Another Love Letter
Canon. 1111 words of sad.
Sometimes, when it gets really bad and the whiskey hits me just right, I think back to that first time… I go over it all in my mind, all the different moves that allowed that first time to come to pass, and I wonder what my life woulda been like if even one of those moves hadn’t happened, or had come about in a slightly different way. Like, what if I’d drank more of the whiskey than you, so you couldn't get too fuckin' drunk to ride back out to the sheep? Or what if we’d had more wood and you coulda added some onto the fire when it died down? Or what if I woulda just left you out there to freeze your ass off in the cold, instead of makin' you come into the tent with me?
I wonder, if we woulda made it past that one night with nothin’ happenin’, if maybe we coulda survived the whole damn summer without gettin’ up to nothin’. It wasn’t like we had that much longer to go anyway. Wasn’t much more’n a month till Aguirre made us bring ‘em down ‘cause of that second early storm. If we’d coulda just stayed outta each other’s pants that one night, maybe the chance woulda never come along again, where all the stars were lined up just perfect and it was impossible for it not to happen, which is how it seemed to me that night.
I look back on that night and I see it as the night my whole life went from being a big blank page where I could write whatever story I wanted, to being one never-ending sad sack story of woe-is-fucking-me.
I hate me now… I hope you know that.
‘Course it ain’t all me. I put a lotta blame on you for lettin’ that one thing that happened when you were fuckin’ eight years old rule your life forever, but in my heart, I know it ain’t nobody’s fault but mine, ‘cause I’ve been the one driving this wagon train since the very beginning.
It was me put the moves on you that first night in the tent. Yeah, you fucked me like a rogue bull loose in a dairy barn, but you woulda never thought to do that if I hadn’t started it, would ya? Then, later, when you was ready to lose your shit about what we done, I talked you down, convinced you it’d be ok, that it was our secret and nobody needed to know.
Once we came down off the mountain, bloody and bruised, the whole thing was dead in the water for you. That’s another time when I coulda got my life back, if I woulda followed your lead, just kept on goin’ and never looked back. I didn’t do that, though. I kept it inside of me all those years, and when I couldn’t stand missing you no more, I broke and sent you that postcard.
I couldn’t believe it when I got your card sayin,’ “You bet.” Now I look back at myself and think, “God, what a fuckin’ fool you were, Jack Twist.” ‘Cause I was so goddamned happy, Ennis, dreamin’ up all kindsa plans for us, thinkin’ we were gettin’ a second chance and that you were gonna be as excited about it as me.
It hurt when you said no, but I wasn’t real surprised. I knew it’d take some time, but I figured for sure you’d come around, ‘cause there wasn’t nothin’ unsure about the way you jumped on me that night at the Siesta Motel, or none of the nights we spent camping after.
But I was wrong. I played your game, Ennis, for fuckin’ years, making that long drive, freezing my ass off in those godforsaken tents just for the pleasure of a few hours of your company and a few nights with your dick. And nothing changed.
I shoulda known for sure, after you got divorced and you still wouldn’t come off it none, that this was a dead end highway for me. Not sure why I stuck with it after that. Maybe it was just habit… we’d been doin’ it for so damn long by then, I couldn’t make myself walk away like it was nothing. It’s like smoking or drinking whiskey… regardless of how much they tell you it’s gonna kill you, once you get addicted, you gotta have it, no matter what.
And I guess that’s pretty much how it was for me with you… You were my addiction, Ennis, that bad habit I couldn’t walk away from no matter how much you hurt me, no matter how many times you made me feel like horse shit on the bottom of your boot.
I tried. God knows I’ve done everything but flatten my own truck tires to keep from making the trip, but in the end, I guess I’m fucking weak, ‘cause every time I got that postcard saying, “Come,” I did. I kept prayin’ that the tide would turn… that you’d finally figure out that your own life was so empty that takin’ a chance with me wouldn’t seem so fuckin’ impossible.
But that never happened, and I ain’t doin’ it no more. I stand here now, watching you drive away, the feel of your body still an ache in my arms but your angry words ringin’ in my ears like hornets, and I know that this time around, I’m really done. There ain’t no point pretendin’ we’re ever gonna be anything more than this, and it just ain’t enough for me no more. Maybe it is for you - maybe you can make it on a few fucks two or three times a year - but I can’t.
And what’s more, I don’t have to. I met somebody, Ennis, somebody who ain’t afraid or ashamed to be with me. Yeah, I know it’s dangerous out there and it won’t be easy, but my life ain’t ever been easy no way, and I’m tired of bein’ fuckin’ miserable all the time. I’d rather take my chances with somebody who’s willin’ to walk the path with me than keep on livin’ a lie.
So this is it, Ennis. The end. There ain’t gonna be no trip in November. I’m takin’ my life back. I’m sayin’ goodbye.
By the way… maybe habit ain’t exactly the right word for what kept me comin’ back all those years. Truth is, whiskey never had a hold on me like you did. I never said a word about it before, but I’ll say it now, just so you’ll know. What kept me comin’ back, Ennis, was love.