Brokeback Mountain

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Ennis Del Mar wakes before five, wind rocking the trailer, hissing in around the
aluminum door and window frames. The shirts hanging on a nail shudder slightly in
the draft. He gets up, scratching the grey wedge of belly and pubic hair, shuffles to the
gas burner, pours leftover coffee in a chipped enamel pan; the flame swathes it in blue.
He turns on the tap and urinates in the sink, pulls on his shirt and jeans, his worn
boots, stamping the heels against the floor to get them full on. The wind booms down
the curved length of the trailer and under its roaring passage he can hear the
scratching of fine gravel and sand. It could be bad on the highway with the horse
trailer. He has to be packed and away from the place that morning. Again the ranch is
on the market and they’ve shipped out the last of the horses, paid everybody off the
day before, the owner saying, “Give em to the real estate shark, I’m out a here,”
dropping the keys in Ennis’s hand. He might have to stay with his married daughter
until he picks up another job, yet he is suffused with a sense of pleasure because Jack
Twist was in his dream.