AUTHOR'S NOTE. It's been a while! Well, this is an idea I had tonight while watching the movie... what if Ennis met Rich? Okay, so it's not the most groundbreaking idea, but hell, I thought it'd lend itself to an interesting conversation. Your basic backdrop for this fic is that it takes place in 1984, so Jack is dead, Rich is alive, and Ennis is alone. I think that's all you need to know... oh, and that I have barely any concept of towns or roads or interstates in Wyoming. I did, however, look up the area code. Enjoy!!!
FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION. This is my first fic written with the intention of publishing, my first multi-chapter fic, and my first BbM fic since May of 2006!! Exciting, huh?!
DISCLAIMER. Ennis, Jack, Rich, Earl and any other character that I certainly did not invent myself... I certainly did not invent myself. (:
When he'd heard that Rich was still well and kickin', Ennis went as fast as he could to the nearest Yellow Pages. It was inside of the 7-11 about 3 miles down the road in town that Ennis found
Tewes, Richard M.
(307)865-5883
and there he was, plain as day. Earl's widower, not quite in the flesh, but his printed name enough to prove his existence beyond Ennis's horror film sequence of a childhood memory. Ennis, keeping his hand on page "Tes" - "Tha", checked the outer binding of the book to make sure it was a recent print. 1983. Ennis scanned his surroundings for a pay phone. Should he really call Rich in right out here in public? He reconsidered the pay phone idea and instead worked on committing the number to memory. After a few moments, he returned the book and tipped his hat to the counter girl.
865-5883.
865-5883.
865-5883.
The short ride home consisted only of this mantra, which continued up until Ennis's hands were on his telephone. A dial tone intruded on an otherwise silent trailer as Ennis held the receiver up to his ear and waited. And waited. Damn. He wished he'd planned this out better.
865-5883.
It was reassuring in its repetitiveness and simplicity.
865-5883.
Ennis wondered if Rich still lived in that ranch home he'd shared with Earl...
865-5883.
Or if that would've been too painful.
865-5883.
He wondered if Rich had the same scalding image seared into his memory that Ennis did.
865-5883.
He wondered if Rich had their shirts hanging together in his closet.
865-5883.
It was time to call. Ennis's long, shaky fingers found the numbers as he murmured them out loud. After a slight pause came the first ring, and then the second. Ennis wasn't sure if he wanted Rich to pick up. A third ring. Should he leave a message? A fourth. Ennis was about to hang up. A fifth -
"Hello?"
Rich's voice sounded old. There was no better way to describe it. Just old. Like a scratched-up record from the 50s that crinkled and cracked to life under the phonograph's stylus.
"Hi, Rich? Uh, Mr. Tewes?"
Ennis's mumbling alto hardly made it to Rich's ears.
"Pardon?"
Ennis cleared his throat.
"Mr. Tewes?"
"Yes, yes, this is he."
Rich's voice came out slowly and deliberately. Like an old record. Ennis was almost surprised by its husky quality.
"Hi, Mr. Tewes, uh, this is Ennis. Uh, Ennis del Mar."
A pause. A deep breath.
"Mr. del Mar, do I know you?"
"Uh, I don't believe you do, sir."
"del Mar,"
Rich repeated. All of a sudden, Ennis's chest tightened.
"Yeah, I know you, del Mar. Now what you doin' callin' me? 'Cause I sure as hell know you ain't got nothin' a' worth to say."
"Mr. Tewes, I - I'm not... um, I'm not who I think you mean,"
"There's only one del Mar I ever known, and only one del Mar ever known me."
"Uh, I think you mighta' known my father. Hank del Mar."
A quiet noise came from the other line, a remark, or a shudder, or a sob. Ennis's head pounded like he was sitting inside a bass drum.
"Mr. Tewes, he's long dead, and I ain't nothin' like him, and I'm callin' cause I wanna' meet you. I mean, not for no goodwill reconciliation or nothin', although I am sorry... I been sorry my whole life... but I gotta meet you, Mr. Tewes. I... I think we got a lot to talk 'bout."
Ennis spoke quickly so that Rich'd have no chance to hang up, and so that maybe the pounding in his head and heart would cease, and so that maybe the hollow pain behind his eye sockets would retreat and spare him from the tears that threatened to fall.
"What do we possibly got to talk about, Mr. del Mar?"
"Well, I'd rather t'have told you in person but uh, I lost someone too."
Rich was silent again.
"Very much in the fashion of how you lost..."
Ennis trailed off. Goddamn it, how he hated talking.
He could hear Rich breathing quietly.
"I live in Dubois. 42 Heron Road off'a Lynden, right off'a 26 West. Drive up tomorrow."
-
That night, Ennis dreamt as he hadn't in months: he dreamt of Jack.
...TBC.
A/N. Thanks for reading!! Just one more note: I have a general idea of where to take this, but I would love to hear some opinions! Nothing is set in stone yet, so please - let me know! I live for feedback. And I'm thinking the next chapter will be a bit longer, more inside Ennis's thoughts. I'm thinking. So yes... thanks again! -A.