Bourbon and Water
Sep. 8th, 2012 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrobay1990Title: Bourbon and Water
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morrobay1990
Warning:
Genre: canon
Word count: 1175
Disclaimer: They are AP's
♥ Jack
“Alma, you ok?”
“Just going down to get a glass of water.”
Monroe mumbled something and slid back into sleep as Alma put on her slippers and left the room.
Alma stopped briefly at the doorway to Junior’s room, then Jenny’s, and listened to their even breathing, thanking God for her two healthy children - Jenny’s asthma had not gotten worse as she grew - then made her way to the stairs and down, making sure to sidestep the creaking third one from the bottom.
It wasn’t so much a habit as it was something that just happened, triggered by a sudden thought, or in this case, the conversation with Ennis earlier that night when she, her feelings hurt and unable to have anything done about it, had hung up on him. It upset her that...well, so many things about Ennis upset her, and she knew even before she went to bed, that her sleep would not be uninterrupted.
She made her way to the kitchen and switched on the light over the stove, reached into the cabinet and took out a water glass, decided it was too much noise and trouble to bother with ice, and filled the glass with tap water. Then she got the bottle of bourbon from the china cabinet in the dining room and a juice glass, filled it half with the dark liquid and half with water, and sat down at the kitchen table, the two glasses in front of her.
This didn’t happen often, once, maybe twice a year; she was usually able to relegate thoughts and wishes of her previous life to the background, but found that it helped, sometimes, to allow herself the pain and luxury of remembering.
She listened to the quiet of the house...the rhythmic ticking of the old clock in the dining room, the sudden creak of the house settling...took a sip of the bourbon, and not used to alcohol, felt its warmth seep into her blood...another sip and the warmth spread and made her head feel light.
When, exactly, she had noticed that she had separated her life into the time before and the time after that June day in 1967 was unclear to her.
At times like this she liked to reminisce about the earlier days...the first time she and Ennis had met, when her brother had invited him back to the house after work one day...how she had screamed at her brother in her mind because he had brought home this nice-looking boy without telling her, and she was wearing old shorts and a tee shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, while smiling at Ennis and shaking his hand, and saying it was nice to meet him.
She’d never expected to hear from Ennis again, but she had; he had stopped by the house one Saturday afternoon, and her heart sang when she told him her brother wasn’t home and he said he knew that. He stayed for dinner that evening and later they sat on the front porch in chipping rattan chairs, drinking lemonade and Coke and trying to keep the conversation going.
She fell in love. He was tall and pretty good-looking, strong and worked at the same job as her father and brother. He was polite to her parents, and shy around her, and that made her feel special, and utterly feminine, like the girls in the romance books she liked. Her family approved of him and her mother helped her put together outfits for their Saturday night dates; the basics were always the same, but she let Alma wear one of her scarves, or her silver necklace, or a special pin.
Early in March of 1963 the weather showed some sympathy for winter-weary Wyomingites and Ennis and Alma had gone on a picnic, all the food prepared by Alma alone, who insisted on showing Ennis what a good cook she was. She filled a basket with fried chicken, (though some pieces were more fried than others), homemade potato salad, fresh baked biscuits, beans with ham, and blueberry cobbler for dessert and Ennis had carried it out to her brother’s truck, who had given Ennis permission to use it for this special occasion.
Alma took another sip of her drink and smiled to herself as she remembered that picnic, that lunch she had packed; she was a much better cook now. Her smile faded and a vaguely familiar, if seldom acknowledged, darkness descended as the significance of that day washed over her; it had indeed been a special occasion – Ennis had proposed to her that day, and she’d said yes without hesitation or a ring.
She prepared, in small ways, all summer while he was working up on Brokeback Mountain.
She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but she borrowed a cousin’s sewing machine, and slowly and carefully stitched together a quilt for their marriage bed, made from the best yards of fabric saved and willingly given by girlfriends and family. She leafed through bridal magazines while waiting in the checkout line, and got an idea for a simple, but, she thought, tasteful, headband of fabric flowers. Her mother helped with her dress, and the neckline and sleeves were edged with lace handmade by her grandmother.
Her wedding day was everything she had hoped it would be, nothing went wrong. And their first night as man and wife was about what she’d expected, after some veiled conversations with her mother and more forthright ones with her married cousins.
In Alma’s mind, their lovemaking got better as the months went on, and she tried to be a good wife in that respect; talking with her married girlfriends and learning things through whispered conversations, punctuated by embarrassed laughter, they shared what they thought men wanted.
She sighed and took a hot swallow of the drink in front of her, draining the glass, as she faced the one mental picture that she could not bear to think of without the protection, the comfort, of the bourbon and water.
Nothing in her simple life had prepared her for June 24, 1967, when she had looked out her own front door and seen her husband kissing a man more passionately than he had kissed her in years. She still didn’t know how she had gotten through the torturous introduction, trying to breathe, trying to keep from screaming her pain to them as they stood there...together.
She never understood it...all through their remaining years together, until she couldn’t bear it anymore; couldn’t bear the betrayal, the treachery, the unfaithfulness of the man she loved. And to this day there were things she couldn’t stand to think of, and some thoughts that she would never even let near the surface.
The drink hadn’t done such a good job of protecting her this time, she thought, as she got up from the table, put the bottle back in its place and washed the glasses, rinsing away the traces of her liquid armor.
And, defenseless, she cried.
Author:
morrobay1990Warning:
Genre: canon
Word count: 1175
Disclaimer: They are AP's
♥ Jack
“Alma, you ok?”
“Just going down to get a glass of water.”
Monroe mumbled something and slid back into sleep as Alma put on her slippers and left the room.
Alma stopped briefly at the doorway to Junior’s room, then Jenny’s, and listened to their even breathing, thanking God for her two healthy children - Jenny’s asthma had not gotten worse as she grew - then made her way to the stairs and down, making sure to sidestep the creaking third one from the bottom.
It wasn’t so much a habit as it was something that just happened, triggered by a sudden thought, or in this case, the conversation with Ennis earlier that night when she, her feelings hurt and unable to have anything done about it, had hung up on him. It upset her that...well, so many things about Ennis upset her, and she knew even before she went to bed, that her sleep would not be uninterrupted.
She made her way to the kitchen and switched on the light over the stove, reached into the cabinet and took out a water glass, decided it was too much noise and trouble to bother with ice, and filled the glass with tap water. Then she got the bottle of bourbon from the china cabinet in the dining room and a juice glass, filled it half with the dark liquid and half with water, and sat down at the kitchen table, the two glasses in front of her.
This didn’t happen often, once, maybe twice a year; she was usually able to relegate thoughts and wishes of her previous life to the background, but found that it helped, sometimes, to allow herself the pain and luxury of remembering.
She listened to the quiet of the house...the rhythmic ticking of the old clock in the dining room, the sudden creak of the house settling...took a sip of the bourbon, and not used to alcohol, felt its warmth seep into her blood...another sip and the warmth spread and made her head feel light.
When, exactly, she had noticed that she had separated her life into the time before and the time after that June day in 1967 was unclear to her.
At times like this she liked to reminisce about the earlier days...the first time she and Ennis had met, when her brother had invited him back to the house after work one day...how she had screamed at her brother in her mind because he had brought home this nice-looking boy without telling her, and she was wearing old shorts and a tee shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, while smiling at Ennis and shaking his hand, and saying it was nice to meet him.
She’d never expected to hear from Ennis again, but she had; he had stopped by the house one Saturday afternoon, and her heart sang when she told him her brother wasn’t home and he said he knew that. He stayed for dinner that evening and later they sat on the front porch in chipping rattan chairs, drinking lemonade and Coke and trying to keep the conversation going.
She fell in love. He was tall and pretty good-looking, strong and worked at the same job as her father and brother. He was polite to her parents, and shy around her, and that made her feel special, and utterly feminine, like the girls in the romance books she liked. Her family approved of him and her mother helped her put together outfits for their Saturday night dates; the basics were always the same, but she let Alma wear one of her scarves, or her silver necklace, or a special pin.
Early in March of 1963 the weather showed some sympathy for winter-weary Wyomingites and Ennis and Alma had gone on a picnic, all the food prepared by Alma alone, who insisted on showing Ennis what a good cook she was. She filled a basket with fried chicken, (though some pieces were more fried than others), homemade potato salad, fresh baked biscuits, beans with ham, and blueberry cobbler for dessert and Ennis had carried it out to her brother’s truck, who had given Ennis permission to use it for this special occasion.
Alma took another sip of her drink and smiled to herself as she remembered that picnic, that lunch she had packed; she was a much better cook now. Her smile faded and a vaguely familiar, if seldom acknowledged, darkness descended as the significance of that day washed over her; it had indeed been a special occasion – Ennis had proposed to her that day, and she’d said yes without hesitation or a ring.
She prepared, in small ways, all summer while he was working up on Brokeback Mountain.
She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but she borrowed a cousin’s sewing machine, and slowly and carefully stitched together a quilt for their marriage bed, made from the best yards of fabric saved and willingly given by girlfriends and family. She leafed through bridal magazines while waiting in the checkout line, and got an idea for a simple, but, she thought, tasteful, headband of fabric flowers. Her mother helped with her dress, and the neckline and sleeves were edged with lace handmade by her grandmother.
Her wedding day was everything she had hoped it would be, nothing went wrong. And their first night as man and wife was about what she’d expected, after some veiled conversations with her mother and more forthright ones with her married cousins.
In Alma’s mind, their lovemaking got better as the months went on, and she tried to be a good wife in that respect; talking with her married girlfriends and learning things through whispered conversations, punctuated by embarrassed laughter, they shared what they thought men wanted.
She sighed and took a hot swallow of the drink in front of her, draining the glass, as she faced the one mental picture that she could not bear to think of without the protection, the comfort, of the bourbon and water.
Nothing in her simple life had prepared her for June 24, 1967, when she had looked out her own front door and seen her husband kissing a man more passionately than he had kissed her in years. She still didn’t know how she had gotten through the torturous introduction, trying to breathe, trying to keep from screaming her pain to them as they stood there...together.
She never understood it...all through their remaining years together, until she couldn’t bear it anymore; couldn’t bear the betrayal, the treachery, the unfaithfulness of the man she loved. And to this day there were things she couldn’t stand to think of, and some thoughts that she would never even let near the surface.
The drink hadn’t done such a good job of protecting her this time, she thought, as she got up from the table, put the bottle back in its place and washed the glasses, rinsing away the traces of her liquid armor.
And, defenseless, she cried.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Beautiful and sad.
Date: 2012-09-08 09:29 pm (UTC)/Molly