empty clothes that fall and drape on empty chairs || self-thread
WHO: Morgan Weston, Granny Weston & Granddad Weston
WHERE: The Weston Farm, Montana
WHEN: Tuesday the 12th of November
WHY: Morgan returns to Montana for a bit, seeing to his sick granddad.
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of heart attack, illness and death.
SONG INSPIRATION: Don McLean - Empty Chairs
Morgan’s boots crunched softly on the gravel drive of his grandparents' farm, a place that felt frozen in time. The fields stretched wide, painted with golden autumn light, and the cool Montana air wrapped around him like an old memory. He took a deep breath, smelling the familiar blend of hay and earth, as the front porch creaked under his weight. This place always felt like it was waiting for him to come home, a quiet sentinel to his restless heart.
His granny, Evelyn, stood at the door, her blue cardigan draped loosely over thin shoulders. She smiled, but her eyes were clouded with the weight of everything left unsaid. She reached out, her fingers curling around his arm as if testing to make sure he was really there.
“Granny,” Morgan whispered, his voice cracking despite himself.
“Hey, bubba,” Evelyn replied softly, pulling him into a tight embrace. She smelled like flour and roses - like every Sunday morning from his childhood when she’d bake while humming old Loretta Lynn songs. For a moment, Morgan just let himself be a kid again, safe and small in his grandmother’s arms.
Evelyn pulled back to look at him. “You look tired,” she said, her voice gentle but knowing.
Morgan tried to offer her one of his easy smiles, but it felt heavy and hollow. “Long drive,” he answered, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
She just nodded and held onto his hand as she led him inside. The house was the same - lace curtains, framed photographs of grandchildren, the quilt Evelyn made by hand covering the back of the couch. He could almost pretend things hadn’t changed if it wasn’t for the silence in the room, like everyone was holding their breath.
“He’s in the bedroom,” Evelyn said, her voice wavering. “He’s awake, but… he’s not really all there.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened, a futile attempt to stop the tremor in his chest. He nodded, squeezing her hand once before letting go. She stayed behind, giving him space to gather himself before he stepped into the room.
When he entered the bedroom, it felt like all the noise in his head went still. His granddad, Joe, lay on the bed, propped up on pillows. His once-powerful frame looked smaller, deflated, like a balloon that had slowly lost its air. The steady rise and fall of his chest was reassuring, but his eyes were dull and unfocused, fixed on something far beyond the four walls.
Morgan swallowed, feeling a knot of sorrow tighten in his throat. He took off his hat, smoothing down his hair as he approached the bed. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say on the drive over, but now, words felt like a foreign language.
“Hey, granddad,” he whispered, grabbing the old wooden chair from the corner. His granddad's old work jacket hung over it, and Morgan grabbed it before sitting down on the old wooden chair beside the bed. The last time he’d sat in that chair, his granddad had been telling him stories about bronc riding and the old days. Now, the silence felt like a heavy, invisible thing pressing down on both of them.
Joe didn’t respond, his eyes still focused somewhere Morgan couldn’t reach. Morgan put the jacket in his lap and reached out, his rough hand covering the weathered, fragile hand of the man who taught him how to rope a calf and shoot straight. He remembered those hands being strong enough to split logs and gentle enough to cradle baby chicks.
“Granddad,” Morgan tried again, his voice hoarse. “It’s me. It’s Morgan.”
For a long moment, there was no recognition, just the quiet ticking of the old clock in the corner. But then Joe’s hand twitched slightly under his own, a small movement that felt like a lifeline. Morgan clung to it, swallowing back tears.
“They tell me you’re givin’ the nurses a hard time,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, like it used to be. “Still raisin’ hell even to hospital staff, huh?”
He wasn’t sure if his granddad could hear him or if any of it made sense, but he kept talking, telling Joe about the ranch, about the new horse that was a handful, and the California weather that was nowhere near the kind in Montana. He rambled about anything and everything, hoping that somewhere in his words, Joe might find his way back, if only for a moment.
But deep down, Morgan knew. The doctor had said there wasn’t much time left, and the man lying in front of him was already more memory than flesh. Still, he stayed, because his granddad deserved more than the quiet resignation that had settled over the house.
Morgan finally went quiet, staring at the old wedding photo on the nightstand - a young Joe and Evelyn grinning at the camera, their whole lives ahead of them. He blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over and gripped Joe’s hand tighter.
“I- I’ve been messin’ up a lot lately,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Love’s a hell of a thing, and I can’t seem to get it right.”
The words felt raw and painful in the quiet room, the confession echoing like a secret he’d been holding too close to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering Eva’s eyes, Puck’s smile - memories that now felt too heavy to bear alone.
“But bein’ here-... it kinda reminds me what’s important,” he continued, his voice steadying. “I just wanted to be home... with you.”
Morgan stayed with his granddad for what felt like hours, holding onto the worn jacket in his lap and the silence, hoping it might somehow heal what had been broken - both in himself and the man lying in the bed.
As the sun began to set, the shadows in the room lengthened, and Evelyn peeked in through the door, her eyes soft and sad. She didn’t say anything, just smiled at the sight of Morgan sitting beside his granddad, their hands still intertwined.
Morgan knew he couldn’t fix everything that had gone wrong, but he could be here, in this moment, with the people who’d always been his anchor. And for now, that was enough.