Jack at 26
October 12, 1970
"Tell me about Rich and Earl's ranch."
Jack thought he was daubing at that wound with care. They were lying sweaty and sated, snug in the two sleeping bags zipped together, listening to the crazy cry of a loon on the lake. The first time he'd heard that sound two years before, he'd sat bolt upright, swearing, and Ennis had laughed long and loud. The memory of Ennis' mirth had lulled him into thinking he could say any fool thing at that moment. But Ennis flinched as though Jack had applied whiskey to his cuts.
"You heard it all before. Nothin else to say. Things ain't changed that much here, don't know it ever will."
"But—"
Ennis turned on his side, raised up on his elbow and leaned over him. Jack could see the diffuse glow from the dying camp fire just outside the tent reflected in his eyes and feel his breath on his face.
"You think I'm so worried about my own life?" Ennis said low. "If anything happened to you..." He lay back down and was silent.
Jack could find no words. Long after Ennis had fallen asleep he lay awake, seething. He felt eaten up with hatred for Ennis' father. If he weren't already dead he'd go there and kill him with his bare hands. As he stared up into the blackness, his anger burned so intensely he saw stars.
Suddenly, he realized they really were stars. He felt cold air on his bare skin, the cozy nest gone. Grit and bits of gravel cut into his back. A thrumming, growling noise was getting louder and when lights glared on him he realized he was lying on a road. A surge of adrenalin propelled him upright and he leaped backward. Headlights veered away from him and into the air. The din was tremendous as the pickup hit the edge of the ditch and flipped end over end, bright beams sweeping the sky before blinking out. The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering and tinkling cut through the night air. Then silence.
Jack stood frozen in place, gasping SHIT! SHIT! and shaking uncontrollably. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, staring into the darkness where the mangled truck lay. If it had hit him, would he have died here or next to Ennis? He imagined Ennis waking to find his battered body beside him…
He spotted a flame licking out from the hulk and made to rise but then saw he was kneeling before the embers of the campfire. A length of charred wood had caught fire in the slight breeze. Two empty brown beer bottles sitting on a log reflected the orange glow. Shit, that's hard.
He pitched forward and vomited onto a fire stone.
When he finally crawled back to the tent, his teeth were chattering and his trembling hands fumbled with the zip on his side of the sleeping bags. He surged up against Ennis' warm back, cleaving to him, and Ennis stirred.
"Christ, Jack, how'd you get so cold?" he muttered and squeezed his arm. Jack shivered and buried his face in his hair.
"I'm so sorry, Ennis," he whispered.