Ennis and Jack and Hank and Slim

BananAppeal: Brokeback heartbreak

In light of Adjective Queen's poignant post, I have to admit that I am still somewhat reluctant to watch this movie. Not for reasons you might think, though. It's hard to really put into words, but I don't want to watch it for the same reason I'll probably avoid 'United 93' - I prefer my own personal myth, thank you very much.

Three generations of my family grew up in western Oklahoma and I spent many many summers and holidays there. My mom's parents retired from farming around the time I was born and moved to a 'city house' on the edge of the nearest metropolis - population 500. Well, across the road from my grandfolks place was this ramshackle old house, almost a shed really, which was teetering on the edge of a red dirt bluff. It couldn't have been more than 500 square feet; no running water; outhouse in the back. Scrub oaks, sandburrs, yuccas and tumbleweeds littered the sandy yard and an old truck sat rusting alongside. Inside lived Hank and Slim. "Just a coupla ol' drunks," my mom said. "Don't let me catch you over there," my dad warned. "See that 'No Trespassing' sign? They mean it." He might even have told me they would shoot me.

My grandparents didn't talk that way, though. My grandpa would look out for them, leave cigarettes and liquor on their doorstep, turn their horses out in the mornings. My grandma would do their 'trading' for them 'uptown' and since she knew how much food they had, when she figured they were low she'd cook extra dinner that night and carry it over.

The interesting thing is that I never once - ever - saw Hank or Slim outside of that shack. Finally, on one the many drives I made with my grandpa to the county dump or to see how the sharecroppers were treating his land I asked why Hank and Slim drank so much. Also were they vampires. He didn't know what a vampire was, but from my description he said, "Doesn't sound much like Hank. Slim on the other hand.." He said they were just ol' cowboys that wouldn't hurt no one - but it was best if I didn't go over there. Of course, I was fascinated with them. I thought about them all the time when I would visit and I always kept one eye on the shack. The mystery was too compelling. I knew it had to be more than drinking because there was plenty of that around. My Uncle Ray always had a bottle of scotch within reach and I used to marvel at how Aunt Freda could work a room with a highball and a lit cigarette in the same hand, leaving her other one free to gesticulate wildly. Slim and Hank were married. I just knew it.

Twenty years later, I asked my mom if she thought Hank and Slim were gay. She shrugged and said probably, but nobody cared. She said when she was little the next farm over was run by two women that she always thought were sisters. They looked manly, but she figured the hard life of a dirt farmer could do that to you. At any rate, my mom would walk the mile or two over and visit and bake cookies and read their city magazines. Years later she mentioned the sisters to her mom and my grandma laughed and said, "They wasn't sisters, honey! They was married!" Apparently one of the women inherited the farm and had been corresponding for awhile with the other and ultimately they moved in together. They were members of the community like everyone else and apparently raised no ire.

I guess that's where my reluctance to watch comes in. My grandparents painted for me a picture of western life as being one of tolerance where hard work and diligence was the standard and where charity began at home and in one's neighborhood. I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain; I don't know any more than the basic plot. But I know I can't see it with the eyes of a New Yorker or a transplanted Arkansawyer from San Antonio. I know Brokeback is in Wyoming not Oklahoma, but cowboys are cowboys wherever they are. We always overlay our own experiences and feelings when we read fiction or see a film and right now I don't want to examine or question the affection I have for my ancestors and my homeland. I also want to leave Hank and Slim where I left them - cuddled up, stone drunk, teetering on the edge of a red dirt bluff in Northwest County.