The Original Ennis Prompt
In December, Ennis married Alma Beers and had her pregnant by mid-January. He picked up a few short-lived ranch jobs, then settled in as a wrangler on the Old Elwood Hi-Top place north of Lost Cabin in Washakie County.
He was still working there in September when Alma Jr., as he called his daughter, was born and their bedroom was full of the smell of old blood and milk and baby shit, and the sounds were of squalling and sucking and Alma’s sleepy groans, all reassuring of fecundity and life’s continuance to one who worked with livestock.
My First Version
My name is Alma Beers. When I was just shy of my twentieth birthday, I met my
husband, Ennis, at our local watering hole. He drew my attention immediately,
even though the unspoken rumor was that his sexual desires weren’t entirely
normal. This didn’t dissuade me. I’d never met a man I couldn’t tame. I knew I
was up to the challenge.
After a few dates and some backseat tussling, I was surprised to find out that
the symptoms I’d been experiencing weren’t some new bug, they were the old-
fashioned kind of bug. The havin’ a dang kid kind of bug.
Oh well, was gonna happen sooner or later. Since Ennis wasn’t very good
around people, I got him a ranch hand job with my uncle, Jimmy-Bob over at the
Old Elwood Hi-Top place, just north of Lost Cabin in Washakie County. He’d
work all day and come home to a house that smelled like where he worked, dried
blood, old shit, shitty food, and dirty clothes. He even called our daughter Alma
Jr., which is sure to cause her all sorts of problems when she grows up.
All Ennis does is complain about the noises she makes. He told me this
evening that he wants to have more children!
I think I’m gonna kill him.
Reimagined Ennis from a New Point of View
Ennis and his buddy, Jim Bob, sip cold beer just out of sight from the trailer he
shares with his new wife. Popping the top off another Coors light, Ennis guzzles
the beer, reveling in the tiny rivulets of cold beer streaking over his lips and down
his chin.
“Man, I love beer!”
“Thought you loved Alma?”
“Yeah, whatever. You know, I can love more than one thing at the same
time,” Ennis mutters, reaching into the cooler for another. Swishing the icy liquid
around, his hand clasps a beer and lifts it out. Ripping the pull tab, he treats this
one with the same amount of reverence as the previous one and loudly slurps the
liquid out of existence. Jim Bob takes note and changes the subject. He knows that
with Ennis three sheets to the wind, perhaps he might have the opportunity to
confirm some disturbing information he’s heard about his buddy.
“So, Alma?”
Ennis looked at Jim Bob, the beer, his fifth in ten minutes, working its magic
on his limited intellect. He wanted to say something useful, but was failing
miserably. The hate in his eyes and the venom in his voice sizzled between them.
“Yeah, that bitch. She finally got me. I cain’t believe she tricked me into it.
And now, she claims she’s preggers! Says she’s gonna call the damn thing Alma
Junior or some shit like that.”
“Well, you were an idiot of the first order for getting’ captured by that
snapper. She ain’t all that, and what you saw in her is a mystery.”
Ennis hangs his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“Yeah, I get that.”
Changing the subject, Jim Bob plows ahead.
“How’s that job over at the Elwood Hi-Top Place?”
“It’s a job. Well, it was a job. Old man Elwood caught me slipping some of
his, crops, into the back of my truck, and . . .”
“You mean his weed? You were stealing weed from Elwood?”
“Yeah. I had twenty of the most beautiful plants cut and loaded. I cranked
the truck, and the next thing I knew, the passenger side window shattered. Freaking
glass everywhere. Elwood’s kid, Ray, opened my door and yanked me out. It was
Elwood himself who shot out my window with a scattergun.”
“Shit Ennis, that’s crazy! You don’t know that a cartel underwrites his
place? Not to mention there’s illegals being housed off in the foothills. Crossing
Elwood was truly a bad idea.”
“Yeah, I reckon. They wasn’t too happy about me cutting the plants, not to
mention that I was stealing them. But, whatever.” Something Jim Bob had said
finally coalesced in the cloud of intoxication slowly engulfing Ennis.
“Did you just say a cartel? Like, Mexican Cartel?”
“Yeah you idiot, a Mexican cut-you-into-small-pieces, cartel. Say, Ennis, if I
heard you right, you haven’t even told Alma you got fired?”
“Nah.”
“But, don’t she ask about where you go? I mean, you leave in the morning as
if you are going to work and come home drunk every night, just like you did when
you were working.”
“Well, she ain’t gonna notice anything. She’s an idiot. I got myself a sweet
side gig that’s gonna keep me outta trouble for sure!”
“Really? Do tell!”
“Not supposed to talk about it, but if I can’t trust you, my best buddy, then
who can I trust? Have you heard about the big drug bust up county that happened
last week?”
“The one where they got all those untaxed cigarettes in 18-wheelers and a
whole bunch of MDMA, weed, and meth?”
“That’s the one. I did that. And I have done even more than that.”
Jimmy Bob blinked a few times, unsure if this was just bravado posturing or
if his friend had really just admitted that he’d been turned into a narc. He needed
clarification.
“What do you mean, you did that?”
“I turned informant! They pay me and everything! So, Alma never gots to
know I’m not working at Elwood’s place. All the cops; the county cops, the
Staties, even the feds, are payin’ me money to provide them information bout’
what goes on out here.”
The shock on Jim Bob’s face is real. The sadness in his eyes and the droop
of his shoulders is real too.
“Why did you have to go and do that, Ennis?”
“Whata-ya mean, ‘why’d I have to go and do that?’ The first name I gave
um was Old Man Elwood. They already had suspicions, the feds did, and now they
got everything I knew about his operation. I gave um names, places, dates, drop-off
points, the whole shebang! I hear they’re building a fed case against him every
day, and I’m a helpin’ them. Screw him and his damn kids. I’m a hero!”
It was just dark enough that Ennis misinterpreted Jim Bob’s swift movement
towards the cooler. Anticipating another beer, he smiled.
“Yeah, while ur grabbing one for you, toss me another too!”
Instead of two beers, Jim Bob lifted a silenced .22 from the sack next to the
cooler, a sad look crossed his features. He shook his head.
“No more beer for you, Ennis. You have messed with the wrong people. It’s
made Alma a widow, and now your idiot kid will be raised in a single parent
household.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry buddy. You’re not a hero, you’re just another dead snitch.”
With practice born out of years on the cartel payroll, Jim Bob brought the
gun up and fired it point blank into the face of his friend Ennis. The subsonic .22
round crashed through Ennis’s nasal cavity and into his brain. He was dead before
his body slumped to the ground. Jim Bob looked around, making sure there were
no witnesses. Casually, he replaced the gun in the bag. Bending down to lift Ennis
into the bed of his truck, he chuckled at a sudden realization.
“Those deep squats sure come in handy!”
