old state?”
“Yes, Momma, I did. But there was also a reason he kept goin’ back.” Before the words were fully formed Bobby regretted saying them. Lureen sucked in her lips and made a small sighing sound, her eyes turned glassy.
“Anyway, I see you’ve made up your mind. You’re a grown man, ain’t none o’ my concern what you choose to do.” Her tone had turned flat and she failed to look him in the eye. He hated to hurt her so, but she was right - he was a grown man and he’d made up his mind - he was going to Wyoming.
*****
Bobby had made it to college, though he hadn’t made it out of state. He studied Business and Agricultural History at the University of Texas in Austin, only to flunk out before the end of his sophomore year; he’d learned plenty in his time there, but none of his learning was geared towards increasing his grade point average. He lived on campus and made the first real friend of his life - Jamie Decker - who taught him more, about himself and life in general, than he could’ve learned in any business class and Bobby had no regrets there. When he flunked out and moved back to Childress, they kept in touch with a view to getting out of Texas together. It came as no real surprise to Bobby that, in the two years he was in Austin without him, Jamie had found someone else to leave Texas with, and had moved to New York after graduation, the weak promise of staying in touch and coming to visit offering little consolation.
Since returning to Childress, Bobby had been drifting through a half-life. His skills on the court had improved with the years and he was a decent salesman, working on commission just like the rest, and though he could talk to the guys there to pass the time of day, it never came easy; he was still the boss’s son and that meant he’d always be on the other side, as far as they were concerned. He had no social life to speak of, not in Childress anyway. He sometimes drank at a bar on the edge of town; a quiet place near the motel where he didn’t risk meeting assholes from school or guys from work, just strangers passing through, and that suited him fine. Other times, he’d visit Austin - he’d stayed friendly with a few other college folk and those weekends kept him sane, made him realise he was still alive.
*****
Bobby’d planned his journey, best he could, on the map he’d been given by one of the guys at work - a thin pencil-drawn line showing the way, curving through places he’d never heard of in states he’d never seen. He pulled out of the drive and looked back as he did; Lureen was standing in the gravel driveway, a picture in her robe and slippers, the early morning light peaking through the treetops making her bleached hair shine like the sun itself. Her hand was raised as if to wave, but she kept it still as she stood.
She’d insisted on getting up to see him off and, as expected, made a last ditch attempt to keep him there. “I don’t know why you wanna go at all, you know that, but if you’re goin’ you should at least fly,” she said. “Why’d anyone wanna drive all that way?”
Bobby had given his holdall one last shove and slammed the trunk of the Mustang shut before answering with a heavy sigh. “I like driving, Momma.”
“Well, so did your Daddy.”
Bobby glanced at the map that lay open on the beside him, spread so it curved up the vacant seat’s back and hid the letters underneath; the one from Peterson that had started all this and the one he’d received just the day before, a last minute surprise from Ennis Del Mar himself, saying he’d be glad to meet him. The dashboard clock glowed five thirty-five in lurid green and Bobby’s face stretched into a yawn just at the sight of it. He wasn’t sure he’d been up this early since he was a kid; watching early morning cartoons and reruns of The Monkees show, eating soggy sugared cereal from a plastic bowl and on the two, sometimes three, times a year when his Daddy was up at that time too - whistling while he packed his things- he’d be bugging him, paying no mind to the early hour, wanting to go along on one of those fishing trips; the ones that took him away for a week or more at a time and lead him to drive the same road Bobby found himself on now.