Late July, 1963, Brokeback, Wyoming
"Think yer gonna do this again next summer?"
"Well, maybe not. Like I said, me an' Alma's gettin' married in November. So uh I'll try an' get somethin' on a ranch I guess. You?"
"I'll prob'ly go up to my daddy's place, give him a hand through the winter. I might be back. If the army don't get me."
"Well, guess I'll see you around, huh?"
"Right."
••••••••••••••••••••••••
Private Jonathan Twist bolted awake in his hospital bed, woken by a horrifically vivid dream of the explosion that had put him there. With a heavy sigh he fell back onto his pillow, winced and cursed. His left shoulder throbbed angrily. There were lines of stitches across his back and chest and down his arm. Much of the skin was still raw. He cursed again and closed his eyes.
He'd been in the overcrowded hospital for a week. Two days after he'd gotten there with a score of other men ranging from injured to mutilated by a series of land mines he'd been moved into a small room, little more than a closet, which he had shared with two other men until yesterday. One of the men had died yesterday, drowned in his own blood. Now, Jack shared the room with a young man about his own age with fair hair and freckles by the name of Stanley Bridger. Both of Stanley's legs had been broken when the truck he was riding in had turned over. He and Jack quickly became friends and managed to charm the nurses into sneaking them a couple bottles of whiskey without much trouble. Stanley held one such bottle out to Jack across the gap between their cots. "Same dream?"
"Every time." Jack took the bottle and sat up enough to take a swig from it.
"You seemed to be dreaming something nice before that at least."
Jack shot him a look. "Why you say that?"
Stanley shrugged. "You were mumbling in your sleep. Couldn't understand anything you said but you seemed pleased with it."
"Shut up."
Stanley held his hands up defensively. "Hey, it's okay. Were you dreaming about your girlfriend?"
Jack shook his head and leaned against the wall. "Don't got one to dream 'bout."
"No, come on. I've seen you talk with the nurses. Smooth as you are I refuse to believe you haven't got some girlfriend back home."
"I don't have a girlfriend. Been a pretty long time since I have. Two, three years maybe."
"Wife, then?"
"Stan, I'm only twenty."
"I know eighteen year olds that hurried up and got married quick as they could once they got drafted."
"Point taken but no."
"Fiance?"
"There is not a girl back home waiting for me except my mother."
"I am shocked." Stanley held his hand out for the bottle and took a drink once it was handed to him. He was quiet a while then started to say something but stopped himself. "Never mind."
Jack looked at him. "What were you gonna say?"
"Nothing."
"What was it?" Jack had a suspicion of what it was and hoped he was wrong.
Stanley sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, it's a stupid thought, but, if you haven't got a girl back home waiting for you, have you got anybody waiting for you? Other than your parents that is."
Jack swallowed. "There's nobody waiting for me." It wasn't a lie.
"Why do I feel like that's not true?"
"Has anyone ever told you yer nosy?"
"Yes."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand. "Whoever told you was right."
Stanley was silent a short time, trying unsuccessfully to scratch an itch under one of his casts. He glanced at Jack then said quietly, "You know, I wouldn't think any less of you if you did have somebody back home that, uh, isn't a girl. Can't really tell since they made me cut my hair but I'm all for free love and all that."
For a long time Jack said nothing. He slid back down into a laying position and took a deep breath. "He's not waiting for me."
"Huh?" Stanley blinked, rather stunned that his little speech had had any effect.
Jack shut his eyes. "He's not waiting for me, he doesn't even know I'm here. I haven't seen him for more than a year. For all I know he wouldn't even care. He's married by now, might even have a kid. Goddamnit, I miss him and I hate myself for it and I'm pretty damn sure I jinxed myself 'cause the last thing I said to him was that I'd probably be around the next summer if the fucking draft didn't get me!"
"Damn..."
Jack scrubbed a hand angrily across his eyes. "I'm such an idiot."
"No you're not. Here, drink." Jack took the bottle. Stanley shrugged. "You're inconveniently in love. Not your fault. It sucks, but no use blaming yourself. God knows you have enough to be miserable about without that."
Jack let out a long breath. "My life would be so much easier if more people thought like you."
"You've never been able to talk about him, have you?"
"No... I haven't."
"I'll listen if you wanna talk more."
"No, no, I, I think I'd better not."
"There was a mass casualty alarm not long before you woke up. The nurses are all gonna be busy for a while. Besides, talking would probably make you feel better. That's why girls get in big groups of friends whenever one of them hooks up or breaks up, eat ice cream, watch old sappy movies. They process their feelings together. Guys could benefit from the same."
"You sound like a psychologist or something."
Stanley shrugged. "I'm a hippy. There's not much difference."
Jack rolled as much as he could to the left to stare at the stripes painted on the wall by the lamp outside the small dirty window near the ceiling. "I don't know what to say."
Stanley lay on his back, eyes closed. "Whatever you think of."
"I miss him."
"I know."
"Wish he knew I was here."
"Why don't you write him?"
"No clue where he lives." Jack closed his eyes. "Dunno what I'd say if I could write him."
"What do you want him to know?"
"Nothing I'm willing to put on paper."
"Like?"
"Most of it I won't tell you and I doubt you'd want to hear."
"Oh, stuff like that." Stanley snorted. "So you've done that?"
"Yeah... I never told him I love him."
"Why not?" Stanley frowned.
"Was scared to. Scared what he'd think if I did. Why the hell am I telling you this?"
"No idea. You can stop if you want."
Jack rolled back to the right. "Do you think I shoulda told him?"
"Maybe."