Still Water

Oddly, despite its rattletrap condition, torn upholstery and overflowing ashtray, passengers in Ennis Del Mar's truck were always comfortable and at ease. They felt that way because of Ennis' expert driving. He always maneuvered the vehicle smoothly and kept his eye out for rocks and potholes and avoided them carefully. He treated the old thing like a horse he loved – kept an eye out for trouble and directed things with a gentle hand. He was even a little sad that while the truck had seen better days, he was now in his prime. It wasn't a sadness for a piece of property he'd need to replace but rather a love and respect that the truck had earned as his companion for so many years. Besides, they had this in common: an unforeseen bump in the road might break a mount or ruin a shock.

And now, as if to demonstrate his skill, he pulled onto the county road in the vast, unbearable flatness of Kansas with such smoothness and grace as to make the old coughing Ford purr like a Rolls driven for the queen.

This was the furthest Ennis had ever been from home, excepting where he'd been yesterday and the day before, and as he made his way down the road he started to sort out his impressions and memories into the things he would remember and the things he could forget. He started with lunch, at the diner he had just left. He had walked in and sat at the counter, the only customer.

"How you doin'?" asked the waitress who wore a blue shirt with the name Eileen written on it, embroidered in script with white thread. "Know what y'all'd like?"

"Just a burger, please." He said, head low, scanning the counter.

"Just a burger? Sugar, we have the best burgers anywhere and we'll be proud to make you one." She turned to the cook behind her, who tossed one on the grill.

"Nice day, isn't it?" she asked and he grunted a non-committal "yeah" as he helped himself to a napkin from the dispenser. Not to be deterred, she tried again. "What's your name honey?"

"Ennis."

"Why that means 'island,' just like my name" and she pointed with a long red nail at the "Eileen" on her breast. He looked up, saw the name.

"How you know that?" he asked.

"Just got my sister a baby name book for her baby shower and have been reading it myself," she said "I noticed the name 'cause it means the same as mine," and she smiled sweetly. He stayed quiet and looked back down at the counter. Straightened the salt and pepper shakers. She finally got it that he didn't want to talk and started walking away.

"What's Jack mean?" he asked before she got too far.

"Why Jack don't mean Jack," she laughed. "Most Jack's are John."

"Oh," he said.

"You got a friend named Jack?" she asked.

"Yeah, just a friend."

"Well, the book's in my car. Let me run out and look." And she took off out the door.

While she was gone, Ennis studied the back of the cook preparing his lunch. Nice shape, he thought. Like to see it better. How does one do that, he wondered. Let someone know they turned you on. Jack had always done that, he didn't know how. He gave up thinking about it as the cook finished the plate and turned around and set it in front of him. Ennis looked up, caught the cook's eye and thanked him for it. Then he watched as the cook walked away. Damn, he thought.

"Jack and John both mean 'God is Gracious'" the waitress said as she came back in.

Ennis thought about it for a moment and said "I sure hope He is" though he doubted it. He was pretty angry at God right now, didn't see no graciousness in the hand he was dealt, but kept that to himself. He started eating and the waitress went down the counter, got him a glass of water.

"What's your last name, Honey?"

"Del Mar."

"Del Mar? - Of the sea? Oh that's funny baby. Your name means island in the sea. Must be some tropical paradise."

He didn't respond, just continued eating, but he thought about what she said his name meant. He didn't think it meant some tropical paradise though. He finished up his lunch, paid his bill and left with no more conversation and only a fleeting glance back at the cook. Not enough to tip his hand. That could be dangerous. Eileen called out to him "God is gracious, Mr. Island!"as the door shut behind him.

The monotonous corn fields became a blur as he started thinking about Mexico, after he couldn't find Jack in Texas. He'd come down south to tell Jack that he'd do it Jack's way. They'd go out to Jack's folks' place and set up shop. If they had a year or two of happiness before they were found out and destroyed, then so be it. They'd have had something when it was all said and done. Something more than one summer and a couple of fishing trips. But Jack wasn't in Texas and Ennis' curiosity took him further south and across the border to Mexico, where it looked just like the movies only a little more so.

Ennis had found a bar on the edge of some town and stood out front after a beer, wondering what it was he should do now when a young Mexican man came strolling up to him. "Hello señor, looking for someone?"

Ennis said yeah, "a friend."

"I can be a friend, señor," but when Ennis didn't take the clue he said "Oh, you're looking for someone you know."

"That's what I said."

"Okay. Well have a nice day then," and he walked away. Ennis watched him for a moment and then, realizing what he was doing, averted his eyes. He didn't stop his thinking though and wondered about the dark skin of the Mexican. Did it stop where the sun didn't shine? Would that young man's body light up a dark tent like Jack's? Then the old internal dialog started up with the 'I ain't queer' mantra and he headed back in the bar for another beer. Drown his thoughts with beer. When he came back out the sun was setting and the twilight gave an unreal mood to things and Ennis just stood on the veranda for a moment to gather his wits before starting on the road home. While he stood there two men walked along, across the road, not talking but clearly communicating with each other and one of them was Jack. Another man might have wondered what it was in life that sometimes puts us exactly where we needed to be or, rather, where we really shouldn't have been, but Ennis had no such thoughts. He just gasped and backed himself up against the building before falling to his knees and holding his face in his hands trying desperately to control his disbelief, his hurt, the betrayal and his rage. This isn't happening, he thought.

"Señor, are you alright? Do you need something?" It was the same young Mexican guy. Ennis stood up and moved in chest to chest with him, contradicting his own words:

"You get away from me. You hear me? You get away and you stay away!"

"Okay señor. Lo siento! I'm sorry sir," and he moved away at a quick pace while Ennis steadied himself and walked back to his old truck and drove away. Back to America. Back to where he knew how things worked. Back to where one of his tires would give out on a Texas road and he'd spend the night sleeping in the truck, too confused to change it right away.

He awoke early in the morning, cursed to himself about how crazy this whole trip had been and set to changing the tire. When he was nearly finished and was tossing the flat in the back of the truck another, newer truck drove by, slowed to a stop and reversed back to where the driver could see him clearly. Then it pulled off the road and Jack got out.

"Well Friend, I never thought to see you here," and all Ennis heard was "friend," like that was all there was, all there had ever been. "What brings you down this a-way?"

Just as he reached this point in his recollecting, a big crow flew down and stood in the middle of the Kansas road, facing the oncoming truck. Ennis made an uncharacteristically abrupt stop while the crow stared him down. Finally though, his mission complete, the crow lifted back into the sky. Something had slipped from under the seat and banged into the heal of Ennis' boot and as he brought the old truck back to speed, gently, always gently, he reached down and picked up whatever it was. It was a tire iron and Ennis looked at it with some disgust before opening the window and tossing it into the endless corn. It left some blood on his hand that he wiped on his jeans without noticing. It's time to forget this trip, he told himself. Time to forget the fool I played. Time to go home. Time to forget the thing's I've done. All of them. None of it's worth thinking about anyway.

And the memories got locked away, so inaccessibly deep that a few minutes later he had no idea where he was or why. He didn't understand it either, when a tear ran down his cheek and tasted, he thought, like the cold salt spray across some god-forsaken pile of rocks in the sea. He was just lost, that's all, and that was no crying matter.