AN: This song stuck out to me on the soundtrack. Here's Ennis, no slash, just sad stuff.
The Maker Makes
The smoky bar was thinning out as closing time approached; most of the usual crowd had left long ago, and all that was left were the one-time downers, the all-the-time losers, and Ennis del Mar. He sat hunched over a bottomless mug, eyes as faded as his expression and as empty as his glass. The tender paused in front of him for the usual signal for a refill, but Ennis didn't move. He had drifted into that place between memory and reality that was a comfort when he knew he had a lonely trailer to go home to, a lonely night to fight through, and a lonely day to face tomorrow.
Behind him, the bare dance floor was waiting for the next song. Soft guitar chords began to strum over the sound system as a "last song" for whoever was left. Ennis was all that was left. He drew in a painfully deep breath as the first verse cut through his hazy dream.
One more chain I break, to get me closer to you…
A few stools down, a man had been watching him for some time. He was younger than Ennis, a little thin and rough around the chin. He was jumpy in the knees, kept his shoulders slumped, and had a big smile he gave to everyone. Ennis didn't pay much attention to anything but his drink anymore, but if he had seen the curious glance of this nearby stranger, he would have been reminded of a friend of his.
One more chain does the maker make, to keep me from bustin' through…
"We'll both take another, Dutch."
"It's your last," the tender said almost grimly. Ennis lifted his gaze from the yellow rim at the bottom of his mug to the man next to him. The stranger gave a brief smile before glancing at his watch.
One more notch I scratch, to keep me thinkin' of you…
"One for the road," he said as the tender set two more mugs down.
"Thankye much," Ennis mumbled, "but you can take 'em both if ye like."
"No sir, Dutch here says no double orders." Ennis carefully moved the empty glass aside for the new one.
"It's too late for you to be so friendly," Ennis swallowed.
"Don't think nothin' of it, del Mar," the stranger half-smiled. "I consider us already friends."
One more notch does the maker make, upon my face so blue…
"How do you know my name?" Ennis asked dully after taking the first drink.
"I'm Hank, Hank Jenson—Leon's son." Ennis turned to him and frowned gently in thought. "You remember Leon, doncha?"
"Leon Jenson?" Ennis repeated with a dry smile. "How's that son of a gun doin'?" Hank laughed and moved to the seat next to Ennis.
"I'm workin' for that son of a gun now. He's always talkin' about old del Mar, and how he used to run things." Ennis smiled into his glass like a crystal ball, images from the past playing in the golden brew. "He was sorry to see you go."
Get along little doggies, get along little doggies…
"I'm just passin' through myself," Ennis sighed. "Junior—my daughter—she just had her first baby girl."
"That's right, that's right," Hank nodded after a thick gulp. "You got a real nice family, del Mar. A real nice family."
"Well, you got a real nice family, yourself," Ennis said, shifting on his seat. "Your daddy was the best friend I've had in a long time." Hank nodded again.
"If you ever think about coming back, you'll have a place with us, you know that."
One more smile I fake, 'n try my best to be glad…
The two men fell into that obligatory silence that comes with most casual conversation, both staring over their drinks and stretching the minutes out a little longer. The tender had left the bar and started turning the chairs onto the tables. He seemed to know those remaining well enough to know they wouldn't mind. Leon Jenson—he was a good man. Ennis knew he should have tried to see him while visiting Junior, but he wasn't much for picking up on old times. He seemed to have a habit for abandoning those he cared about. His kids joked about how even they were lucky to see him; he always kept to himself way out and alone.
One more smile does the maker make, because he knows I'm sad…
"I…I know you don't know me, del Mar," Hank started.
"You can call me Ennis," Ennis interrupted. Hank smiled somewhat nervously and nodded.
"I know you don't know me, but I've always looked up to you in sorts. Dad talks an awful lot about you, and I always wondered what you were really like." Ennis looked at what was left in his glass and then to his new acquaintance. "To be honest," Hank smiled uneasily, "I didn't think I'd find you sittin' as sad as a three-legged dog at the Lost Boot."
"A lot has happened since…since I first met your father," Ennis replied over a flat lip.
Oh Lord, how I know…
"He…he told me about that, too," Hank quietly but not shamefully. "I…I don't know much about that," he stammered, "but I say a loss is a loss, and when you lose someone you love…it…it can ruin your life." Ennis only nodded with closed eyes before draining the rest of his beer. It didn't take a death to ruin my life, Ennis thought. It only took me.
Oh Lord, how I see, that only can the maker make a happy man of me…
"That explains why I'm sittin' here at three in the morning. What about you?" Ennis challenged.
"I…lost my wife a couple years ago," Hank confessed after a slight pause, "to cancer. I think we're sittin' in the same place for the same reason." Ennis didn't know what to say right away. He had two empty glasses in front of him and no reason to stay. No reason to stay anywhere.
Get along little doggies…
"I'm real sorry 'bout that," Ennis finally said gently.
"Yeah, well," Hank smiled painfully, "I s'pose I'm still drinkin' her away." Ennis looked over and saw Leon in this young man's face. He was too young to lose a wife. Something about the way he scowled softly made Ennis think of who he was…drinking away. "I don't think it's any less," Hank said seriously. "Just because…well, you were…"
"I wasn't—" Ennis started rather quickly, turning his head in a slight wince. Hank blinked, unsure at Ennis' reaction. "I'm not a queer," he finished. Hank watched as he bowed his head in heavy memory. "I just loved a man."
Get along little doggies,
Get along…