Chapter 13

Roll up the plains.
There's too much view for me.
There's so much space between
The waiting heart, and whispered word,
It's never heard

One room will do for me,
Where every evening I can stare
At someone smiling from his chair
Across the floor,
A million miles away behind the door.

* A Million Miles Away Behind the Door -- Alan Lerner/Frederick Loewe

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Ain't quite sure why I never give much thought t'death and what comes after, though I guess it's fair t' say that I spent a good deal a time thinkin' about th' actual dyin' an' what happens durin', but now, I can say one thing fer sure. It turned out better than I ever expected. I remember a flicker, like somethin' flashin' in the corner a my eye, while I lay there in th' snow, unable t' feel anythin' or move a muscle; then I just stood up and backed away, still lookin' down at my own face.

It wasn't a purty sight, I can tell ya, but it was only a minute or two before I started feelin' like I was lookin' down at somebody else, somebody that belonged in a world that didn't have nothing t' do with me.

Course, there's some would say that I didn't choose t' dwell on any notions about what happens in th' afterlife 'cause I already had a fair idea a what was waitin' fer me, once I crossed over, seein' as how I lived the kind a life that th' fire an' brimstone crowd would a condemned as abomination an' seein' as how I never set much store in askin' fer redemption when I never had no intention a repentin' my sins.

Course, that don't mean that I was lookin' forward t' roastin' over Ol' Nick's undyin' flames, but I lived m' life the only way I knew how, and if that guaranteed me a place in that fire pit, then I'd figger I earned it, even when I never managed t' figger out how I could a done it different. Somethin' made me what I was, but I reckon there weren't no sense in tryin' t' find somebody t' blame.

I'd done that once and paid a big price fer it, when I was young an' stupid and didn't know shit about what life could take from a man when he wasn't lookin'.

I wasn't plannin' a make the same mistake again.

But I have t' admit that I was purty grateful that there weren't no avengin' demons with smokin' pitchforks waitin' t' escort me t' my eternal reward. It's early yet though; reckon there's plenty a time fer whatever holy justice might be waitin' fer me, but I've yet t' git a glimpse of any kind a inferno.

Instead, there's . . . this. A place filled with a pure, cold light that don't cast no shadows, and strange, pale shapes that seem t' fade back into nothin' when I look straight at 'em. Like clouds driftin' over th' mountains, which I also cain't see, but I'm purty sure they're there. Mebbe later, I'll be able t' see more.

But I have a notion that I ain't gonna be able t' turn around and take a look at where I am or where I'm goin' until I'm finished lookin' back t' where I was, an' that's the hard part.

Dyin', by comparison, was a piece a cake.

It was daylight by the time they found me, and I was grateful t' Sheriff Carroll fer what he done fer me and fer Mike.

An' he didn't have an easy time of it. Mike had been up all night, waitin' an' hopin' but mostly dreadin' what was comin'. He didn't admit his feelin's t' anybody while he paced th' floor and bugged th' hell out a anybody he could raise on the phone an' sent the ranch hands out t' search the countryside, but I didn't need t' hear th' words. We hadn't ever really talked about it, but ya don't live with a man fer more'n ten years without learnin' some things that he never bothers t' tell ya; Mike had a kind a sixth sense sometimes. He'd feel things shiftin' around 'im, and know things he had no business knowin'. Several times durin' that long night, he'd walk up t' stand in front a the fireplace, and his eyes would move from the paintin' a me to the one a Jack - an' back again - an' I could feel th' pain rise up in 'im like a flood tide. It was almost more than I could bear, so there's no knowin' how hard it was fer him. I had some kind a stupid notion that me bein' there, right there in th' room with 'im, might a made it easier on 'im, but it didn't. I was standin' close enough t' reach out an' touch 'im, although somethin' told me not to go quite that far, but he was way too lost in th' fear that was eatin' 'im alive t' sense anythin', even if there'd been anything t' sense.

I'm brand new at this, a course, but I'm already purty sure that there's a wall standin' twixt me an' them that are still among th' livin' - a wall I ain't gonna be allowed t' step through.

But I still feel like this is what I'm s'posed a do. Hoverin' around like some kind a fuckin' butterfly to watch th' things that I set in motion play out th' way I planned.

The sheriff come himself, t' bring Mike the news. An' he stood tall in refusin' t' let my partner go out t' the scene a the accident.

By the time Mike saw me, I'd been taken t' the li'l hospital in Lewistown, an' the doc had cleaned me up some. I'd like t' b'lieve it was easier fer 'im that way, but I cain't be sure. He stood lookin' down at me, and th' only word I kin think of t' describe how he looked is gutshot - like somethin' had jus' slammed into his body and tore 'im t' shreds. Ronnie an' Jerry was there with 'im, and had t' pick 'im up when his legs give out on 'im, but I honestly don't b'lieve he really knew who was there.

An' I look at 'im now, sittin' in front a the fireplace. Jus' sittin'. There's a glass a whiskey in front a him, an' cigarettes on the table, but he don't seem t' notice nothin' but the flames blazin' on the hearth.

I'm so sorry, Darlin'. I wish I knew how t' make it better fer ya, but th' truth is that I know it's gonna git worse - an' soon.

An' I wonder if he'll ever be able t' fergive me fer all I done, an' even if I'll ever really fergive myself.

In th' end, there wasn't no other choice I could make, but that ain't gonna make it any easier fer him.

I wonder now if it'd a made any difference if I'd known that dyin' wasn't the end a everything, but I really don't think so. What I done was what I had t' do, but I sure am wishin' now that there'd been some way to fix everything so nobody'd have t' git hurt. But I should know that life jus' don't work out that way - or death neither, I guess.

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Time's strange here; that's something ya notice purty quick. One minute, I was sittin' an' watchin' my partner try t' figure out how t' get through the night, an' hopin' against hope that he wasn't gonna really pull that ol' revolver out a his desk drawer. He didn't, but I know it's somethin' he really wanted a do. I know cause I remember exactly how that feels. Sixteen years ago, I felt th' same urges. An' the thing that stopped me from goin' through with it was the same thing that stopped him. I couldn't figger out how t' do it without hurtin' my kids so bad that they might never git over it.

It was the same fer him. Mike loved me, just as much as I loved Jack Twist, I guess. I felt a catch in my heart when I realized that, an' wished it wasn't so, but there's some things there's just no way a gettin' around.

I watched him open the drawer and stare down at the gun for a while; then he pushed away from the desk, and walked to th' window t' gaze out at the ranch we built together.

That's one a the bad things about losin' somebody like this, without no warnin' and no time t' git ready fer it. Everywhere ya look, ya see things that remind ya of what ya lost. I wondered then if Mike would be able t' go on livin' at the ranch. I thought it'd be best fer 'im, cause he really loves the place, but that'll have t' be up t' him t' decide.

A few blinks later, I was taken off to another place, one I know I never saw before, but recognize anyway.

Bobby Twist is sittin' behind a big wooden desk, sprawled in a fancy leather chair, starin' at a computer screen, when his phone rings. He don't look pleased t' be interrupted, frownin' as he reaches for the receiver; I'm too distracted t' pay much attention though, cause all I can see is the photos on the wall behind his desk. Jack. My Jack - in a half-a-dozen different poses; by himself, with Bobby, with a purty woman who has t' be Lureen, astride a big chestnut stallion with a lasso in his hand, flippin' steaks on a big barbeque pit, grinnin' like a fool, or sittin' on the edge of a fancy bed an' holdin' a tiny new baby, his face all soft an' tender. It nearly takes my breath away (even though I don't really have breath any more), an' I can't help but think a all the years when I kept him hidden away, in a place where nobody could see 'im, and all that time, he'd been here, bold as brass and twice as sassy. I sometimes think that 'sassy' is the word that suited Jack best.

Bobby listens fer a minute, not sayin' anything. Then he manages t' squeeze out a single word. "Okay."

More silence, an' a deep sigh. "I'll be there."

He hangs up then, an' spends a few minutes starin' off into space, before leanin' forward and coverin' his face with his hands.

"Goddamn, Ennis!" he whispers. "Never thought ya'd go like this."

There are tears in his eyes, an' I'm dumbstruck. Son of a gun! Jack Twist's baby boy - cryin' fer me! Don't that beat all?

Over the last few years, we got t' know each other - a little bit at a time - when we'd take our little rides up the mountain every year in early summer. Got t' know about each other's lives, an' families an' - mostly - got t' trust each other with shared memories a Jack. I reckon we got t' be friends, at least enough so that, when his own child was born - Jack, Jr. - he'd brought the baby up t' Lightnin' Flat so that I could go an' git a look at 'im.

I'd spent that whole day in a kind a daze, wonderin' how many generations it'd be before the blue in them eyes dimmed to where they were just blue, instead a the color heaven ought a be.

Except that now I know different. It ain't blue here, but then again, it prob'ly ain't heaven neither.

Bobby don't dawdle long with 'is grievin', if that's what it is. He's got a chore t' do, an' I cain't tell if it's somethin' he wants t' do, or somethin' he dreads.

In all the years since I first put that envelope in his hands, he's never once asked me about it, an' he's never opened it. I'm glad now t' see that I was right when I decided t' trust 'im.

I hadn't bothered t' listen in t' the voice on the phone, but I could purty much quote it, word fer word. Herbert McPhee, attorney-at-law, was never much fer fancy speeches an' flowery words. "It's time t' open th' envelope," he would a said. "Ennis got himself killed in a car wreck last night, and he left me instructions t' call you when the time came."

Short an' to the point.

"Ya'll need t' come up here, fer the funeral. If y'er willin'."

There's a big cabinet behind Bobby's desk, with a lock on the middle drawer. When he opens it, he goes still fer a minute, like he ain't sure he wants to go through with what he has t' do, but he does it anyway. Good kid, although I reckon he wouldn't be too pleased t' be called a kid any more at the grand old age a thirty-two.

That thought strikes me hard fer a minute. Jesus! Bobby Twist is thirty-two years old, an' he was just a wet-behind-the-ears teen-ager when his daddy died. Where did all the years go? My own Junior and Jenny both in their thirties, with kids a their own.

When did I git so old? It don't seem fair somehow, that I got old, and Jack never did.

Bobby sits back down at the desk, and spends a couple a minutes just starin' at the old manila envelope. When he finally opens it, he does it slow and careful, like somethin' inside might break if he's too rough with it.

No worries there. The only thing broken in that envelope is an old, weary heart.

Finally, like he's gettin' impatient with his own ditherin', he opens the clasp and dumps the contents out on is' desk.

He don't say nothin' as he stares down at the little pile a stuff, but I can almost hear him thinkin'; it sure ain't much t' show fer twenty years.

A little stack a postcards, rubber-banded together. A bandanna, dark red and stained with sweat and dried blood. Another postcard, separate from the others, with a bright colored picture showin' a mountain peak against a late afternoon sky with dark clouds hangin' off t' the west. A small key, with a numbered tag on it, and one battered, slightly flattened harmonica - the cheap kind that you can buy in any truck stop.

Jack wasn't th' only one that kept souvenirs a that magic summer.

Bobby's right; it surely ain't much t' show fer twenty years, but, for a long, long time, it was all I had.

He shuffles through the pitiful assortment. Then he sees the letter.

If I had breath any more, I'd be holdin' it as he unfolds it and spreads it out on the desk.


"Dear Bobby,

First of all, I want a thank you for what you done. I want a thank you for bringin Jack back to me. For a long time, I'd lost him, and I thought that was just the way things were sposed to be, but the truth was that I lost him because I thought it was the right thing to do, to let him go. I was wrong, and you helped me to know that.

All the stuff you see here won't mean much to anybody but me, but I thought you might want to have it, when the time's right. Everything you see here was a part a your daddy and the times we shared. Sad to say that, out a twenty years, we really only had a few months together. But those months were the only times I ever felt really alive. There ain't no words to tell you what Jack was to me. I'm still learning that myself.

But since you're reading this, it means that I got no more time for anything, except to say good-bye and to ask a favor. A big favor, I know, and if you feel like this is something you can't do, ain't no one gonna fault you for it.

My lawyer, the fella that's sposed to call you when the time comes, has all the details. But basically, you'll find a key in with all the stuff in this envelope. It's a key to a safety deposit box at the Citizen's Bank of Lewistown. There ain't nothing that's valuable inside that box - except to me. There's only a couple of old, dirty shirts that won't mean nothing to nobody else, but, for me, they're worth more than I could ever explain.

I'm asking you now to go get those shirts, and to take them with you when you follow the directions I left for you in my will. I think you'll know what to do with them.

Your daddy was the finest man I ever knew. You remember that, and teach your kids the same, if you ever have any. Jack Twist was never nothing to be ashamed of.

Thanks for all you done for me - and for him.

Sincerely yours,

Ennis Del Mar"

He reads it twice, an' I see new tears in his eyes.

I hear the door openin' behind me, and watch as his wife - all soft curves an' lanky grace an' bright an' purty as a spring colt - comes in with a steamin' cup of coffee. An' I notice, for the first time, that I can see her jus' fine, and hear the sounds she's makin', but I can't smell the coffee at all. An' I spend a moment thinkin' - also for the first time - of how many things I might a lost.

She pauses as she looks down an' sees the grief in his face.

"What's wrong, Honey?"

He hands her the letter, and she reads in silence. Then she looks up, an' her eyes are brimmin' with tears. "D'ya know what he wants ya to do?" she asks.

He nods. "I think so. Gonna need t' take a trip t' Montana."

Her smile is gentle. "I'll pack our stuff." She starts to walk away, but turns back an' kisses him, long and deep.

"Not that I'm complainin'," he says with a lopsided smile, "but what was that for?"

She touches his face with loving fingers. "For bein' the man your daddy would a wanted you to be."

I'm there just long enough to hear . . . an' agree.

Then I'm somewhere else. I don't think it makes much sense to feel tired here, since I'm purty sure I ain't really got a body that's able t' feel anything at all. If I did, I think I'd be noticin' things like hot or cold or dry or wet . . . things like that. But I guess there's somethin' - maybe in the mind - that makes me feel a need t' rest fer a time. So I do, although I don't think it's really somethin' that I decide fer myself. It just happens. I spend the time thinkin' about all the visits I paid t' that bank vault over the years, an' all the times I sat there with my hands wrapped up in denim an' plaid, my face buried in soft, old fabric, surrounded by walls a boxes that was prob'ly full a family jewels an' stock certificates an' God only knows what else, an' I know that it don't matter what else might a been locked up in that vault. Mine was the only real treasure there - the link to my heart.


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When it comes, it's a whole lot quieter than I expected it t' be. In fact, it's almost a whisper, instead of the roar I was half waitin' for.

I stir myself out a  wherever it is that I am, get a quick look at a blur that might be some kind a green landscrape, and find myself back at the ranch, standin' near th' window and watchin' Mike try t' pretend that his heart ain't bein' ripped out a his chest. He's so still - barely even breathin'. I remember how that feels - t' be so still on the outside, like y'er frozen in place while everything on the inside is bein' crushed an' mangled. Only this time, instead a bein' the one bein' crushed, it's me that's doin' the crushin'. I knew that it would be bad, if it ever came t' this. But I couldn't a guessed jus' how bad it would be, partly 'cause I never really knew how much he loved me. Not til now.

"Cremated." He can barely breathe the word. "Why would he . . ."

I see it as it hits him, as he understands, and oh, my God, I would give anything t' be able t' spare him this, but it's way too late fer that.

The game's gotta be played as I laid it out, but oh, man, I am really, really sorry that there wasn't any other way.

"It's all spelled out in his will, Mr. Stansbury." McPhee is just as dry an' matter a fact as always. "He made th' arrangements himself, several years back. We'll have the formal readin' a the will after the funeral, a course, an' I don't think there'll be any big surprises there. He took care a his girls, an' he took care a you. But there are a few things that are a little unusual. An' this is one a them - the funeral an' this letter. It's been sittin' in my safe since he gave it to me almost five years ago. I don't know what's in it, because he made it clear that it was for your eyes only. So . . ."

The skinny ol' man, with his string tie an' his shiny bald spot, stands up and hands Mike the long white envelope he'd pulled from a bulging briefcase. I take a minute t' wonder why on earth a two-bit lawyer in a dinky little place like Lewistown would be carryin' around so much paper, but realize that it don't really matter. It's likely that he's been carryin' some of it since he first hung up his shingle.

Mike just sits there fer a minute, holdin' the letter in his hands, unopened.

McPhee takes 'is leave, an' Miss Cora is standin' at the door, debatin' whether or not t' speak up or let 'im be. In the end, she turns away, sensin' that this is somethin' nobody can help him with.

He pours himself a hefty slug a whiskey and tosses it back before rippin' the letter open, an' I move a little closer, feelin' like it's the right thing t' do, even though there ain't no way t' make this easier fer 'im.

He looks worn out an' beaten down an' he's aged a lot durin' these few days, with new lines showin' at the corner of his eyes an' dark circles underneath 'em. He slumps back against the sofa cushions, but his shoulders are still hunched an' stiff. His hair's droopin' across his forehead, but he makes no move to smooth it back, an' he can't quite control the tremor that touches his mouth as he starts to read. I don't think he even realizes that he's readin' aloud, takin' deep breaths as he stumbles through the words on the page.

"Darlin' Mike.

I sure hope that this day was a long time coming, but, if you're reading this now, it's clear that something has happened, and I'm not around no more. I know that there's no way for me to know what you're goin through, and I hope you understand that I never wanted to hurt you.

For however long we had together, I've loved you with everything I had to give. You're a good man, and you've warmed my heart and filled it with joy and peace like I never dreamed anybody would. I know that we spent our lives being faithful to each other; after I met you, I never wanted no one else.

But there's more to this story than the years we had. There's what come before, and I need to make things right that were left too long unfinished. As much as you've meant to me, there was a time when someone else meant just as much. You helped me complete my life, but he was the one who gave it to me in the first place.

Everything in my life that was worth having started on that mountain. Everything that I am was born there, and now it's time for me to go back to where it all began. I know this is going to be painful for you, and I regret that more than I can say. But this ain't something that I have a choice about. I know now that I was always meant to go back to the mountain, to the place where I came alive for the first time. So I have left instructions to have my body cremated, and the ashes handed over to Jack's son, Bobby. He'll know what to do with them. He's a good man, and I know that he won't dishonor you with his actions. It might be too much to hope that you and him could ever get to be friends, but I hope you won't be too hard on him or hate him for what's not his doing

I know this is one of the hardest things you've ever had to do, and I feel like a real bastard for asking you. But I'm still asking.

Remember that I love you - that I will go on loving you, if there's anything that comes after death - but I have to ask you to let me go. In my heart, I know it's what's meant to be.

I can't even begin to tell you what you've meant to me.

Love,

Ennis"

For a time, he just sits there, starin' down at nothin'. Then he slowly collapses over on his side and buries his face against a tattered old pillow; my pillow, taken from my side a the bed. The tears come then, and plenty of 'em, but all in total silence.

He don't make a sound, and I feel more like a total bastard than I ever did before.

I want a turn away, 'cause I find now that I'm so tired a hurtin' people who only want a love me. Two men - so different . . . and so alike.

Have I done the right thing? Will I ever be sure?

Maybe not, but that don't change the fact that this was the only way. I still don't know -might never know - if the notions I had about Jack, about what he might a done to help me build a new life after he was gone, were real or just my own stupid imaginin'. But I couldn't ignore what my heart told me.

It was Jack; it was always Jack.

"I knew it, ya know." Mike's voice is soft, as if he's speakin' t' himself, but he's lookin' straight at me as he goes on. His eyes are unfocused and driftin', but it's purty spooky anyway. "I always knew you'd go back t' him in the end. Ya didn't have t' tell me. I always loved ya enough t' let ya do that, even if I couldn't always admit it."

An' I close my eyes and wonder what I ever did in my life t' deserve this man, an' the one that come before him.

Suddenly, I don't want a be in that room no more; I'm not even sure I want a be anywhere at all, and, just like that, I'm somewhere else. I don't know where I go, or how long I'm gone; I only know that it's peaceful in that place, that there's a softness beneath an' around me an' that I'm not in any hurry t' leave.

If this is heaven, I reckon I can git used t' it.

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Well, one thing's fer sure. It ain't Heaven.

Cain't be. Not when I'm forced t' stand here, watchin' what my dyin' has done t' the ones I left behind.

Is it Hell? Mebbe, but not like I ever expected it to be. Ain't no physical pain in this - no burnin' in eternal flames, no screamin' in blistered agony. But anybody who's ever had t' watch someone they love suffer knows the truth of it. There's worse things than physical hurtin'.

If it was up t' me, I wouldn't be here atall, but it ain't up t' me. Don't know yet who's pullin' the strings, who decides what I can do an' what I cain't, but I wasn't given no choice about bein' here. It's like I gotta settle up the bill fer what I left behind, before I'm free to turn around and explore what comes next - if anything does come next. Still ain't too sure about that. But whatever the reason - an' whoever guides what's gonna happen next - here I stand in one a the viewin' parlors a the Quinton & White Funeral Home in downtown Lewistown, watchin' my daughters fall t' their knees by my coffin, while they look down on my face, a face I barely even recognize as my own. I don't pay much attention t' how I look, except t' note that I'm glad somebody - prob'ly Miss Cora - had sense enough not t' deck me out in a suit an' tie. My sons-in-law are with my girls, but don't seem t' know what to say t' make 'em feel better. Reckon I remember how that feels - t' be helpless to do anything t' help - but they're doin' their best, and I kin see now that both Junior an' Jenny made good choices, even if neither one a their fellas ever had much use fer me. Tell ya what, it's dead sure that the things they b'lieved about me was all 'cause a the way they was raised, and they was only behavin' the way they was taught t' act, the way most everyone else acts. But it's plain that they care a lot about m' girls, and I'm grateful fer that.

Standin' nearby - close enough t' be a part a the group, but separate just enough t' be noticed - Alma an' Monroe are both lookin' proper an' grim, an' just a bit uncomfortable. It's been a long time since I saw her, an' my first thought is that the years have been purty good t' her, with just a few strands a gray in 'er hair an' just a few frown lines around her mouth, but then I notice that her face is tight like a clenched fist, an' there's a hard glitter in her eyes. An', just like that, I know what's eatin' away inside her. My daughters might a found their way t' acceptin' me fer what I was an' puttin' aside their prejudices out a love fer me, but Alma never will. So much fer Christian charity, I guess.

Even after all these years, she's still full t' the brim with outrage an' resentment, an' she's here only because she judges it's the proper thing t' do, to show support fer her children. Under the mask she's wearin', though, some part a her is laughin' fit t' beat the band an' celebratin' her belief that I'm finally gonna face divine retribution.

Monroe, of course, just looks lost and confused - like always.

Off t' the side, gathered around th' little pulpit where someone will speak whatever words are t' be spoke over me, Mike stands with Ronnie an' Melanie an' Miss Cora, an' I wonder, fer the first time, who will say those words, an' what those words might be. That's one thing I didn't think t' arrange in advance.

Mike looks mighty handsome, like always; he's wearin' his best dark suit and clutchin' the brand new black Stetson that I gave 'im fer Christmas, an', fer once, his hair is stayin' where it's s'posed to. Reckon Melanie had a hand in that. But lookin' good don't hide how he's sufferin', an' I can tell that he's runnin' on sheer will power now. No real strength left in 'im, and I wish that this day would hurry up an' end, so he could go home and find some peace there, in the comfort of his children's presence an' the memories I left behind me. I jus' hope that'll be enough.

Fer a few minutes, I stand there, close enough t' touch 'em, but I find out purty quick that I have t' back away and get some space between me an' them. I know that I cain't really be smotherin' under the weight a all the misery that Junior and Jenny are carryin' around, but that's how it feels. I want a be able t' give 'em some comfort, t' take away some a the hurt they're feelin', but I cain't. All I can do is step back an' fight t' git my own hurtin' under control - my hurtin' fer them, not fer me. Fer me, I reckon the hurtin' is over. Or is it?

When I turn an' see my grandchildren, all gathered together in a front pew with Alma's sister lookin' after 'em while their mamas grieve over me, somethin' stirs deep inside a body that's s'posed t' be beyond feelin' anything. I read th' sadness in their eyes - the ones that'r old enough t' understand what's happened an' why they're here - an' the blank confusion in the faces a the ones that 'r too young t' grasp it, an' I realize that some a them won't remember me at all. So I'm learnin' real quick that it's a big mistake t' think that I'm beyond hurtin'.

I been hurt before though, enough so that I know that, as bad as this is, I've known worse. But this ain't the time or place t' think about that old pain - about Jack.

This is the time an' place where th' people I love - and a few that I prob'ly should a loved, but didn't - the livin' souls I left behind me, are entitled t' cry out their pain an' their anger an' ask why things have t' be the way they are. It's Junior that keeps sayin' that it ain't fair - that her daddy was too young, that he should a had a lot more years t' spend with his children and his grandchildren. An' the awful sufferin' in her voice cuts through me like a wicked sharp blade, but somethin' deep in m' heart reminds me that I was lucky enough t' be able to be there when those precious babies were born into the world, t' be able t' hold 'em and kiss' em an' taste the sweetness an' softness a their skin. Others weren't so lucky.

An' that thought is barely formed in m' mind when there's movement at the doorway. I don't have t' see the man who's just stepped in t' know who he is. I see it in the eyes a my daughters', an' my partner, an', most of all, I see it in the glitter a blind rage that flashes in the eyes a my ex-wife.

It's Alma, driven by fury, who moves fastest, an' confronts him first.

"What in God's name are you doin' here? Ain't you done enough?"

I look at his face an' - even after all this time - I still have t' say it t' convince myself. "It ain't Jack, it ain't Jack."

Bobby doesn't know her, a course, but he ain't Jack Twist's kid fer nothin'; a quick wit lets 'im figger it out before anyone can step forward t' tell 'im.

"You must be Alma," he says firmly, without a bit a hesitation. "My name is Bobby."

Alma recognizes her mistake immediately, realizin' that, a course, this cain't be Jack; life couldn't a been so cruel as t' leave 'im still young and untouched by time. But it don't really matter t' her: Jack 'r Jack's spawn. Neither one a them has a place here, accordin' t' her sense of what's right an' proper.

"I don't care what yer name is," she almost snarls. "Ya got no right . . ."

"He's got every right." Mike's voice is quiet an' flat, and only someone who knows 'im well would be able t' hear the anger he's fightin' t' control. "Ennis wanted 'im here."

Alma turns t' stare at the man who shared the last years a my life, and she ain't botherin' t' try t' hide the contempt that's ragin' in her heart; there's plenty of it t' spread around, an' plenty a targets fer it t' aim at. "An' y'er just gonna stand by an' let 'im come in here. Do ya know who he is 'r what he prob'ly is? Like father, like son, ya know. He's . . ."

"He's the son a Jack Twist." It's a new voice that chimes in, a new voice that strikes hope in my heart. A voice I never would a expected t' hear speakin' up at a time like this. "He's the son a Jack Twist," Junior repeats, "an' nobody has a better right t' be here."

She steps forward and takes Bobby's hand, a sweet, gentle greetin'. Then she turns t' face her mother. "Ya need t' go home, Mama." There's no anger in her voice, an' no resentment either. But there's also no confusion. "Ya cain't help how ya feel about Daddy, an' no one's gonna fault ya fer that. What he did - what he was - hurt ya real bad. But it hurt him too, through most all the years a his life. He paid fer his sins, if that's what ya want a call 'em. He paid more than we kin even understand, I think. An' now - here - he's finally got the right t' say what he wants. An' what he wants is fer the son a Jack Twist t' be here, an' fer you t' step aside an' let the people who loved 'im have time t' grieve and say their good-byes."

I happen t' be lookin' straight at Alma as Junior goes quiet, and I see somethin' in her face that surprises me and fills me with a sadness I never expected t' feel.

"I . . . loved him too." It's barely a whisper, barely even a breath.

Monroe pretends not to hear; cain't say I blame 'im since I don't know how I'd behave at a time like that. Probably easier t' go on like it never happened.

I hear the faint sigh that Mike can't quite suppress, as Junior offers her mom a tender smile. "I know," she murmurs, "but ya need t' step back. Go sit with yer grandchildren. They need ya now."

An' she goes, without another word an' without a single glance at the young man who's still standin' before her, a beautiful baby clasped against his shoulder and a lovely young woman at his side.

Everything goes quiet fer a few seconds, as Junior nods and smiles at Chelsea Twist, an' Mike steps forward t' stand face t' face with Bobby. For a few seconds, neither speaks, but it's Mike that finally breaks the silence.

"Goddamn, he was right," he says with a slow, lop-sided smile. "Ya sure look like yer daddy."

Bobby extends his hand, and, with just a tiny pause, Mike takes it. "I'll take that as a compliment," says young Twist, relaxin' enough t' flash that smile that won his daddy a lot a hearts.

Mike nods. "Yeah. I reckon ya should."

I look around the room once - see a lot a faces that I'm surprised t' see, even see a lot that I don't recognize right away. Faces from a long time ago, a lot of 'em faces a people I figgered would a stayed away from any kind a memorial service fer the likes a me. See th' pale face a my sister, an' wonder when she got t' look so much like Mama, an' see that her children have made the trip with her, t' help her get through this, even though her own brother - an' mine - couldn't be bothered t' show up.

Jus' goes t' prove that we none of us know other people the way we think we do.

Maybe things ain't always how we think they are, an' people ain't always so fast t' condemn 'r so slow t' forgive. Maybe . . .


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I don't know how I know that things have shifted here - shifted t' a new kind a time, maybe. Or shifted to a different place. Without any physical feelin' - any sense a solid things, of sweet or sour, soft or hard, thick or thin. I feel, but only from a distance - not up close, not personal. Things have started t' come an' go - some fast, some slower, but none bright an' clear. After I leave the funeral parlor - either choosin' t' drift away or bein' tugged by somethin' I never noticed, ain't sure which - I know that things are happenin', but only from a distance.

The memorial service is there in the background, I guess, an' I know that it's Miss Cora who steps up t' the pulpit and says what she thinks needs sayin'. The only words that come floatin' through t' me is somethin' about "a good man, who did what he had t' do an' would be remembered fer a lot a things". Then, a little later, there's folks comin' an' goin' at the ranch house, an' a few frozen images - Bobby standin' in front a the fireplace, his eyes all soft an' bright, holdin' his baby close and whisperin' something in that tiny ear; Alma an' Monroe, sittin' off in a corner, clingin' to one grandchild, then another, lookin' uncomfortable an' out of place an' even jus' a little bit envious as their eyes take in all th' details of the house; Mike an' Ronnie an' Jerry an' Bobby an' Nathan, hoistin' a glass t' offer up a toast . . . to something; Jenny an' Chelsea sittin' an' feedin' their babies, an' talkin' together like old friends; Bobby an' Mike standin' out by the corral while Ronnie brings Chamois out a the stable and puts the reins in Bobby's hand, introducin' the feisty mare t' her new owner.

A shift again, an' I'm somewhere else, somewhere where things are brighter now - sharper an' closer. Bobby in a bank vault, openin' the safety-deposit box, and liftin' out the two shirts, an' jus standin' there fer a while, eyes focused on somethin' no one else could see. Memories a his daddy, maybe - or dream images a him . . . an' me. I don't know which, but there's no mistakin' the love in eyes almost blue enough t' be the ones that haunted my dreams all my life.

An' finally - not far away at all, but up close and personal an' bright in every detail - Bobby, leavin' the little camp where he'd pitched his tent the night before and tethered his new mare, where his lovin' bride is still cozied up in her sleepin' bag, as he climbs that familiar trail and stands on the lip of that shelf, where no flowers bloom in January, but where the memory lingers anyway, glistenin' in the spray of the waterfall. Sunrise is jus' flarin' in the East, an' the snow that lies deep on the flanks of the mountain picks up them first rays and breaks 'em into fragments a fire that paint strips a gold an' red an' copper across the landscape. I'm thinkin' it ain't never been more beautiful, an' neither has the man that stands on th' edge a the breakin' day.

He quickly piles up some brush an' dry kindlin' that he dragged up from below, an' lights a little fire. It don't need a be big - just hot enough.

The shirts are dry when he pulls 'em from the canvas bag that held them, an' I wonder why I never noticed how much they'd faded over the years. He pauses for just a second, buries his face in the combined folds, and murmurs something I cain't quite make out - a whisper about things that never die. And again, I'm stunned an' amazed when I see that tears are drippin' from his eyes, as he drops the shirts into the flames, and watches as they blaze up, sendin' sparks into the pale mornin' light. Then he turns t' face the dawn.

He ain't - quite - Jack - but he's close enough t' glow so perfect in m' eyes that I cain't see nothin' else 'r feel nothin' else except th' love that ain't never left me, ain't never been far enough away fer me t' close it off from the center a my heart, the same love that's wrapped up in the fire that's burnin' behind 'im now.

I spend a single moment regrettin' that I could never give Mike what always belonged t' Jack. He deserved it; I just didn't have it in me t' give.

I'm there with Bobby, with him and around him, caught up in the blaze that consumes them old shirts, an' watchin' as he twists the top off a small, dark container an' lifts his hand toward the sunrise, an' then - between one heartbeat an' the next - I'm flyin', soarin' out over all creation, a part a everything, a part a nothin', an' I know, fer the first time, that the life I lived is behind me, is gone. And so am I.

There's no time fer sayin' good-bye, but I hope he hears it anyway.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I don't know how long I've been here now. Ain't much that happens t' mark time passin'. An' I still don't have much in the way a clues t' help me figger out what this place is s'posed a be.

But I reckon the mind fills in the blanks, even without havin' many facts t' go on.

Seems t' me that a person has t' find a way t' heal from what he left behind before he can even think about figgerin' out what to do next. Once in a while, I get a sense a things that I'm s'posed t' know, or remember. Things I'm s'posed t' care about - enough t' take a look any way.

Sometimes I listen; sometimes I don't.

But the place has grown around me anyway. Like I thought from th' beginning, it's mountains wherever I look, mostly green an' fresh, like early summer, but it ain't the mountains that I was kind a expectin'. Though the place seems a little familiar, there ain't really any one thing that I recognize. I get the feelin', though, that the places I would recognize are somewhere nearby - just around some corner I ain't yet found.

I'd say that it don't bother me none, but that wouldn't be exactly true. It does bother me, but I try not to let it show.

Because that's the other thing that's different from my first days here. I'm not alone any more. Not entirely. Sometimes, I see other people, mostly off in the distance; once in a while, one 'r two of 'em come closer. But not really close enough t' see well. I don't think any of 'em are people I'm s'posed t' know 'r remember, but I cain't be sure.

Still, bein' by myself never bothered me much; spent plenty a time with no company but my own, an' learned t' deal with it purty well over the years. So the fact that nobody seems t' want a come closer ain't such a burden fer me.

Except I'm beginnin' t' b'lieve that the reason they don't come near is 'cause they're waitin' fer me t' make the first move.

I'm not sure a that, a course, but it feels right.

But I still remember what Bobby Twist tol' me, about his daddy comin' t' save him when he got hisself mangled up on the side a the road. An' I'm thinkin' that, if somethin' like that should happen a one of my girls or one a their young'uns, I want a be close enough t' do whatever I have t' do. Like what Jack done fer Bobby.

So I've tried t' stop in once in a while, t' check on what's happenin' t' the ones I left behind.

So I happened a be there when Melanie got herself married t' some television weather man down in Laramie. An' when Junior's oldest broke his collarbone playin' freshman football. An' when Jenny's tiny baby daughter - beautiful and perfect - was stillborn, an' the doctors told her there wouldn't be no more. It hurt then somethin' fierce, t' be there lookin' down at her an' not be able t' take her hand or touch her hair. But much as I wanted t' be able t' make it right, there really wasn't nothin' I could do.

An' when Mike's stallion took a tumble in a gopher hole, an' he had t' drive over t' Butte, t' see a bone doctor about a messed-up knee - a bone doctor who'd just moved out from Vermont, lookin' t' build himself a new life. I was right there, watchin', and I can't say why, but there was somethin' about that doctor - about him an' Mike together - that give me a funny feelin' in my gut.

But mostly, nothin' much bothers me. Everything is all right.

Except for the question that forms in my mind sometimes, an' gets louder every time it pops up.

Is this all there is?

An' the day finally comes - this day - when askin' ain't enough.

It's time t' git some answers.

I'm layin' in the grass on the mountain I've come t' think of as mine. Mebbe, in order t' git them answers, I gotta take a walk an' explore somebody else's mountain.

An' it ain't near as hard as I expect it t' be. I stand up, brush m'self off, tuck my shirt in m' pants (wonderin' if the shirt an' the pants, an' the body that wears 'em are even real) and start t' walk down the mountain.

An', just like that, I'm there. I'm on somebody else's mountain, and there's people walkin' around, people who smile at me even though they don't say nothin' - a young couple holdin' hands, an older woman wearin' a bonnet an' apron an' pickin' wildflowers; a grizzled ol' cowboy ridin' a big Appaloosa geldin', some kids playin' hide an' seek in the woodland. All of 'em look at me; most smile or wave, but go on about their business.

Til one a them stops, an' waits fer me t' step forward t' stand in front a him.

He grins, and I think I ain't never met nobody quite as old, or quite as content t' be however old he is.

"Welcome," he says. "Took ya a while, didn't it?"

I jus' look down at m' boots an' wonder if they're really the same scuffed up ol' work boots that I wore fer so many years or just a figment a my own mind.

"They're whatever ya want 'em t' be." He answers my thought, even though I didn't speak it.

I look up at his face, and somethin' tells me that it's okay t' voice what's in my mind, t' say what I want a say, an' - more important - ask what I want a ask.

"An' this place." I swing a hand around t' take in the whole settin'. "Is that what it is, too? Is it what I want it t' be?"

"In a way," he answers, and I know it ain't th' whole answer, but it's all he's ready t' give me.

I suddenly remember my manners. "I'm Ennis," I say, puttin' my hand out.

He laughs, an' takes my hand. "No need t' introduce yerself," he explains. "I know who ya are."

"An' you?"

He pauses and studies my face. "Ya sure changed a lot over th' years, Ennis. Fer th' better, I reckon. I believe there was a time when you'd a swallowed yer tongue before askin' fer a person's name. It's Gabriel."

"Gabriel." I repeat the name, mostly t' be sure I won't ferget it. Ain't never been much good with rememberin' names. Now t' get down t' business. "What is this place, Gabriel? Is it heaven?"

He cocks his head and gives me a funny smile. "Reckon that's yer call, Ennis? Is it?"

I feel somethin' cold an' hard inside me - a nameless dread. "Lord, I hope not." I don't think I mean t' say it out loud, but I do.

He shrugs. "Then it's not."

"Then, what . . ."

"Mebbe," he interrupts, "it's the place where a fella can figger out jus' what he wants heaven t' be. Ya'd be surprised how many people don't know jus' what they want."

I turn around then, lookin' back toward where I came from, but I'm quick t' realize that it ain't there, where I left it. "Naw," I say. "I don't think I'd be surprised at all."

I'm puzzled when I see a quick sadness rise in his eyes. "Mebbe ya wouldn't," he answers finally, after takin' a minute t' think about what he wants t' say. "Mebbe y'er one a them that never comes to know exactly what he wants. That'd be a real shame, but it happens sometimes."

"Why?" I don't know why his words make me feel angry, but they do. "Why would it be a shame t' be unsure?"

"Because," he says slowly, "until ya know what ya really want, ya'll never find it."

He starts t' turn away from me, but I reach out an' grab his arm, flinchin' back when I realize that I cain't really touch him. Still, even though I can't feel the way my hand grasps his arm, he seems t' notice anyway, an' stops t' look back at me.

"I do know what I want," I say, almost snappin' at 'im. "I do."

But he's shakin' his head. "No, ya don't."

"How can you know what . . ."

"Simple. If ya knew, if ya'd already thought it through an' really knew, you'd a found it already. It ain't enough t' tell yerself 'r t' tell me that ya know what ya want. Ya gotta know it inside. With no doubts."

"I got no doubts," I insist.

"No?" He looks at me hard, and I'm surprised t' notice that he's got one blue eye and one brown one, an' neither one a them seems all that eager t' believe me. "Okay then. Why don't ya tell me what it is ya think ya want."

I don't even stop t' think. "Jack. I want Jack."

To my surprise, he nods. "Yeah. I thought that's what ya'd say."

I feel my knees go weak, as I stumble toward him. "You . . . you know about . . . Jack?"

He nods, but volunteers nothin'.

"Can ya tell me, 'r show me where he is?"

"No." No weakness there, no uncertainty, no softness.

"But . . ."

"If it's right fer you t' know, if it's what yer heart really wants, ya'll find 'im. But it's not something I can give ya."

An' I finally see some kind a reaction in his eyes. He ain't inhuman after all; he can still git mad. "In this place," he says coldly, "ya can do almost anything. There ain't a whole lot a rules here. Not much t' stop ya from doin' whatever ya choose t' do. But there's one 'r two things that a person cain't do - is forbidden t' do."

"Like what?"

"Like break a promise," he snaps. "That's one rule nobody can break here."

"So . . . you promised him somethin'?"

"Don't do that," he replies. "Don't try t' worm it out a me, by wheedlin'. It ain't gonna work. If ya want Jack - ya really want 'im, an' no other - then ya gotta think it through. Ya gotta understand what y'er doin', not just fer you. But fer Jack. Think about that. If ya push hard enough, an' it's what ya really want, I'm purty sure ya'll find 'im. But ya better be sure, 'cause ya won't only change everything around you; ya'll change everything around him too, an' once it's done, fer him, there ain't no undoin' it."

"Ya mean . . ." I can barely speak it, "he might not want what I want, but he'd have no choice, if I make this happen."

He draws a long breath, or so it seems. "I mean that Jack made a choice once - a choice he believed was forever. He thought it was th' right thing t' do, an' it ain't up t' me t' decide if he was right 'r wrong. But mebbe it is up t' you. But you better be sure, Ennis Del Mar, 'cause there ain't no takin' it back. Once it's done, it's done."

I feel somethin' heavy an' dark stirrin' around inside me, an' I turn away from eyes that seem t' see too much. An', jus' like that, I'm back on my mountain, knowin' that I got some thinkin' t' work through.

Was I right? Was the choice he made - the one he thought was 'forever' - the one that set me free t' find someone else t' love, after he was gone? But if that's true, why wouldn't he want t' go back t' the way it was before? Why wouldn't he . . .

I see it an' feel it then. Feel what it must a been like fer him. If he made that choice, if he gave me that chance, then he would a been there t' watch it all happen. T' watch me an' Mike.

Oh, sweet Christ, what did I do? An' how did he stand it? If he loved me - an' I always knew that he did, no matter how hard I tried t' deny it - how could he a stood t' watch what happened after he was gone?

I think about how I felt when I watched that new doctor runnin' his hands over Mike's knee, an' I know, like I always knew, that no matter how much I might love Mike, it was never anywhere near th' level a what Jack an' me felt fer each other. If he did what I think he did, if he gave up everything t' let me live a better life after he was gone, how did he stand it? What did he do, t' be able t' live with it?

An' if I do something t' change it all, does that mean that he has t' live with all that hurt all over again?

Can I do that t' him? If I really love 'im - and oh, God, did he ever know how much I really loved 'im? - can I take away whatever comfort he might a managed t' find fer himself? After he gave everything up fer me, to help me find a new life, do I even have the right t' force 'im t' come back t' me?

Here in this place, could it be that he finally found somebody to love 'im the way he deserved t' be loved?

Is it hours - or days - or years - that I spend twistin' in the wind? Unsure a what I ought a do, 'r even if I ought a do anything at all.

Tryin' t' figger out if Jack is happier where he is, than he would be if I set out t' find 'im and pull 'im back t' me.

But, in the end, I know that I don't have no real choice.

I know the truth - the one I never could admit t' myself 'r t' him. I cain't go on without Jack. He was always the strong one, the one who would a give up anything fer me. The one, I know now, who really did give up everything fer me.

I set out again, when th' sun (or whatever passes fer the sun in this place) is bright an' pure with the promise of a new day, an' spring flowers are bloomin' all across my mountain.

I move to the next mountain - an' the next - with no effort. I don't sweat; there's no strainin' a muscles; no weariness no matter how far I seem t' walk, an' it's still mornin' wherever I go.

But, after a time, there is a difference; ahead of me, there's a darkness - not the darkness a evening, or the fall a night, but a darkness that covers a small stretch a hillside, a gloom that's deep an' thick an' unmovin'.

I pause an' try t' see past its edges, but I cain't. It's like a black curtain that's fallin' all around something I'm not meant t' see.

But I know now; I know what lies on the other side a that curtain, and I ain't gonna be stopped by something that swallows the light.

I reach out, an' find that there's nothin' solid there. There's just a space where no light enters. A space that reaches fer me an' pulls me in.

And then I see what I realize I was expectin' t' see. It ain't really empty. Gabriel is there, waitin' fer me. Starin' at me, an' blockin' my path.

"Get out a my way." I ain't in the mood t' be interfered with. "I want . . ."

"I know what you want. But you gotta know this. You only get one chance to make the right choice. If y'er wrong, it ain't you that's gonna pay the price fer yer mistake."

"I want a see him."

He hesitates fer a minute; then he steps aside.

And I finally know what heaven means.

Jack. My Jack. Stretched out on the ground, his lithe young body propped against an old log, long legs crossed, arms folded over his chest, and his face covered with a dark cowboy hat with an eagle feather in the band. Jack - exactly as he was the first summer I saw him. Jack - sleepin' at the center a the darkness. His face is barely visible in the shadow a the hat, an' the small pup that's snugged tight t' his chest moves not at all. There ain't no rise an' fall a breath, no flutter a eyelids. Nothin'.

I can barely find the courage t' ask.

"Is he . . ."

"Dead?" I hear the grin in Gabriel's voice, an' understand that I don't even know how t' come up with the right questions.

"He's no more alive than you are, Ennis, but he is, in a way, more dead."

"I don't understand."

Long, deep sigh. "Look closer," Gabriel replies. "What do you see?"

I stare, an' am so thunderstruck by how beautiful he is that I almost don't see it - the faintest, barest flicker of somethin' I cain't name. Somethin' that's almost not there, almost gone.

"Just a little spark a something. Like the last ember of a dyin' campfire."

Gabriel smiles. "That's very good, Ennis. An' very true. What y'er seein' is the last bit of his consciousness. It's all that survives of what he was."

"But why? He's . . ."

"He's sleepin'," comes the answer. "He's been sleepin' fer a very long time. It's what he chose t' do."

"But why would he . . ."

"That's somethin' ya have t' figger out fer yerself." The old voice seems suddenly weary. "But I can tell you that he's at peace, an' that sometimes, that's what a person might want, in the face a other things."

"Can I wake 'im up?"

Gabriel's eyes are gentle. "I don't know, but, in fact, y'er the only one who might be able to. It's been a long, long time, an' whatever spark a life is left in 'im has been gettin' weaker over time. In the end, it's gonna depend on him, an' whether or not he held on hard enough t' be able t' come back, an', maybe, if he believes that he can. But I will say this. Lots a others who made this choice let everything go, a lot quicker than he has. So maybe, somewhere down deep inside 'im, there might be a little, bitty spark a hope, something that he never even knew he had in 'im. Maybe. But know this, Ennis. If you succeed in wakin' him, then the choice t' sleep, t' find peace this way, is taken from 'im fer good. An' no matter whether you b'lieve it or not, peace was what he wanted most of all when he made his choice. So ya gotta be very sure a what you want. Yo do this, an' it's forever - fer him. He won't be able t' go back, to choose this again. When he made his decision, there was no way he could know that it might ever be taken back; he was willin' to spend forever like this. So if y'er not willin' t' make that kind a commitment, it'll be far kinder t' leave him as he is."

I hear what the man is not saying. "And Mike? Do I . . ."

He pauses, an' when he starts t' speak again, I can feel that he don't like what he's got t' say. "This ain't no prison, Ennis, an' there ain't no predestination in what happens, here or anywhere else. Ain't nobody gonna force ya t' do nothin' ya don't want a do. People really do have free will, ya know, so y'er free t' do whatever ya decide, even if it happens that ya change yer mind along the way." Then he gives me a sad, funny smile. "Mike's not you, an' he's not Jack. There are all kinds a men; some are meant t' walk on one path all their lives, like Jack. Others will always have options. Mike makes his own way, an' it's fer you to decide if that way is gonna be yer way. Mike's the kind that don't need intervention."

I close my eyes, and remember. "Like I did." It ain't a question, an' he don't offer up no answer.

Then I realize that, in a way, his silence is th' answer, and that it's exactly what I figgered it'd be. But I find that, in my heart, it don't make no difference. I do feel a quick surge a sorrow for the man who loved me so well, an' a twinge a regret about lettin' go a something that was precious while it lasted, but it's not enough t' make me change my mind.

I stand an' look down at Jack. My Jack. An' even though he's right there, touchable, right under my hands, it feels like he's off somewhere, maybe floatin' through a sky full a stars, too far away fer me t' ever be able t' reach 'im, so, more scared that I ever been in my life, I kneel down an' pull the hat away from 'is face, never stoppin' t' wonder how I'm able t' manage it, an' oh, my God, how could I ever a let myself fergit how beautiful he is an' how much I love 'im. "We belong together," I say, barely able t' make a sound above a whisper. "An' if we have t' spend all eternity side by side, not ever able t' really touch each other or feel each other, only able t' see each other an' talk t' each other, then that's the way it'll be. An' if we only have a day - one day - t' spend together, afore hellfire claims us both, then that's okay too." I lift my eyes, an' stare into Gabriel's face. "He's my heart. He always was, an' I need t' be able t' say it t' his face, even if I only git the chance t' say it one time."

Somethin' flickers in bi-colored eyes - somethin' that might be a glint a humor, or the flash of a secret smile - an' he nods.

"Go ahead then. I reckon it's been long enough. By my figgerin', he's been asleep fer more'n ten years, in real time."

Everything in me tells me t' move, t' reach out, but I cain't. I'm not sure what t' do, an' I have trouble findin' the words t' form the question that's screamin' in my mind. "What if he don't . . ."

An' I almost cringe away from the sadness in 'is voice. "I reckon it's his privilege t' decide what he wants."

He's dead right, a course. If anybody's ever earned that right, it's my sweet Jack.

I don't know why I'm so afraid - so unsure now, when every dream I ever had is lyin' right here, just inches away, waitin' fer me. An' I won't b'lieve - cain't b'lieve - that it could really be too late, that he might not be willin'. "How do I . . ."

I'm surprised when I hear him laughin' soft an' steady, an' I have t' swallow the urge t' tell 'im t' shut up. "Well, now, looks t' me like he's sure 'nough sleepin' an' ain't no doubtin' that he's a beauty, so . . .

"Y'er kiddin'," I mumble, lookin' up t' see the smile in his eyes. "He won't even feel it."

"Trust me," he says gently.

An' it surprises me t' realize that I do.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


. . . . . Darkness . . . .

. . . . Thick, heavy . . . .

. . . . . . Dark . . . and warm . . . and . . .

. . . . Dark . . . but different.

Cause if it wasn't . . . I wouldn't notice how dark it is. Not - quite - as dark as before.

But still dark . . . still warm . . . an' soft. Still perfect . . . for . . .

. . . . I remember dreamin' . . . once.

But no more. No more dreams . . . No . . . more . . .

Dreamin' comes . . . an' goes . . . . an' leaves lonely when it's gone.

No more colors (eyes like dark amber) . . . no more memories (big hands, rough an' hard - an' so gentle, until they grip someone else's body, fingers trailin' through someone else's hair . . .) No more. . . sounds - a voice . . . sayin' a name . . . my . . . name?

. . . Sayin' "Little Darlin'." . . . t' somebody that ain't . . . me?

No.

No dreamin' . . . no . . . nothin'. . . . cause nothin' . . . don't hurt . . . . .

. . . . . . Dreams . . . . . . . hurt.

. . . . . . . . . No . . . . . No . . . . . . . . No . . . .

I won't . . . . I cain't . . . . . I . . . .

It . . . . . . . cain't . . . . . . . . . be . . . . .

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO . . .

. . . But somethin' . . . is getting' closer.

An' . . . it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts . . . .

I . . . don't . . . want . . . this . . .

But denyin' . . . don't make it so.

When ya ain't felt nothin' - nothin' at all - since . . . forever . . . feelin' anything . . . HURTS!

An' somehow, I don't want a come awake screamin'.

But - finally - there's no help fer it.

Every muscle in my body (Do I even still have a body?) clinches tight in a spasm, an' my eyes are blinded by the light when I finally open 'em. Granted, it ain't a lot a light, but I ain't seen light - any light - in a long, long time.

"Jack." Somethin's coverin' my face. "Hey, Jack. Come on, Cowboy. Come on . . . come back t' me."

I think there's somethin' in my eyes. Am I cryin'?

I feel a touch - hands against my face, lips coverin' mine, an' somethin' in my mind is screamin' that it cain't be, it cain't be . . .

So when I open my mouth, when I manage t' form words and speak 'em, never movin' away from the touch a those soft lips, the only thing I can think to say is . . .

"Is this . . . a dream?"

An' he laughs - sweet an' soft - an' why are there tears fallin' on my face if he's really laughin'? "No, Darlin'. It ain't a dream."

But it is. It cain't be real, and I want a cry like a lost child when I feel th' deep hurt of it, t' dream a somethin' I cain't never have again. I always knew, from that last day, that there wouldn't be no wakin' up, no goin' back. So . . .

"Stop," I whisper. "I cain't take this. I cain't . . please. Don't do this."

But the kisses git deeper, an' the hands on m' face grip harder. "You wake up." The voice ain't so soft no more, an' there's a sharp edge to it, like there's anger under all the need. "You wake up, Jack Fuckin' Twist. Or else, I swear, I'll punch yer face in. Gonna do that anyway, fer the stunt ya pulled. Gonna do it, just as soon as I git m' fill a kissin' it. In a few hunnerd years, I reckon."

An' I cain't help but smile. It's so him - so what he'd say, if . . .

"En . . . Ennis?"

He goes very still, drawin' back just a little, so I can look up into his face, an' some part a my mind notices that the little dog that I held in my arms throughout my long sleep stirs an' moves away, yawnin' an' blinkin' its eyes as the light around us gets brighter.

"Ennis!"

Oh, I want a believe, I want a . . .

"I ain't . . . dreamin'?"

But I still don't - cain't believe it. He's right there, close enough fer me t' touch, close enough fer me t' see that he looks like he looked that very first day, the first time he ever touched me, the first time he kissed me . . . the first time.

It cain't be real . . . can it?

I try t' draw breath - try' t calm th' heartbeat that cain't be real - an' decide that if this is a dream, if it's just a dream, an' it's the last one I'm ever gonna have, I'm gonna make Goddamn sure that it's one worth takin' back with me inta forever.

I push up, push at him, usin' muscles that prob'ly ain't any more real that this dream, an' shove him, hard enough to make 'im fall back, so I can roll over an' brace myself t' stare down at 'is face, a face that was smilin' at somebody else, the last time I seen it.

A face filled with dark eyes that look at me like a man dyin' a thirst might look at a pool a water. Hungry . . . lost . . . an' waitin' fer me t' make the first move - or the only move.

A dream fer sure, cause Ennis Del Mar wouldn't be lyin' there, lettin' me make the call, somethin' he never stood fer in all the years I knew 'im.

I shift back, drawin' a shaky breath an' see, fer the first time, somethin' that really makes me ask if this can be real.

I'm thinkin' there ain't no reason I'd invite Gabriel inta my dreams.

"Hey, Jack."

An' it's too much - too harsh t' take in. I push myself up an' reel away from the vision that I still cain't accept as real.

"Why would ya do this t' me?" I ask. "Ain't I done enough? Ain't I . . ."

"It's real, Jack." The old man's voice is tender, soothin'. "He's real."

I turn sharp t' stare at 'im. Then turn further, t' stare at . . . Ennis, OMyGod! It's Ennis!

I remember that I always thought that Gabriel liked me, but now all I can do is wonder.

"Did you . . ." The old man looks like he knows what I'm gonna say. "You lied t' me." I can barely get the words out.

"Never." His answer is firm. "Not once."

"Then how . . ."

Then he smiles again, and the warmth in 'is eyes is like sunlight breakin' through on a cloudy day. "Do ya really want a spend yer first wakin' hour in ten long years yellin' at me, an' demandin' explanations?"

"Ten . . . years?"

"Ten years."

"But you said . . ."

"I'll explain it all," he says, with a gentle smile. "Later. Meanwhile, I think ya might have a few things t' explain t' Ennis."

"Like what?" I'm still starin' at the man who owned my heart through my whole life, still not sure that he's really here. An' he's just smilin' at me - not sayin' nothin' - which is one thing that seems right, that makes me think that maybe . . .

The old man's smile gets bigger an' brighter. "Like he was jus' tellin' me how he wanted a spend forever with ya, even if the two a you cain't ever really touch one another again."

What th' fuck does that . . . Oh!

"I think I'll just be moseyin' along."

That's Gabriel speakin' again, but I don't bother t' answer, or even t' watch him go.

It's just me now . . . an' Ennis.

Ennis Del Mar - here, real, an' drinkin' me in with his eyes.

"Ennis." I cain't muster up more than a whisper. "Come 'ere."

He comes, slow, steady, eyes heavy, dark, full a my reflection, until he's right in front a me, his chest brushin' against mine, no space left between us. Then, with a strange, guttural groan, he falls t' his knees and wraps his arms around my waist, buryin' his face against my belly.

"I know what ya done, Jack." His voice is muffled, and he won't look up at me. "I know what ya done, what ya gave up fer me."

I feel a flash a anger surge through me. "He wasn't s'posed a tell ya. He . . ."

"Nobody tol' me nothin'." It's barely a whisper. "I ain't such a dumb-ass that I wasn't able t' figger it out. Cause I knew you, knew how ya felt about me, an' what ya'd do . . . fer me."

There's a heavy pressure in my chest now, with memories roilin' through me like a flood tide. "You knew?"

"Always. I always knew an' I let ya go, all them times, without ever makin' sure that you knew too. I know what ya done, and I know what ya went through t' do it. I'm so sorry, Jack. So sorry that I never . . ."

"Don't," I say, sharp an' harsh. "Ya don't have t' . . ."

He stands up an' grabs me - hard. "Yes, I do. I do have to, an' you ain't gonna stop me. Y'er gonna listen."

I cain't speak, so I just nod, an' close my eyes. Don't know why I'm so scared, so afraid t' hear whatever it might be that he wants a tell me. I look up then, an' lose m'self in his eyes. "You," he whispers, "y'er my heart, Jack Twist. You were always my heart. From the very beginnin'. An' every day since ya left me - every single day - I've longed to have jus' one more chance - jus' one more minute - t' tell ya. I love ya, Jack. Always did, always will, an' if ya want a spit in my face, tell me t' fuck off - whatever ya want a do, it ain't gonna change nothin'. I'll love ya, as long as I have eyes t' see ya, an' arms t' hold ya. I'll love ya forever. An', if y'er willin' - 'r even if y'er not - I aim t' spend th' rest a my days provin' it to ya."

I feel the tears start in m' eyes, an' wonder why I'm cryin' when he jus' gave me th' most precious gift I could ever receive, the only thing I ever really wanted. Then I feel my mouth stretchin' into a silly grin. "Oh, yeah? An' how do ya think ya'll do that?"

His smile lights up his face. "I reckon I'll think a somethin'."

Time now, I think, to give somethin' back.

"Close yer eyes," I murmur, an' take time t' watch his face, t' read what I see there, what's starin' me in the eye and makin' me wonder if what I'm seein' now was there all along, an' I was jus' too dumb t' understand it.

"What are ya . . ." he starts t' ask.

"Hush now," I say as my hands move up t' frame his face. "Jus' hush, an' think about how it felt. Think about my fingers against yer face, touchin' yer lips. Think about how we felt, how ya liked t' touch me, an' be touched. Think about it, an' open yer mind. Think . . ."

An' I see it in 'is face, the instant that the deadness of his body - the emptiness of his physical consciousness - falls away, and he feels.

"Jack?" Breathless, barely audible.

"Yeah?"

"Would ya . . ."

"Would I what?"

He smiles, soft an' tremblin'. "Is it allowed . . . here?"

"Is what allowed?"

"This." An' he starts t' kiss me, long an' deep, and the taste a him an' the touch a him - the feel a him - sends me t' my knees, and him with me.

If I still needed air t' breathe, I'd be in trouble now.

"Can we . . ." He don't have t' say no more.

"I don't know. Never had no need t' find out . . . til now."

The kisses start again, and he barely manages to speak between 'em. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I reckon," I whisper, not willin' to miss out on a single second a the touch a his lips, "they could throw thunderbolts at us - shit like that - if it ain't allowed."

He buries his face under my jaw and bites down just hard enough fer me to know he's leavin' a mark. "I'm willin' t' risk it," he mumbles.

"Me, too."

"Jack?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is this Heaven?"

I smile and nuzzle at the hollow of his throat. "I think," I say softly, "that's what we're about t' find out."


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


He sits back against the old log, an' stares at me, like he's never really looked at me before, an' I have t' stop fer a minute, because it's just . . . it's almost too much. To go from a sleep that I never thought t' wake from to here, quick as a whiplash, with 'im gazin' up at me. It's too much.

"Jack?" There's somethin' in his face that I cain't read, an' I guess maybe he's feelin' the same dizziness that's grippin' me - like standin' at the lip of a high peak an' watchin' the world spin beneath ya.

Ain't never had a shy day in my whole life, an' think it's purty Goddamn stupid to be goin' through it now, but I suddenly don't know what t' do, or how t' do it. It ain't enough now, fer us t' just go at each other like cattle in rut. It ain't enough, an' I don't know how t' tell 'im that I cain't just let 'im fuck me, like I did fer all them years. I waited too long an' lost too much. I need more now. I need . . .

"Ennis, I . . . I don't think I can do what ya want me t' do."

"An' how is it," he answers, his mouth soft, not smilin', "that ya think ya know what I want?"

I look away, undone by the fire in his eyes. "Reckon ya want what ya always wanted."

He reaches out an' touches my chin. Just a touch, light an' quick. "You been sleepin', Jack, an' even before that, you was here, where time ain't what it is out in the real world. But I ain't been where you been. I lived through every minute a them sixteen years . . . without you. An' in every one a them minutes, I'd a give my life just t' be able t' see ya one more time, t' touch ya . . . one . . . more . . . time. Ya think that I spent all that time thinkin' about just fuckin' you? Ya still think that's all it meant t' me?"

I move a little closer, an' lean forward t' open the top snap a his shirt an' rub my fingers against the soft, downy curls I find there. "Cain't read yer mind, Cowboy," I whisper.

He takes my hand and brings it to his mouth an' kisses each finger, slow an' soft. "Don't want a fuck ya, Jack. Don't want a have sex, or git a blow job, or git my rocks off, or git lucky. What I want is . . ."

Dark eyes, with glints of gold like dancin' sunbeams, look up at me, swallow me an' I can finally see a truth there that I spent my whole life lookin' for. "I want you t' make love t' me. To take me an' claim me an' do whatever ya have t' do so you know that I'm yours - that I was always yours, even when I was too big a fool t' admit it."

He reaches for me, an' pulls me down t' lay against 'im, an' I realize that I'm nervous, that I'm not sure I can be what he needs me t' be. If everything that's happened here is real an' not just some crazy-ass dream I've let myself buy into, then it's been sixteen years since I've had any reason t' check out the old equipment, an' the truth is that nothin' much seems t' be sittin' up an' takin' notice . . . down there. An' I remember how that would happen sometimes, in the bed I shared with Lureen, an' how her face'd go all Cosmo-Girl understandin' when it did, an' she'd give me a sweet, sympathetic smile an' tell me it was OK, cause all guys suffered from 'performance anxiety' sometimes. I never had th' heart t' tell her it had a lot more t' do with lack a interest than any worry about gettin' it up.

Course she was also purty damned persistant in gettin' what she wanted, and that woman had her some mighty talented hands, so it wasn't often that I didn't finally manage t' rise t' the occasion.

But it ain't never happened before when th' feast laid out in front a me, warm an' willin' an' invitin' me t' eat my fill, is Ennis Del Mar, an' I cain't help but wonder. What if . . .

Then I feel his mouth against me, and hear the words he's not quite sayin' out loud. "It's all right, Darlin'. It's always gonna be all right."

An', jus' like that, twixt one heartbeat an' the next, I feel the joy an' the hope fill me, an' I believe. I know that this might not be heaven, that there might not be such a thing as paradise, but this - here, in this moment - is all I'll ever need.

I lean forward, bracin' myself on one arm, an' touch my mouth to his, soft, barely there, tastin', nibblin', rememberin' first times an' last times. While my fingers move t' pull his shirt open, my lips move down to nuzzle at that firm jawline that I've always loved, and then further down, into the hollows of his throat, golden stubble raspin' against my skin. An' I feel his hands move up to thrust his fingers into my hair, but I shake my head.

"Don't move," I whisper. "Please, let me . . ."

I feel his smile, an' the tenderness of his touch as he allows his hands to fall back to his sides an' he goes perfectly still. I lift my head just enough to see, to wallow in the love that's shinin' in his eyes.

Time to move on.

In my mind, I know that the movement in his chest ain't really breathin', but it don't matter cause I can also feel a heartbeat that ain't really there. Real or not, when I shift down, an' move my mouth t' cover one nipple while my fingers find the other, I feel him shudder an' hear the hiss of caught breath, and know that he's fightin' not t' moan. So I use teeth an' lips an' tongue to make sure that he cain't resist, and the rough grindin' sound that rises from his throat is the sound I want a hear at least once every day fer as long as I'm able t'hear anything at all.

"Jack," he gasps. "Jack, please. I don't think I can . . ."

"Shhh!" I answer, movin' my lips against skin that smells exactly as it oughta, exactly as I remember it - sunshine on mountain meadows, the buttery scent a old leather, a bit a musk, an' a touch of clover, an' something else that's just Ennis. "Gotta go slow, Cowboy. Ain't gonna last long if I don't."

He shifts slightly, and I can feel that he's smilin' down at me. "I think," (a quick hiss as I bite down on the nub of his nipple, just enough t' sting) "we got eternity, Darlin'. Don't gotta make it last forever."

But I won't - can't - make myself hurry. For too long, this feeling, this body, was jus' something I could only dredge up from faded memories, an' I need a savor the rebirth of all that was so precious to me when I was young an' alive. I move further down, kissin' an' tastin an' allowing myself a little moan as I feel the sudden swellin' in my groin. But I still won't hurry, won't deny myself the pleasure of explorin' this work a art beneath my hands.

I lift up a bit, jus' enough t' unbutton his jeans an' push 'em down, an' smile t' see that he ain't changed a bit, not even after sixteen years. He still don't bother with underwear, an' his cock is still quick to fill an' more than ready fer my attention, thick an' flushed with need, springin' free and drippin' pre-cum. I pull back again, an' spend some time just starin' - caught between the sweetness of this moment an' the memory a so many others.

"Jesus Christ!" I whisper. "Y'er the most beautiful thing I ever seen."

The tenderness in his face is almost more than I can stand t' see as he answers. "Then ya ain't never looked up from where I'm sittin'."

I feel myself grinnin' like an idiot, and pause t' stare at his face. "Okay. Who th' fuck are you, and what a you done with Ennis Del Mar? Ain't no way he'd ever say somethin' like that."

Now his eyes go gentle, a little bit sad. "So I'm makin' up fer lost time. Gonna say it every time ya look at me like that, so ya don't never doubt it again."

I don't' know what to say - what to do.

"Somethin' else I never told ya," he continues, his eyes focused on my mouth. "How much I love t' kiss you. Was always afraid ya'd think I was goin' all girly on ya, that it wasn't fittin' fer a man t' feel that way. But I want a tell ya now. All my life, ain't never tasted nothin' sweeter than yer kisses."

"Jesus!" I whisper, closin' my eyes against the feelin' that's risin' up inside me. "Y'er killin' me, Ennis."

An' I suddenly have t' kiss 'im. Right now - hard an' fast an' no more pussyfootin' - an' he lies still an' lets me enjoy myself. There ain't never been nothin' as perfect as his taste, the feel of 'im, the touch of 'im.

He smiles an' rubs his nose against my cheek. "Can I move now?"

"No!" I can barely form a reply, but I still know what I want a do, and it requires him bein' still an' lettin' me do it.

I move down again, runnin' lips an' tongue over every inch a his body, pausin' fer a while t' play with the swirl a amber curls that spirals around his navel, an' t' push my tongue in, drunk with th' taste a him an' the silky feel a his skin, young an' supple, but still bearin' the marks an' scars he brought with him from his childhood - like the crescent-shaped ridge of skin just above his left hip bone, markin' th' time his brother pushed 'im out a the hay loft and he fell on a broken water pipe, an' the purplish blotch ridin' just under his rib cage, a souvenir of damage inflicted by a bull's hoof when he wasn't quite quick enough t' get out a harm's way, when he was just eight years old.

My Ennis. No mistakin' that, but without the weariness an' the wear an' tear of age. My Ennis, like he was when he first come t' me.

I don't linger long; my goal is too close, an' the pressure between my legs is beginnin' t' be painful.

I back off fer just a minute - just long enough t' shuck off my own clothes, an' enjoy that sound he makes when I'm naked against him.

Then I move down again, an' rub the stubble on my face against his engorged cock, before openin' my mouth an' seekin' the taste that I been addicted to since I was nineteen years old. He makes a hissin' sound, like he's gaspin' fer breath, as I kiss my way down his shaft, movin' finally t' take his balls in my mouth an' roll them around with my tongue.

"Jack," he whispers. "Please, I need ya now. Please."

An' I realize that he's right. It's time.

T' get him ready - slick an' glistenin' an' throbbin' - I swallow him to the root, til' my nose is buried in the golden fleece of his groin, an' suck - easy, at first. Then harder. When I pull away, and use tremblin' fingers t' spread th' pearly drops that are leakin' from his slit t' coat the velvet surface of his cock, he rewards me with another one a them moans, the kind that goes straight t' my pecker, with the force of an electric charge.

I waste a few seconds, wonderin' if I ought a try t' git myself ready - experiencin' a little flash of fear when I realize that I ain't had nothin' pushed into my body for sixteen years, realizin' that, much as I want it, I might not be able t' take what he's got t' give. He sure ain't got no smaller in all this time.

It's awkward, but I gotta try t' do what I can, t' spread my own clear slick on m' fingers an' reach back t' . . .

"Stop." There ain't nothin' soft or uncertain in his voice or his manner.

Then he smiles at me. "Ya don't need a do that, Darlin'."

But I cain't quite convince myself that he's right. I want this time - our first time in this new world - t' be perfect, an' I just ain't sure that . . .

"Unless," he goes on, once more reachin' up t' cup my chin with his palm, "ya think ya'll need t' do that t' me."

I go stone cold still, not lettin' myself consider what he's sayin'. Not thinkin'.

"I thought you knew what I meant," he whispers. "I want you t' make love t' me, Jack. I want you . . . inside me."

An' once more, things go a little bit hinky, an' I'm not sure this is real. In fact, I'm thinkin' that this has gotta be a dream. No way would he . . . but then a memory rises in me, and slams into me like a fallin' boulder. A memory of his face, his body, the curve of his spine in the moonlight as he lifts his legs to drape 'em over broad shoulders, as he looks up into eyes that ain't mine, an' allows his body t' be used, allows somebody else t' fuck him. On the mountain. On the mountain.

An' I jump up an' back away, an' only barely manage not t' turn an' run.

"Jack?" There's no mistakin' the pain an' the near panic in his voice, as he comes up on his knees an' stretches his hand out toward me.

The hurt is so big, so strong in me, that I can barely get the words out, but I know I gotta say it. Gotta ask. Gotta know.

"After I . . . was gone," I whisper, "you gave yerself t' somebody else."

He closes his eyes for a moment; then he nods. "You know I did. You set it up fer me."

"You loved 'im; you loved 'im enough t' let 'im do things ya was never willin' t' do with me. Does that mean that this - whatever this is between us - is jus' t' pass the time until he . . ."

"Oh, Jack." I almost fall t' my knees t' hear the sadness in his voice. But I cain't back off now. I cain't settle fer not knowin'.

"Is this . . ."

"I loved Mike, Darlin'. Ain't no denyin' that, an' we had us a good life together."

I nod, an' turn away, knowin' I won't be able t' hide the pain if I keep starin' long enough t' watch the love risin' in his eyes. I cain't go through this again, an' some ugly little voice inside me is laughin' like a fool an' claimin' that I should a known it all along, since nothin' ever come easy before. Why should I . . .

I'm startled when I feel arms wrappin' around my waist, an' pullin' me back against his chest. "I did love 'im, but he never owned m' soul. That was always yers. Y'er my everything, Jack - the only thing I ever wanted, or ever will. If y'er willin', this is forever."

I try t' draw a deep breath. "You sure, Ennis?"

"I . . ."

But I don't wait t' hear his answer. "Cause ya gotta be sure. I cain't . . . I cain't have ya again for a while, Ennis, an' then watch ya walk away. I cain't go through that . . ."

He spins me around an' covers my mouth with his, an' speaks through th' kiss. "Yers, Jack. Forever - jus' like y'er mine. Ain't nothin'gonna change that - ever."

The grass is soft beneath us as we sink to it, an' he settles on his back, pullin' me close so I'm arranged over him, an' usin' his knuckles t' wipe away tears I ain't quite fast enough t' hide. "Face t' face, Darlin'," he whispers. "Waited too long fer this t' miss the chance t' look into yer eyes when ya take me."

He reaches down and wraps his fingers - those long, rough fingers - around my cock an' uses his thumb t' spread the pre-cum that's pourin' out a me now, as I thrust my arms beneath his knees and push forward, so that he's spread wide fer me, the pucker a his openin' glistenin' wet an' ready.

I turn my head t' press my lips against his knee, an' feel his hands slide around me, to cup the globes of my ass. Then he pulls me forward, and I watch as the head of my cock nudges against that pucker, an' - even though I'm seein' it - I'm still not completely believin' it.

Until I feel myself slip inside, an' he goes rigid fer jus' a second, bracin' against the pressure. But then I feel his body relax against me, an' I know that here, in this place, there ain't no pain. There's only the beauty of joinin', and then I'm easing past the first ring of muscle, an' I know that this moment - even if it turns out t' be the last one I ever have - is my own personal gateway to heaven. I push in further, an' twist a bit, an' know by the fireworks that explode in his eyes when I find the right angle an' hit that sweet, magic spot.

Then I'm pushin'deeper, an' his body encloses me in liquid heat. I want a go slow. I want a stay here, in this moment, forever, but there ain't no resistin' the explosion that's pourin' fire through every vein in my body an' forcin' me t' slam deeper into his - deeper'n anyone has ever been before. An' he's pullin' me still closer, grindin' against me when I wrap my hand around his cock an' feel the throb of it, like it's pulsin' with the combined beat of our hearts, which might or might not be real, but who the hell cares anyway?

We're pushin' t' get closer, t' join more perfectly. To crawl into each other and become two hearts in one flesh.

I pull out only t' slam deeper, harder, an' feel myself hoverin' over a giant cliff, flyin' too high t' ever touch the ground again, soarin' - with 'im right there in my arms, surgin' up to claim my mouth with his as we fly. Up, an' up, an' spinnin' finally into th' well a infinity when my loins ignite an' I feel the sweet flow of his eruption fill my hand, an' we let ourselves go limp an' boneless to ride the plunge into paradise, just as dawn paints streaks a rose an' amber across the sky.

We fall together, still joined, an' I'm filled with th' satisfaction a knowin' that nothin' will ever be the same again, for we are finally bound, flesh to flesh, heart to heart . . . soul to soul.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I been layin' here fer a while now, jus' watchin' the mornin' rise around us an' show us somethin' we didn't expect. Or maybe we did, but were too busy doin' other stuff t' give it much thought.

But it's here now, right under our noses, an' it feels so right.

We're back - back to where it all began.

Back to Brokeback Mountain. Somethin' shifted around us as we came together for the first time in this new place, an' took us back t' where we belong.

An' it's as beautiful as I remember. Almost as beautiful as the sweet, warm body that's still wrapped up in my arms. Lord, I may not know many things, but I do know this; there ain't nothin' in the world - or beyond it - as luscious as the sight of Jack Twist's ass in the mornin' light, an' I reckon I'd be content t' spend all eternity just layin' here, holdin' him an' breathin' him an' takin' kisses as often as I need 'em.

Fer havin' spent so many years apart, we ain't spent much time talkin', except fer fillin' in the important stuff. Like the fact that he's got a grandson, an' it's kind a hard t' picture cause he looks so young again. But I reckon I won't never forget the soft shine in his eyes when I told 'im about that precious baby an' how I come t' know about 'im an' his parents.

I pretended not t' see the tears on his face when I gave 'im my thoughts about what a good man his son turned out t' be, an' then broke the news about Lureen dyin'. Ain't no jealousy left in me now, so I can face th' fact that he loved her too, in his own way. Course it helps that he never loved nobody else like he loves me.

I look up at clouds settlin' around the mountain's peak an' hear the rush a the stream that runs by the campsite, an' figger that I could spend eternity jus' like this - with Brokeback all around me an' heaven in my arms.

But Jack - as usual - has other ideas.

Just as there ain't nothin' more special than the sunlight touchin' that perfect skin with glints a gold, there ain't nothin' livelier nor brighter than Jack Twist with a bee in his bonnet, an' he's got the queen mother buzzin' around in there now.

On a mission is my Jack, an' I muster up a little bit a pity fer ol' Gabriel, an' think t' myself that he better have the right answers t' Jack's questions . . . or else.

Jack Twist - pissed off - is another sweet sight that ain't t' be missed. Cutest thing I ever saw only that's sure as hell something I cain't say t' him.

So we disentangle ourselves, but not before another bout a lovemakin', slow an' easy this time. Spring rain after th' tempest we brewed up earlier, with him lyin' back an' lookin' up at me, his eyes full a light an' wonder, as I ride that big, throbbin' cock t' th' only slice a heaven I ever want a know.

We both laugh a little when we manage t' stand up; the bodies might look young an' perfect again, but that don't mean a man can't feel a little stiffness from all that vigorous exercise. I stagger a bit as I'm tryin' t' pull up my jeans, an' I notice a dark, purple mark under Jack's jaw, an' feel a silly jolt a pleasure t' see that I can still mark 'im. It don't make much sense for that love bite t' make me feel like it's a brand that makes 'im more mine, but that's sure enough how it feels. When I lean forward t' drop a quick kiss there, he gets that look in 'is eyes again - that look that I'll never get enough of, no matter how long we might have in this place. It's a look that tells me that we wasted too much time in our lives, an' we ain't gonna waste no more in whatever this place is.

When we're dressed an' ready, we walk out of the campsite together, shoulders touchin', an' find that we don't have t' go very far.

Gabriel's sittin' on a big slab a granite, bare feet danglin' over the stream that's swirlin' below 'im, threadin' a worm on a fishin' hook that's attached to a cane pole. I sneak a quick look at Jack an' see a flash a surprise in 'is eyes.

"What ya doin'?" he asks, squattin' behind th' old man.

Gabriel just looks at him fer a minute before answerin'. "I'm doin' exactly what I feel like doin', Jack. Some of us really do like t' fish, ya know. It ain't always jus' an excuse fer doin' somethin' else."

But I think I know what Jack's drivin' at. "What do ya do with th' fish?"

That's when he sees what we're getting' at, an' his laugh is big an' hearty. "What do ya think I do with 'em? I fry 'em up over a campfire an' eat 'em."

Jack's eyes, by now, are huge, an' the old man's voice goes soft an' tender. "Jus' because ya never cared enough t' try things, don't mean they cain't be done, Jacky. Whatever ya loved out there, in what you call 'the real world', you can have here. It's still a kind a livin', ya know - the same, but different."

But Jack's had enough idle conversation, an' I see th' deep flare of anger fill his eyes. "Why did you lie t' me, Gabriel?"

But there ain't even a slow spark a resentment in the old man's gaze when he turns them funny colored eyes on my young lover. "Never did lie t' ya, Jack. I wouldn't do that, even if I wasn't as fond a you as I am."

"You told me it was forever." I cain't hardly stand t' hear th' deep notes a loneliness an' remembered despair in that soft whisper.

Gabriel nods. "An' it could a been." He turns them weird eyes on me. "Would a been, if this young fella hadn't turned out t' be smart enough t' figger it out."

"But . . ."

"There wasn't ever no way a knowin' that would happen, Jack." The old man goes back t' baitin' his hook. "An' it wouldn't a been fair t' give ya some kind a false hope. The only way it was right - the only way t' be sure that ya really wanted t' make that choice - was t' tell ya the worst that could happen, so yer mind'd be clear. So ya'd know what you were riskin'." He looks out across the water, an' I think, fer jus' a minute, that I see a strange wetness in his eyes. "Most who make that choice don't never git a second chance."

Jack stays quiet fer a while, still mad (I can always tell) but getting' calmer by the second. "An' the twenty-nine years?"

That's somethin' that's new t' me. What twenty-nine years?

But Gabriel knows exactly what the question means. "Was th' truth too. That's how long he would a lasted - miserable an' alone, but alive - if ya'd done nothin' to change his life."

An' I suddenly understand what he's sayin'. Twenty-nine years. I'd a spent that long, livin' in misery an' loneliness, if Jack hadn't done what he did.

I cain't help but shudder t' think about it.

Jack turns t' look at me, an' reads th' look in my eyes, an' - jus' like that - he's smilin' again. Never was no good at holdin' grudges or stayin' mad.

Gabriel reaches back, blindly, an' lays a hand on his shoulder. "Ya got a lot a time t' catch up on, Jacky. Why don't ya take Ennis fer a ride up th' mountain."

"Ride?" That's me, showin' more interest than I prob'ly should. "Ride what?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


So here we are, at th' place that's come t' be th' most special of all. Below us, in a clearin' where we'll set up camp later, our horses are grazin' on sweet summer grass. Horses that look an' smell an' feel like the ones we rode long ago. Reckon it don't matter none whether they're really th' same horses or jus' the same in our minds.

I'm sprawled on the ground in a patch a sunshine, braced against a big slab a rock, enjoyin' th' sweet smell a the flowers that are bloomin' against the cliffside, an' the bright flickerin' reflections from the water fall, while Jack squats at the edge of the drop-off, lookin' off t' the west, watchin' the drift a storm clouds.

"Reckon it might rain tonight," he says.

"Does it?" I ask. "Rain, I mean?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. Reckon I never had call t' notice before."

"Christ, Jack," I answer with a snort. "You was here fer six years before ya . . . well, before. An' ya never noticed if it rained?"

He looks down at his hands, braced against the denim stretchin' over his thighs, an' I hide a smile. Heaven 'r not, Jack Twist still knows how t' fill a pair a jeans. But then he answers me, an' the smile dies when I swallow hard t' keep from lettin' the tears rise.

"Reckon I never cared enough t' notice."

For a moment, neither one a us knows what t' say, how t' back away from memories of a hurt that was too big fer anyone t' be able t' handle. Then he grins. "Think I need a find me a harmonica. Gets too quiet around here."

This time, the snort is plenty loud enough fer him t' notice. "Don't need no Goddamn harmonica, Jack. It's just a fuckin' noisemaker."

His grin gets bigger. "I like makin' noise."

"Yeah, I know ya do," I grump. "Maybe - considerin' what this place might be - ya oughta get you a harp."

"Harp! I don't know how t' play no harp, Dumbass."

"Ya don't know how t' play no harmonica neither, but that ain't never stopped ya from tryin'."

He laughs, loud an' deep, an' I know that sound is the only music I'll ever need.

When he comes an' kneels beside me, I look my fill, still amazed that he can really be here - really be mine.

"Reckon we'll ever get tired a this place?" he asks, soft an' gentle as he takes my hand an' lifts it to his face.

"Ain't never gonna git tired a nothin' here," I answer, lovin' the feel a his stubble against my palm.

His smile goes straight t' my heart, with a bit left over t' nudge at m' groin. "Never getting' tired a each other don't mean we'll never git tired a this place. We don't have t' stay here, ya know. We could explore the world, if we wanted to. I always thought I'd like t' . . ."

"Don't want a explore nothin'." I don't mean t' sound so gruff, but there ain't no way a hidin' what I'm feelin'. "This place, Jack. This place is magic, fer us. It gave us everythin'. Don't want a ever . . ."

But his hand reaches out t' cover my mouth, an' the look in his eyes is, for me, all I ever need of paradise. "Stop, Ennis. Jus' stop. I know ya love this place, an' our memories a this place. So do I."

He leans in until his nose is rubbin' against my cheek, an' his breath is warm against my throat. "But this place ain't the magic. It never was, no matter what we might a told ourselves." His eyes open wide, and he's lookin' deep into mine, an' I feel like I can see clear down into his soul. "The magic," he whispers, "is you."

He turns then, an' settles against me, his back solid an' warm against my chest. An' I wrap him in my arms an' bury my nose in the silky thickness of the hair at the nape a his neck, an' nuzzle against th' three little moles that hide just inside his hairline. I twist my head just enough t' be able t' git a glimpse a the dark lashes curlin' against his cheek as he closes his eyes, an' I sigh with pleasure, t' be once more in my favorite place, lookin' out at the world around us from my favorite viewpoint . An' I know the real truth, though I don't speak it.

I know who the magic is.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*