Conversations #8
A disjointed set of conversations that would've been fun/nice/endearing/helpful to see in the series…but we didn't.
Follows CANON only, generally references to conversations we never hear.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just speculatin'.
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Johnston walked across the grass in the graveyard, not sure if he was more upset about seeing Jonah in town, again, or if it was the latest insanity dreamed up by the Gray Contingent. How that man managed to get out of bed in the morning without a committee consensus…
Ah, well. He wasn't out here to deal with Jonah or think about Gray. He was here to visit with his father. August 23, the old man's birthday.
As Johnston reached the stone marker, he couldn't help but chuckle about the last birthday his father had celebrated. Between the moonshine--Johnston would swear the still was in pieces and had been for years--and the stripper he'd ordered from Wichita, it had been a hell of a time. Thank God Gail hadn't caught wind of it.
"How'd you do it, Dad?" he asked, looking down at the stone. "How did you manage to do everything this town needs and still keep a sense of humour?"
Not my fault you're a fuddy-duddy Johnny, his memory said. Maybe if you'd unwind a bit, you'd see how I managed it. Besides, think of the times. So many more people here--why'd we allow that to happen, anyway?
"Hell if I know," Johnston sighed, not thinking it odd that he was supplying both halves of the conversation. "Sometime in the past ten years, they just started showing up. They want shopping malls and arcades and movie theatres and coffeehouses--like we have enough people to make any of those worthwhile. And now Gray wants to have the mine property completely fenced off."
What? The mine owns seven hundred acres of the best hunting in the area! Close that off and several families, even of miners, will go hungry at times. Hell, we all do what we can--
"But we can't do everything for everybody and still have something left when things go wrong. I know, I know. When did this happen? When did we stop saying 'Work for it' and start saying 'Complain enough and the government will subsidize you'?"
Well, it all started in 1935 or so, during the Depression when that jackass FDR was President…
"It was a rhetorical question, Dad. No history lesson required."
Then why'd you ask? The wind sighed for Johnston's father, a sound remarkably like the old man had made when he was making a point after years of patiently biting his tongue. Never mind. You wouldn't be my son if you didn't ask pointless questions that I've already told you the answers to a dozen times. Besides, you're reaping the end of the Raw Deal, so you know why I hated that man so much.
"Yep." Johnston was quiet for a long minute. He pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket. "Brought your favourite brand with me. Figured we could at least enjoy part of the day, if not all of it." He didn't feel compelled to explain that "we" was in this case himself alone, since he knew exactly how much of this conversation his memory was providing. "How'd you keep Gail from finding out about that stripper, Dad? That has been buggin' me ever since."
Johnston's memory failed him here, but the knowing smirk that would cross his father's face at times loomed large.
A soft chuckle filled the air around them. Johnston tipped the flask up to his lips and then poured a measure about where his father's lips would be. "Guess there are some things I'm just not meant to know," he said, watching the clouds bump in the sky.
A long silence fell between Johnston and his memories while the day faded away from his nerves. Peaceful as places could be, this was always one that Johnston loved and dreaded at the same time. He wasn't ready for this kind of peace, anymore than he'd been ready for his father to come here to rest. The sky was getting a bit darker, and soon enough it would be evening and then night. It was time.
"Happy Birthday, Dad," Johnston said just before he turned to go home. "I miss you."
Not like you can't find me, boy, the wind whispered as Johnston walked away. I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon.
"Love you, too," Johnston whispered to the wind, the Scotch having an unusual effect on his vocal cords.
As he walked back to his car, Johnston finally saw the way around Gray's newest form of power-grab, and it would start with the past. He slid behind the wheel and started the car.
"Thanks, Dad," Johnston said as he put his car in gear. Once again, Eric Jacob Green had given his son an answer the boy already knew.
You're welcome, Johnny. Love you, too. Wish I could help more, but…
The grass bent in the wind and soon silence filled the sacred grounds.
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