The Seed of Truthfulness

Archive – Take it; it's yours (just tell me where it will end up).

Category – Angst, Romance

Rating – PG

Warnings – Alternative Universe

Summary – Junior embarked on a spiritual journey as she came to understand her father – with the help of a man she thought she had never met before. AU, but it's by no means happier than what's depicted in the movie.

Feedback – Greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer – Any money-wise profitable aspects in regard to this movie certainly are not affiliated with me.

Author's Note – I take liberty in structuring the story. Hope it works. I'm bad at it.

Author's 2nd Note - So, I realize that the chapters should indeed be merged into one part, so I did just that. Many thanks to the people who encouraged me during the writing of this story. I really appreciate it.

---

Dear Daddy,

I feel like I must write this letter, even though I may never know whether you may actually get it. I'm doing fine, Jenny is too, and Mama and Monroe are already back to them old selves. To be honest, I'm awfully surprised that how fast Mom has recovered from, well, that thing.

There has been one thing that I've been wanting to ask you, though. I know only you can answer me. It's about that man at the funeral.

Junior's shaking hand stopped writing. She could not articulate what she was thinking, not even with the sheer mid-night quietness and darkness surrounding her. Tears dropping on the best letter paper she had, she put down the pen and put her face into her hands. She had never been able to get a full night sleep after what had happened to her father, and nor did she think she could ever be at peace. But the question must be asked. She had to know. Breathing hard, she continued:

It was the day when he first suddenly showed up at the front door of our house. I opened the door and he asked for Mama. I stared at him. He looked stricken and old, wearing a cowboy hat. Assuming he was some sort of door-to-door salesman, I answered that my Mama wasn't home then he asked me – for you.

He suddenly started trembling and clutched our door frame for support. I did not know what to do. His knuckles turned white and he looked as if he was going to faint. So I helped him inside our house and let him sat down on the couch. Then Mama came out from the kitchen asking what happened and she stopped before that man.

"You," she said, as if addressing his name was too much for her. He looked away. I guessed there was something between them.

Junior paused. It was so silly, describing this. As if she was a third-rate writer, and she had never been good at story telling.

"Look I'm just here to ask coupla questions and if you don't want me here I won't push you," he said in a low voice.

"About what?" Mama said, "And what makes you have the right to talk to me?"

"You know what I want to know," he said wearily, not really answering her question.

"I will give you the food for the energy you need to drive so that you can leave earlier," Mama said, "all you need to know is it is true."

His face paled; he suddenly jumped up, "Thanks for your time, but I ain't no mood in eating" and ran away.

Junior paused for a moment and closed her eyes: the vague memory started to fade into sight – clear-cut, vivid images: the rainy night, the wind, her mother's stony coldness, the rare bitter tone of triumph in her voice, and the desperation and pain radiating from that stranger…

"Don't let strangers into our house, huh, Junior? You are already 15, you shoulda learned that by now," Mama said reproachfully.

"Who was that guy?" I asked.

She only said briefly, "Your dead father's fishing buddy. A true friend."

It wasn't until a few days later did I know how true she was being.

Junior found her pillow wet – again. The ranch equipment accident involving that terrible explosion was still news to her, even though she had known it for weeks. Every time she thought of it it was as if the initial aching experience was starting all over again – pain pouring down on her with the strength of a tidal wave.

I didn't think I would meet him again. But I did. At your funeral. You were a shy man, Daddy, and not many people know about you in this desolate town. In fact, I don't think many people know many people here. Anyway, we were at this small church listening to this priest saying stuff for you. Not many people were there – just me, Jenny, Mama, Monroe, your ranch boss and several of your co-workers. Your ranch-hand boss said he'd got himself into serious trouble with this explosion. Your funeral was the 4th he had been to in a week. Everybody was silent, but I thought the only people who were really sorry for you were Jenny and me. Monroe was politely sad and respectful, considering he didn't know you too well – you know what I mean. Mama wasn't too affected. She was bitter rather than sad, I think; I heard her saying "I told him to change a job; now look what happened to him. What a surprise."

Junior crossed out the last few sentences. Her father wouldn't want to know what was going on with her mother. Junior didn't want him to know, even though she was furious with her. "We are here because God has taken another good man from us, to his kingdom where he could rejoice forever…" the priest said. She twisted her head away.

But then I saw this man. He was sitting in the farthest corner of the church, avoiding our crowd. It was the man I saw at our door. I was somewhat surprised.

The man wasn't dressed in blackness, like normal people do in funerals. He was wearing the same clothes when Junior had encountered him. For his build he looked strangely stiff: his shoulders were strained, his fists were clutching his knees. But nothing could compare to what Junior saw in his face. The facial features were contorted and his skin was pale as paper; he was biting his lower lip so hard that it turned white.

I at that time thought I saw the saddest face I could ever see. His eyes were watery. And he looked even older than I'd first seen him even it had just been for a few days. He wasn't crying, to be sure; but that didn't make him any less depressing to look at. He sighed when the priest said…

"A good friend, a good co-worker, a good father …" That sigh contained so much emotion that she could not understand. Junior found herself tearing up; besides Jenny, she felt that only that man was sharing the sadness and knew that it was a tragedy. Thinking of her mother, she thought angrily, "Are we the only ones who really cared for Daddy?"

He left quietly, alone, when the priest finished talking and everybody said "Amen". I was so into my own sadness that I missed the chance of running after him, although I felt he wouldn't reply to me anyway…

Junior was crying; if only she had had the courage to ask him, the person who truly cared about Daddy. She could not continue and put the paper away. It would be years before she picked it up again.

Daddy – I had to write something about that man. I'm calmed. I'm sure you can see me through the clouds. Just a few questions. I saw him again, though I'd thought I lost the chance forever.

You see, we buried your body and set a stone up…

It was raining, again.

I was on my way to visit you, carrying flowers under my umbrella.

Many years from today, her daddy died. She would have come with Jenny, but the younger girl suddenly fell ill and it would be foolish to let her come. Junior promised that she would read the poem that Jenny had written for the occasion to her father.

Many things had changed since her father died. Riverton had always been the same, of course, and it became apparent that it would continue its ancient way of life for at least the near future; Monroe and her mother were the same; school was the same, too. But somehow in this mix of pretend peacefulness something wasn't right.

Junior was sure she wouldn't be the same any more. Probably Jenny, either.

There was always something missing in her life. Now it was ruthlessly deprived forever.

Junior wanted to scream; no, not to let tears flow, but to cry out loud into the dying world around her.

I went straight to your grave. Then I saw him again.

Junior stopped dead when she saw a lean figure kneeling right before her father's grave. She stared at him from some distance.

I was going to run, but my feet got rooted to ground, and I could only stare at him with my jaw hanging…

The man gingerly placed a rose before the cold, wet tombstone. He kneeled in the mud before the monument, eyes closed, as if praying. He wasn't under or wearing any shelter.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I walked towards him and heard him muttering…

"Ennis, ya hear? I wish I'd never let you go," he whispered, "But I couldn't even say good bye," then the rain drowned whatever he might have said.

I stood behind him. It was the man I saw at your funeral.

"Shouldn't you be at home, Ennis' little girl?" he said, startling me, "yeah, your daddy was right – you do behave a lot like him."

He stood up and turned. For a split second I was scared and ready to call the police.

He noticed the glimpse of alarm in her eyes and sighed. "I will be leaving; he was your father, after all," he was about to walk away when Junior stopped him.

"Don't go," she said breathlessly.

I wasn't thinking, really. But I then asked him about you.

There were drops of water on the rose petals, like dangling tears.

"Who are you?"

He hesitated.

"You really wanna know?"

The man looked tired. He was holding his hat in his hand, his dark hair clinging to his forehead. Junior wasn't able to make out what was on the man's face, whether it was rain or tears.

He did tell me though, that you were real good friends.

"We herded sheep together once on Brokeback Mountain," he choked up at the name, "back in the 1960s, just for a summer. Then we went our separate ways. Swear I didn't know I would see him again. I was wrong. I met him after a while, and there he was, as if nothing had changed between us."

I begged him to stay till I gave you the flowers. He said it was fine with him standing in the rain – he said he was already wet all over. I was comfortable with him being there, listening to what I had to say to you. I muttered several things, read Jenny's poem, hoping you were listening. Then he and I sat at the porch of the grave manager's house, talking about you.

"A good man, you father was, a real good man," I think that was the first time I'd ever heard someone else talked about you that way, being so sincere and sad and all.

The man had a distant look in his eyes. His eyes fogged as he continued,

"We been friends for a long time."

Junior didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. To her surprise, the man became talkative when it came to her father. They talked about the late man, and Junior laughed at the versions of her stories that her father told him.

"He been never good at story telling," she said, brushing a tear from her left eye, "I don't know about Jenny, but I'm not that sweet a girl he'd thought (or hoped) I was."

"Every father is like that," the man said, "he been doing right with you." There was a shred of bitterness in his voice, but it slipped away unnoticed by Junior.

"Meeting your daddy had taught me many things…I not been…well, well-disciplined before I knew your father…then I felt real and settled, you know? It's like we could stick together forever…"

"Funny; he then never got settled down with anyone else. Especially not after he and Mama got divorced," Junior said, but the statement did not go as innocent as she had meant it to be. The man smiled knowingly and sadly.

"'Cause he was so alone," he added in his mind.

He explained that he came to give you flowers every year. He always set out on the day he sent his last postcard to you (which was marked "deceased" when it was returned) and stayed at the motel till the date of today came. I reckoned the reason I'd never seen him was because I always came here in the afternoon whereas he came here at dawn. He said this year was special, so he'd come here at dawn and would stay at your grave till afternoon.

We talked for some more time. He said you supported each other, even when things looked most hopeless. He even said you were a good point to living. Why didn't you tell me that you'd had a friend like this before, Daddy? You could have spared Jenny and me some worries.

He told me we would probably never meet again. He came here because he was about to set off to some far away place.

"Why?" Junior was about to cry; she had finally found a person who could share the memories of her father. And now that person was leaving.

"No need for me to be here no more," he said, "My son's grown up and been living on his own."

"But –" Junior began, then shut up since she suddenly realized that she was being selfish.

"You do look a lot like your daddy," he said, putting his dried hand on my shoulder, "you take good care of yourself and your sister. She writes beautiful poems and both of you are so good. Your father must be mighty proud of you, smiling down at you through the clouds."

I feel he was so close to you, so much closer than you and Mama could ever be.

"Can I ask you one last question?" I said.

Her eyes tearing up again. Knowing it was the last time she could ever see this man, she asked,

"Were you and daddy close because you worked together?"

His face was clearly brightened, like whenever he talked about you, "It's not at all that complicated," he chuckled.

I didn't know what he meant. But he was already out of sight, as fleetingly as he had appeared in the first place.

Junior folded the paper and put it into her drawer.

"There's so much I don't know about you, Daddy," she thought. And she believed she could not truly speak to him unless she knew him well enough.

…

Junior was no longer the little girl she used to be. She and Jenny were at work, and it was there she heard that, from a Texan colleague, the old man of a rich CEO was found dead in his own bed.

"Jack or John Twist. I don't remember what exactly his name was. I do know the CEO's name, though: Robert Twist. The news said the old man did not take his medicine in time and died of a heart attack," the young accountant snorted in his unpleasant demeanor, "Typical for a peculiar old dude like him."

"It wasn't the heart attack," Junior closed her eyes and said softly to herself; now every piece of puzzle was in its place.

I think I should continue this letter, Daddy, because I have changed so much I figure I knew fairly well how you were feeling. I want to say I love you no matter what, and I will always miss you.

There are a few things going on that you should know. Jenny is in graduate school. As for me, I married Kurt, a guy I met in college, and now we have three kids – one daughter, two sons – we are in the city of Cheyenne. Today – yeah, you'd laugh, it took me so long to figure this out – when I was watching TV with my family, something suddenly struck me and I had to write it down.

Daddy, it's between you and Jack. You didn't know it when you passed away, but I'm sure you have known it by now.

Mid-night again. This letter was long overdue.

Junior carefully folded the paper into the envelope, and sealed it, tightly. Her eyes once again were filled with tears…but now they were not tears of sadness – being with Kurt had taught her many things as well, same as what was between her father and Jack.

She stood up from her desk and walked out of the side door of her bedroom. She lit up the paper with her lighter, kneeled down and put it on the stone ground in her garden. The flames slowly spread and consumed the material, sending its message up with its grey smoke against the dark night. Up, above the clouds, above this world, above fear, rage and lies, to heaven. Junior smiled; that must be where Jack and her father were staying together.

It is love, Daddy. I should have known. Or I knew it by heart, but without me realizing it. You two share something that wasn't accepted by this society just because it was considered "abnormal". But it is love nonetheless. It's nothing to be ashamed of.

You are so fortunate, having someone who loves you so much. I could not understand why you were so happy whenever fishing trips were near, but now I do. Love has bonded you two together; it has fulfilled you. You are part of each other. You give each other the reason you want to live. And sometimes, just sometimes, that's why life is precious, isn't it?

It's never about birth and death, Daddy; it's about preserving the connection. Thanks for telling me that and please say hello to Jack for me.

Yours always,

Junior