"You're too much for me, Ennis. I wish I knew how to quit you."
The phrase rattled around in his sleep-crusted mind, breaking the soft barrier separating groggy reality from something sweeter. The heavy scent of whiskey, cigarettes and chilled, mountain air still hung over Ennis' head; a gentle yearning pain settled over his whole body, caught onto his breath and hung on, burying its sharp points into the flurry of his heartbeats.
"You're too much for me, Ennis…" Jack had hollered it, the sound screaming from his throat, ripping pieces from the depths of his heart. They were the last words Ennis had even heard from Jack, the last fight, the last thing ever said.
Ennis merely whispered it, breathing the words softly into the chilly morning, a mere shadow of the real thing. "You're too much for me, Ennis. I wish I knew how to quit you."
The morning broke over the high hills; jobs in the mountains like this always gave him the Dreams. He'd taken to the saddle in the morning with tears in his eyes more often than not. These kind of mornings reminded him most of Jack, made the memories most painful; Ennis would turn over in the bedroll, his fingers searching for something that was no longer there. The canvas of the tent would flap in the short breezes above him, darkness spilling through the holes in the tent.
There was no light left in the world, even at high noon.
Ennis' two daughters had grown up strong, Alma just like her father, beanpole tall and pretty, and little Jenny loud and spunky. The girls both were swept off their feet young, married and happy with children of their own. And without the need for child support, Ennis had quit his job, turning away from farm life and back into the wilderness.
Had it truly been seven years? Seven years and Jack's last words still shuttered through Ennis' whole body like an illness. "You're too much for me, Ennis. I wish I knew how to quit you."
"Sometimes, Jack, I wish I knew how to quit you too."
Ennis woke early, taking a mule to town for much needed supplies. The younger boys on the mountain mostly let him go to town, knowing he checked the post each time for letters from his beloved children. The boys mostly looked on the older man with envy and no understanding, their wild eyes still clouded with the simplest thoughts of youth.
None of them even reminded him a little of Jack Twist.
The mule trudged forward, unwillingness in every step toward the distant town. It would take a whole half a day to town and back, but Ennis enjoyed the movement. The horse's hooves were steady and strong on the path, the mule reluctant to walk but even more reluctant to put up a real fight. The sun was strong and half-high when Ennis broke from the trees onto a real dirt road. There were no cars at the moment, and the morning was quiet with only soft, natural noises. Dogs yipped wildly in the distance, reminding Ennis sharply of coyotes. "Spend half the night jumpin up and checkin for coyotes." The very tone, the voice was so loud in his mind, Ennis turned to see who had spoken so like Jack. But it was nothing but the wind through his ears and the very memories of his one love that had shaken the words out of his mind and onto the dusty road. Merely the force of his own heartbeat had projected Jack out of the recesses of Ennis' pain and into something almost tangible.
Almost. But it wasn't real. It wasn't ever real.
The store was empty of life this time of day, save for the quiet cashier woman and the sweep, curled around his broom and asleep on an upside-down bucket in the corner. The man didn't even stir as Ennis reached over his lolling head to reach for a canister of salt. The woman, Marla from her nametag, flirted with him sleepily and without heart, handing him his money with nothing more in her thoughts than a soft smile and the clink of change. "Yah come back now, yah hear?"
Ennis packed the mule carefully, tying everything down carefully as he could so nothing would jog loose during the trek uphill. Then he led both of his mounts to the post to check his rented mailbox for news.
There was a letter from gentle Alma; her husband got a job somewhere in town, and they bought a lovely house in the thick of things. That was just like Alma, wanting to be in the middle of everything. Jenny was also well; pregnant with her fourth child. They had three boys and were trying once more for a girl. The thought made him smile. He reread the letter twice, before shoving the letter back into the envelope. A little card fell out from the back, spiraling down to the dust like a feather.
Ennis bent to pick it up, blew the dust off and studied the picture on the front. It was a picture of Texas. Who would be writing him from Texas?
Ennis,
Jack's parents are dead, both of them, within a week of one another. Perhaps you should come for the funeral if you get this in time. If not, you should come pay your respects when you can. It was Mrs. Twist's last wish, to know her boy's friend came to visit one last time.
Lureen Twist
There was no mistaking the handwriting, or the attitude in the words. Even if Lureen hadn't signed the postcard, he would have known right off who'd written him. Lureen was just like that. There were even tiny inkblots around the word "friend" like she'd hesitated writing the word.
Lureen Twist, huh? So the bitch never got remarried. Ennis could tell from the quick way she'd written the card, the death of the Twists hadn't affected her in the least. The death of her husband hadn't affected her much either.
It took two months to get things cleared with his boss. He set out in deep August, driving off of the mountain range and out into the hotter plains, driving south and south and south until he'd crossed Texas borders.
The Twist's place looked much like he'd remembered from his sparse, irregular visits over the last seven years. There was still a sense of lost time here, like the rest of the world had past this place by so many times it just stood still and untouched. What was arcane and outdated out there was commonplace here.
The family plot was down the hill, over the summer-yellowed grass and past the barns. There were three new graves, two fresher than the last.
"Well, Mrs. Twist," he said, respectfully to the dirt in front of him, "I didn't know you too well, but I know your kind. The world's less than it was without you. And you as well, Mr. Twist. There just ain't folks like around no more. I beg your forgiveness for what I'm about to do. But it should have been done seven years ago, in the first place. You understand, don't you, Mrs. Twist? It's only what he wanted. What should have happened in the first place…"
The dirt felt coolish between his fingers as he dug around the older of the three graves. Under a shallow bit of under soil was what he was after. The small box was made of some kind of stone and held something more precious than anything in the whole world.
It took some driving to get back to the old Brokeback Mountain, but the trip was scenic and made in quiet reverence. What remained of Jack Twist sat quietly on the seat next to him, vibrating with the hum of the engine, waiting, knowing what was about to happen.
He took the pretty chestnut mare from the horse trailer on the back of his truck, started up the trail where his truck couldn't take him, Jack clutched tightly in his hand. The mountain air was almost cold when Ennis reached the top. Nothing much had changed since that summer almost thirty years ago, when he'd met Jack, nothing much at all.
The wind picked up the ashes from the box, like a child scooping up sand. Soon, the wind would carry out the rest of Jack's last request, something that had taken seven years to fulfill.
Ennis stayed on Brokeback for hours, ignoring the restless pacing of the horse, tied to a tree. There was something in the air here, something that clouded his eyes and shook him from the soles of the boots to the very center of his being.
Something in the wind that whispered like Jack.
"You're too much for me, Ennis. I wish I knew how to quit you."
"But you never did, did you, Jack? You never quit me." He smiled, the sunlight playing patterns across the dirt around his boots. The mountains stretched further out then he could see, making strange, swaying patterns across the sky. There was peace here, a peace that had soaked into Ennis' very soul. "And I'll never quit you, Jack. I'll never quit you ever."
Ennis mounted up stiffly, letting the horse carrying him back. He left the box, feeling no urge to take it back. He didn't need a little piece of Jack to bring back, add to the small shrine in his truck; his memories would suffice.
The wind whispered softly through the trees, kissing the edges of the woods and running its hands over the jagged curves of Brokeback. And for a moment, a fraction of a second, it ran over the curves of the stone box, whistling through the cracks, sounding vaguely tinny and much like the tired wailing of an off-tune harmonica.
I saw the movie, then went out the next day and got the book. It was clouding my mind, so I had to write about it before I could move on a write something original. So here it is. You were too much for me, Jack Twist.
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