Jolene
Canon one-shot/drabble-ish. Inspired by Dolly Parton's "Jolene." Sometimes Ennis talks in his sleep...
He talks about you in his sleep;
There’s nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Jolene
Rain was pattering on the window and Alma wanted to pretend that was what was keeping her up, not the soft murmuring from her husband beside her. He sometimes talked in his sleep-sometimes more than when he was awake-and Alma always pretended not to hear, the same way she’d pretended not to see what she’d at the bottom of the stairwell that day.
She’d heard all about beans and coyotes and, for some reason, cat piss. She couldn’t ever make sense of most of what he said; she figured it was all part of the secrets he kept. But every time he got to talking, no matter what he was saying, he always said the same thing at the end.
She knew it was coming and she willed herself to go to sleep before it came, didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to know. But it was that one word that kept her up. That one word haunted her on the nights when Ennis was silent, the nights that Ennis was gone, even the rare nights Ennis kissed the top of her head after dinner.
That one word filled her eyes with tears faster than any other word in the English language. She knew just how he sounded saying that word. It was a soft sigh with a crooked little smile and a chuckle. Who chuckled in their sleep? She never heard that chuckle when he was awake. He said the word then, cutting into her thoughts and making her cry softly, turned away from him, not that he’d wake up anyway. She hated that word.
“Jack…”
He talks about you in his sleep;
There’s nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Jolene
Rain was pattering on the window and Alma wanted to pretend that was what was keeping her up, not the soft murmuring from her husband beside her. He sometimes talked in his sleep-sometimes more than when he was awake-and Alma always pretended not to hear, the same way she’d pretended not to see what she’d at the bottom of the stairwell that day.
She’d heard all about beans and coyotes and, for some reason, cat piss. She couldn’t ever make sense of most of what he said; she figured it was all part of the secrets he kept. But every time he got to talking, no matter what he was saying, he always said the same thing at the end.
She knew it was coming and she willed herself to go to sleep before it came, didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to know. But it was that one word that kept her up. That one word haunted her on the nights when Ennis was silent, the nights that Ennis was gone, even the rare nights Ennis kissed the top of her head after dinner.
That one word filled her eyes with tears faster than any other word in the English language. She knew just how he sounded saying that word. It was a soft sigh with a crooked little smile and a chuckle. Who chuckled in their sleep? She never heard that chuckle when he was awake. He said the word then, cutting into her thoughts and making her cry softly, turned away from him, not that he’d wake up anyway. She hated that word.
“Jack…”