{"id":7529,"date":"2021-12-19T07:55:42","date_gmt":"2021-12-19T15:55:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/?p=7529"},"modified":"2021-12-19T07:56:14","modified_gmt":"2021-12-19T15:56:14","slug":"7529","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/meditations\/7529\/","title":{"rendered":"Silver and Golden Christmas Falls (Part 7)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Five days before Christmas, Wayne knocked on the shed door while holding a plate of flapjacks slathered in butter and syrup. It was an overcast morning, a welcome reprieve from last night’s storm. Wayne and Jared had turned in early to read and ride out the bluster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No answer. Wayne knocked again and called out. Nothing. Maybe Jared was in the toilet. Wayne knocked again and opened the door. \u201cJared? You in there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shed was empty. Jared’s gear was there, neatly stowed. Wayne got a bad feeling. He powered on the lot and shut the door. He went to work, alone. It didn’t feel right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lunch. No Jared. Dinner. No Jared. Morning. Still no Jared. Wayne wondered if he should call the police. It occurred to him he didn’t even know Jared’s last name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Right around noon, Jared walked into the lot and looked exhausted. Chief loped over to him. He went to his knees and gave the dog a hug and talked to him. Wayne walked up. Jared stood and faced him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c’I’m sorry,\u201d said Jared, \u201cI fucked up. I knew I would.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened? Wait, it’s none of my business.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is your business because I missed work and hurt the business.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was worried, then I was pissed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou want me to leave?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. Go split some firewood. That might help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHelp with what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRunning the lot, among other things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet to work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wayne walked away. There was nothing else to say. Jared needed the work, not words. Manual labor, not a laborious lecture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night around the fire, Jared recounted the sordid short story of his disappearance: dive bar, Jello shots, snorting crushed pills, flush fever on the video crack lottery, a wild meth cowgirl named Calista, a ride to Winston, hot dogs from a gas station, a RV park in Winston, a ride back to Coos Bay, a ride to Bastendorff Beach near Charleston, and walking ten miles from Bastendorff Beach back to the lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wayne chuckled as Jared narrated without a trace of qualification or embarrassment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow was the sex?\u201d said Wayne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don’t know. I can’t really remember much. I think there was a logger, a transvestite in the trailer, and ferrets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the hell? You went all the way to Winston and you don’t know if you got laid? And there was logger in drag? Sounds like a weird country song in that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wayne started singing, Going to Winston \/ going to get laid \/ got to Winston \/ don’t know if I got laid<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

They stayed up extra late that night yukking it up about Winston and Wayne had Jared do something he’d never done before: order a pizza and have it delivered. They ate the whole thing and Chief gobbled down a slice, too.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Five days before Christmas, Wayne knocked on the shed door while holding a plate of flapjacks slathered in butter and syrup. It was an overcast morning, a welcome reprieve from last night’s storm. Wayne and Jared had turned in early to read and ride out the bluster. No answer. Wayne knocked again and called out. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7530,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[43,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7529","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-meditations","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7529","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7529"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7529\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7532,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7529\/revisions\/7532"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7530"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7529"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7529"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7529"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}