Just Normal
There was an hour, more or less, when he could have been happy. Not silly, Christmas morning, look-what-Santa-brought-me happy, which is known to only last until about noon when visiting begins, and neighbors no one's ever liked show up to eat the pies and brag over their own Santa-gotten gains. Not giddy, beer-running-through-his-hair-and-into-his-eyes happy, trophy getting handed off to him because he managed to outdrive some of the biggest names in the business. Not happy like kissing Luke, but happy like loving Luke, and getting loved right back, happy like having assembled all the pieces of his life that have always been right in front of him, yet somehow scattered into a random pattern. There was an hour when he could have held onto that perfect collection of everything he's ever wanted, buried his face in the softness and felt the warmth of it close to his heart, but he slept right through it. And woke up to a sadness that's been dragging him down for a full day.
Used to be, when they were kids and Jesse's eyes would hold about a tenth of the sorrow Luke's did yesterday morning, followed by the old man pronouncing himself broken-hearted with disappointment at the behavior of his beloved boys, there was a price to pay. A whipping, extra chores, and lingering sense of shame to be lived through. Lasted all of an hour, maybe a whole afternoon if it was a truly serious transgression.
The Duke boys were raised the same, though Luke caught more of those mournful looks, took more licks from the whip (then again, he all but stuck his hind end out and pointed to where Jesse ought to whip him, so it's not like the result was unexpected), spent more time out of their uncle's good graces. Still his cousin's always had that same rhythm about him, staying angry at Bo as long as it takes to utter his snide sarcasms, or maybe trade a few punches. Punishment doled out in exchange for grudges getting dropped, a primitive means of paying for whatever crimes Luke might perceive that he committed.
But that barter system is crude, dating back to when the cycle of their days rather resembled old cowboy movies, routine, unfolding with black-and-white simplicity. Do chores, band together to fight the system, off to the Boar's Nest to find girls to celebrate with, more chores, and off to bed. Beds, two separate beds, not like now where they're suddenly sharing the one and though Luke has invited him in, Bo's not sure he wants to sleep there anymore.
His cousin's right about the cold, worse today than it's been all along, weaving its way through the fibers of Luke's flannel shirt. Pulls it tight across his chest as he stands there in the shed, lost. He came for something, and he'll work out what it is, if he can stop thinking about Luke for all of a second.
"Bo," which is going to be impossible, now. Apparently the man has decided to come and retrieve his lost little cousin, just like he used to get sent to do when a young Bo wandered too far, out to where the trees and stones stopped being familiar. "Socket wrench is in the toolbox over there." On the shelf under the small window, right. That's one of the things he came after.
"You ski?" he asks; when he thinks about it, it was the two pairs of skis hung on the wall toward the back there that caused his attention to drift.
"It's Montana. Everyone skis," comes the answer as Luke goes on past him to get the toolbox himself. Bo holds out his hand for it; he's going to keep his word about changing that oil.
"You any good?" Of course he's good, Luke's never had any problem learning anything that requires speed or agility.
His cousin's playing at modest, though. "I ain't broken nothing yet."
Bo nods some on that, wonders how many skis one man needs anyway. "Think you could teach me how?"
"Wrong season, Bo. I don't expect enough snow will fall down here this time of year. Maybe if we went up north to Kalispell or something."
They've stood here in this shed long enough, he reckons, time to get to work. Oh, right. "I was also looking for the drip pan." The oil and filter were still sitting in the tailgate of the Jeep from when Luke bought them, presenting an easy find.
"Right there," is the answer, his cousin pointing to a spot not a foot from Bo's boot sole. "If it was a snake it would have bit you." Wake up, Bo.
He's wide awake, though, that's not the issue here. It's just that thinking and problem solving have always been Luke's skills. He doesn't like working over the same old ground, looking for solutions where right now there are only obstacles. Doesn't come easily, doesn't flow smoothly through his mind.
He might just have had a chance to work things through if Luke left him to the oil change, but in truth, there was no reason to expect he would. Any maintenance that Bo has ever done on a Duke-owned car has happened with Luke looking over his shoulder. Still, he knows his cousin won't follow him underneath the frame of the Jeep, even if he does stand right over the open hood. A good ton of metal between them, and Luke's talking right through it.
"You ain't," the man's saying. "Got to go doing chores here, Bo. You ain't got no keep to earn." Bo hears the words, but he doesn't exactly have any kind of an answer to them. "I invited you here; you're my guest." Stilted speech the likes of which Jesse would have given to their more distant relatives.
"I don't want to be your guest, Luke," he tells the engine between them. Watches his cousin's ankles as he walks around the hood, fidgeting with whatever wires he reckons got loosened when Bo popped the latch, maybe, then focuses back on the nut in front of him.
"Use the three-eighths," comes the suggestion for which socket wrench he should grab. "What do you want to be then?"
Same thing he's always been, maybe. Pest, thorn in Luke's side, recipient of those looks that mock him. Loved, but without pain. For all the years he felt frustrated at his distant cousin, angry, resentful that the man could kiss him once, then go right back to his life here in Montana without giving any indication that it mattered a lot to him, last night marks the first time he wished he could take it back. Return to those days just after the 1997 Hazzard-wide reunion, after the whole county got shocked by Rosco's ability to out-scheme a schemer, then by Daisy and Enos' second failed wedding. Just him and Luke in the General, but this time he wouldn't stop out there in the old Miller's field, he'd push right across to that ditch on the far side and jump it, just to hear Luke complain about his impending death. If, he'd undo their first kiss if it would take away the look in Luke's eyes from yesterday, the one that's not entirely gone by this morning.
"Just normal," he answers.
"Normal," get snorted right back at him. "Bo, get up here."
Might as well, the plug's out, filter's off, oil is draining. No excuse to be under the car anymore. A hand comes down to help him up, no choice but to take it, even if it does bring him to his feet right there in front of his cousin, closer than he wants to be. Two hands on his shoulders, holding him steady there, reminds him of childhood days when his cousin picked him up after chin-jarring falls. Gentle, worried, that's the look to those eyes now.
"I reckon," Luke starts, shakes his head, but the next words are just repeats of what he's already said. "I reckon it wasn't fair for me to tell you where to find them pictures of me and Anita, Bo. What you did, saving them messages, that was a mistake. What I did, it was wrong. All right?"
No, he's not all right. Luke's finally put a fine point on it for him, what's been under his skin since yesterday afternoon.
"Luke," he tries to look away, but his cousin uses a wrist against Bo's chin to keep him focused forward. Same kind of talk to me approach Jesse always took. "When you was with Anita, she ever – she stay over here?"
The grip on his shoulders tightens. Luke knows what he's asking, and his fingers provide all the answer Bo needs. Doesn't stop his cousin's tongue though. "Sometimes."
Seconds of nothing but Luke's hands kneading at his shoulders.
"Bo, I reckon that there ain't no reason to go looking back." A sigh, Luke's frustrated, but it's nothing he plans to take out on Bo. No sarcasm, no rolled eyes, just fingers digging into shoulders then releasing; thankfully the flannel shirt provides a bit of a buffer against those strong hands. "We both been with more girls than we can count, even stayed with a couple, here and there. I guess," another pause there, another few seconds for Bo to hate this conversation before it picks up again. "We're better people, maybe, for what we done with them. Or what we learned by being with them. I reckon Anita taught me not to walk away from love. I ain't sure what Gabriela taught you, but there must be something."
"I can count to five in Spanish," is a joke that doesn't belong between the words Luke's trying to say. Neither of them even bothers to smile about it.
"You can't go sleeping on the couch every night any more than I can tell you that ain't no old girlfriend ever allowed to leave you a message. I expect one or another will call from time to time."
"Most of them ain't got no real interest in talking to me," Bo assures him. "I don't figure it'll happen too often."
"We can flip the mattress," Luke suggests. "If it'll help."
It won't, Bo just reckons he'd better stop caring about what Luke and Anita must've done on that bed of his cousin's. Makes it easier to consider doing when Luke's hands come off his shoulders, one pulling gently at the back of his neck. Quick look down toward the road, then Luke's kissing him. Sweet little thing that doesn't last long before his cousin's backing away. Doesn't get far, Bo grabs hold of his elbow with one hand, other one cupping in those dark curls, pulling until their foreheads meet. Frozen like that, all but his fingers making small movements through Luke's hair.
"I'm sorry, Bo." But that part's already been said before.
"Me too," that's the thing he forgot to say to Luke last night. Pause there, just quiet air, warmed by their breath.
One more kiss, then Luke pulls back. "Get back under there and put that plug in so's we can go out for a drive."
— — — —
"That, over there, is the Anaconda stack." Tall chimney of some sort that Luke's pointing to out his own window. Industrial looking thing, but there's no factory around it. "You can see it from most anywhere, and it's about a mile from here back to my place." Right, Luke's cabin is just southwest of that peak over there; his cousin doesn't have to go acting like he's the only one with a powerful sense of direction developed on dark nights, driving through deer paths and wilderness at high speed with a revenuer biting at their tailpipe.
"What's it for?" Seems like a chimney of that size ought to have a purpose, other than being a beacon so out-of-town visitors can find Luke Duke's cabin.
"Used to be a copper smelter," his tour guide informs him. "They shut it down sometime back and leveled the plant. But they saved the stack, and now that's state land around it. You okay?" Luke adds when he catches Bo yawning.
"Fine," he answers. He has always yawned his way through history lessons.
"It's the altitude," Luke announces, making Bo wonder what height has to do with copper. "Making you want to sleep so much."
"We ain't that high." Hell, they grew up hiking higher mountains than what surrounds them right now.
"About a mile up," he gets informed. "Don't look like it, but yeah, we're about a thousand feet higher than Big Frog," which was the highest peak they used to cross on certain long-distance moonshine runs. Used to camp up there sometimes, too, and it felt like the top of the world. "Them mountains you see there," on the far side of the smoke stack, not much more than hills in the foreground, but they build up pretty good. "Go up over ten thousand feet. Don't worry, you'll get used to it soon."
"Ain't you got no trees?" he asks, because the altitude doesn't matter to him half as much as the fact that the landscape is so barren.
He gets smirked at for that. "You get used to that too," Luke tells him. "We'll go to town; you can see the state forest from there."
"We already been to town," Bo reminds him. Bleak place, five block radius of square, wood-frame houses stacked on top of each other, broken up by the occasional dry goods store or laundromat. Smaller than Hazzard without half the charm.
"Anaconda," Luke corrects. "Just up the road and bigger. It's a resort area come winter and ski season, so it's actually kind of pretty."
He quickly learns that his cousin's right about that. The buildings here are brick, not wood, and make a nice contrast with the green of fir trees he can see in the distance. Solid appearance to the place, not the half-abandoned look of Opportunity. And then there's the fact that there are people in town, walking from here to there, and that alone is an improvement over the rest of what he's seen in this state so far. Funny how he and Luke used to wander off into the Georgia wilderness to find some peace and quiet, but here in the empty west he reckons they ought to go out of their way to spend more time in town.
Luke cruises through streets he obviously knows well, making turns that mean nothing in particular to Bo. Off the main road, across some railroad tracks, into a lot, where he pulls to a stop. Hand hesitating over the keys as Bo looks at the building in front of them. Yellow brick, square like a school, concrete steps and a glass door. Long about the time Bo's recognizing the insignia on the glass, Luke finally turns the Jeep off.
"Let's see who's here," he says. At the Anaconda Branch Office of the United States Forest Service.
