Ennis pushes his second piece of apple pie around his plate, deep in thought and still reeling from the argument he had with Jack at their last meeting – he intends to send him a postcard and ask for them to meet up in November – he worries that Jack has given up on him altogether. Ennis has thought and thought about the whole situation and is sick of thinking. In the midst of eating his first slice of pie Cassie had come into the diner by chance with a male friend and there had been another showdown with her as well. If only he could get things right!
He glances outside, the afternoon darkening – another storm is brewing for sure. The diner is now empty of all customers except for him. His thoughts return in a circle to Jack then alongside them thoughts of Alma – he misses them both, but it is for Jack his soul weeps – what if Jack refuses to see him in November, what if he never sees Jack ever again?
In his mind he sees Jack's beautiful eyes with their long lashes – china blue eyes. Alma's are a grey blue and not as full of mischief and life, they did not make his soul sing. In her eyes he was wanting, never good enough: in Jack's eyes he had always felt King, but now there was a shadow and Jack wanted more……what to do, what to do…..
Alma's skin was all cream and pale strawberry but Jack's skin had a light tan always where it was exposed to the sun, but pure white silk beneath - which made Ennis want to die for the beauty of it.
His ex wife's hair was always baby fine and mousey but Jack's hair was a rich dark brown almost black, often curled, soft as a baby's.
Alma's body was soft and yielding, but Jack's was hard as steel beneath it's silken covering and did not yield quickly but only after wrestling and fighting, then there was sweet surrender.
One tear worked it's way down Ennis's cheek – 'Jack' he whispered – then his head lowered and he put down his fork and a great loneliness and despair came over him and coldness in his bones. It seemed to him then that he would never see his darlin again – but he must try, the postcard had to be sent.
He got up and headed towards the door – behind the counter the little waitress who always served him frowned in sympathy with this man, he always looked uncared for with his jacket sleeves frayed and always wearing the same battered old hat, he was tall and too slim as though he was perpetually half starved, so that he usually wolfed down the pieces of pie she served him – not today she noticed. He needed someone to care for him.
Many miles away to the south Jack, critically injured on his back in a green field, looked up at the achingly beautiful sky and whispered 'Ennis' as one last tear made it's way down his broken and bloody cheek.