A/N- I wrote this for English class. It's a rewrite of the scene where Tom takes Red home in his new truck after deciding he's not going to con the towns anymore. Obviously, I don't own When the Legends Die.
"I'm riding for keeps this time." Tom said. The kid kept his eyes on the road. He wasn't a kid anymore, really. A kid wouldn't stand up for himself. That was part of the reason Red didn't like kids. Plus they were loud, expensive, and hard to get on with. Red was all those things already. He didn't need a kid's help.
"The big time?" He croaked. This was one hell of a hangover. He drank too much again. Of course, the Red Dillon treatment for drinking too much liquor was more liquor. Well, the Red Dillon treatment for everything was liquor.
"Yes." He hadn't expected anything less from Tom. The kid was always being pulled in different directions by everyone. You could only go so long without making any choices of your own. Tom's time to make a choice had come. Red Dillon wished Tom the best of luck, but if the kid ruined things for himself Red wasn't going to be the one to deal with it. No, Red would be off somewhere getting nice and drunk. Drunk enough that he couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. Drunk enough that he got into a bar fight with the guy sitting next to him. Drunk enough that he'd wake up in an alley the next morning with no idea how he'd gotten there. Yes, that was the ticket. The not remembering. Red lived for the moment. Always had, always would. The past was only so much baggage. But if you couldn't remember it then it couldn't bother you. Liquor meant no memories. Liquor meant that nothing ever bothered Red.
"Always wanted to see that Odessa show. And Fort Worth, and Texarkana." Red Dillon had wanted to do a lot of things. Back when he was young and stupid he'd wanted to settle down and have kids. But he was done with that now.
"Nampa," he'd considered being a doctor. It was ironic, because now he hated doctors. They all told him the same thing. They all went on and on about his liver. Red didn't give a damn about his liver or what he was doing to it.
"Torrance," he'd thought about college too. Nothing had come out of it. There hadn't been enough money in the house.
"Wolf Point," he'd started a business a long time ago. A little general store. He hadn't done very well.
"Calgary," he'd taken to drinking a while back. A long while back, come to think of it. He hadn't had much else to spend his stable hand's salary on. It was too meager for any real luxuries, but big enough that there was just a little bit left after he'd paid for food and board. Having just that little bit on hand bothered him, so he found a way to spend it and get his money's worth.
"Denver," Meo had had skill and spirit, but nobody to help him make his way. Together, he and Red Dillon had lived like kings. He'd gotten drunk every night when they weren't working a town, and Meo could've bought whatever the hell he'd wanted to with all the money he rolled off of Red. But Red didn't really mind, at first.
"Albuquerque," he'd had hopes for this kid too. He was young and so quiet that Red had begun the think that maybe he'd stick around for awhile longer, But now Tom was striking out on his own. Red was going to need to find somebody to take the kid's place. He'd need to choose pretty soon, before the money ran out.
Red had made a lot of choices in his days, far beyond which apprentices to take. Choices were hard things to avoid. But had they all been the right choices?
Red Dillon shoved the thought back. That was the kind of thinking that made a man discontented to be where he was. Red didn't need such things as regrets and sorrows. There was no point in dragging them around, and they tended to get awfully heavy.
There was silence. Tom made no move to fill it. He never did.
"I'm glad you didn't sell my saddle, Tom. Fellow sells his saddle and he's just about at the end of his rope."
A saddle was a good thing to have. A saddle helped you move on. Sure, you needed a horse too, but horses were different. As anyone in the rodeo business knew, you couldn't trust a horse. But a saddle was heavy and solid and did whatever you wanted it to, provided you didn't give it too much hard use. A saddle let you leave things behind. It made it easy to get away from the mistakes and the choices.
With a bottle of liquor you could forget the things you'd done. With a saddle you could escape them.
Yes, between Red Dillon's saddle and his liquor, the world would always be fresh. Well, maybe not fresh. It was all the same, but that was fine, It was the kind of sameness that Red liked.
"Could you maybe stop up there, Tom, and let me get a bottle of old elixir? I've got one hell of a hangover."
Red hated hangovers. If it hadn't been for them he could have spent all his time drunk. But no. He had to be reminded that this was bad for him. He had to make that decision to hurt himself, one way or the other. Even being drunk could only do so much.
"I'll stop." For all his faults, Tom wasn't too bad of a kid, Just a little private, a little bitter. But he also seemed to be becoming a little more himself now. Red wished him the best of luck, but it was none of his business. It was Tom's choice. Everyone had to make their own choices. No matter what may help it along (your financial circumstances, alcohol, other people) it came down to you in the end.
Red stumbled out of the car. The place was nothing special, really. Good enough for not much of anything but a quick bottle. But that was all he needed, so it evened out.
Red paid for the liquor and headed back for the car. He and Tom headed for home in silence.
Red Dillon died three, maybe four months later. He drank himself to death. Not all at once, but little by little. Red died slowly, with every drink. He died with the things he didn't do and hurried the end with the things he did. But in the end he was responsible. In the end it was his choice.