Meanwhile
Jack sat, leaned forward to quite an angle with his wrist cocked and his chin molded into it… Deep in thought… It had been nearly 2 years since he'd heard any word from Sands and yet he sent letter after letter in 2 month increments. Like clock work he'd lick the sweet backing glue of some decorative stamp and smear his thumb over the glossy finish until it stuck to a postcard of some travel destination. Locations that he had never been to. The words were never long. Brief. Always brief. iTijuana/i or… iGood finishing in July, see you there/i…. iBrokeback? Bring the rifle/i. It seemed lifetimes ago since they had laid eyes on one another. Millenniums since those ranching days in the summer up in the mountain. Countless, pointless days since the true meaning of life. Time had gotten lost. Minutes no longer held their value. Father Time himself had given up… and the ticking of a clock held no symbolism. It was simply an annoyance. Merely a nuisance. There was no point in counting to sixty. No bell would sound. There was nothing to look forward to. There had been nothing for two years. A century. A millennium. A lifetime. Nothing. No word from Sheldon.
'Life' had gone as 'normal'. What was life? What was normal? No word held its proper connotation. Sure the air went into his lungs and then flowed back out; an effortless, thoughtless function. Though, if it were under his control, maybe he'd have stopped it by now. Wasted breath…there was no point. And his heart. His heart no longer had a purpose… it beat only to carry blood… blood that was not used… exertion that was not meant to its potential. And no love… no love as the heart was meant to love. Granted, he had a wife… but he was not passionate for her. Maybe he said those three words… 'I love you'… but just as an orgasm, they could be faked with enough effort or preplanned thought. One night of booze induced pleasure gave women thoughts… he'd have been far out of that rodeo life had it not been for his son being born 9 months later. Now the years had past… wasted away. What were memories? Had it all just been a story… a legend?
"Dad… Dad?" Bobby hollered up the steps. "Dad, I'm home!" he called out.
"Mm?... Mm!" Jack shook his head, attempting to clear the fog from his mind. "Up in the study son. I'll be down in a minute," he called back, then slipped this month's postcard inside the stack of letters to go out to the mailbox, and trudged down the steps.
"Hey there dad. I stopped by mum's office, but they said she's out of town… on some work related-…out of town random job of some sort?"
"Hmm? How long did it take you to practice saying all those words in succession?" Jack said in disbelief that his wife was out of town, he'd seen her this morning and she'd said nothing of the sort. Was their marriage truly ithat/i bad? He picked up the phone dialing into the tractor company. He talked his way through the receptionist and asked for 'Mrs. Twist'… and got Hilary on the other line.
"Hi beautiful. Guess who is home from college?" Jack started. "I'll give you a hint- our son."
Bobby sighed and took the phone out of his father's hand. "Hi mum…" he answered briefly. "Dad's just playing jokes again." He quickly set the phone down on its cradle.
"Well… I guess I wasn't the second resort then? What's on your mind son, that grants fatherly over motherly advice? Haven't gotten some young lady pregnant have you…?" he said almost dreading the answer.
"No!" Bobby said swiftly defensive. "Look…. There's just something I need to ask you."