Gold
Why do I believe anything he says? Boone Bogus always tells a tall
tale. Twisted yarns of spin. He’s the master. Follows me everywhere. Annoying. So, again, why do I listen?
I dig for gold in the Yakima range, lots of experience up here, did panning
for over a decade by myself. My friends said to me, ‘Dewey, you’ll never find
gold. Get a job. I did. Now I’m working. Working to dig up another man’s gold.
Boone, who goes by Bo for short, spins his yarn like this. The truth, I’ll get
to in a minute, or two.
Bo says to me, “Did you hear about that strike up north in Calachua?” Bo
always starts his stories with a question. But you need to take it like it’s
just talk. Chatter. I did lie to him and say, “yes.” Thought he’d go away. But
he continues about the biggest vain seen by man. Glistening walls, refractions
of golden light, soft malleable pure gold, twenty-four carat sunshine. Told me
his dreams. Told me he’d never forget me. Reaffirmed our friendship. Promised
girls, which I rejected, because I told him I was more interested in women. He
looked confused, couldn’t understand the difference between a girl and a woman.
I attempted to clear away his bewilderment with an explanation.
Girls are silly. Women are not. When you ask a girl out, she giggles
inside first. Loves the attention. When that feeling gets to her face it shows
as a smile. But when it’s time to answer, he lips move the wrong way and tell
you, no. Girls are confusing. Best to keep away.
Women, they’re a whole different sort. Not just more mature. A woman
knows what she wants, and if it’s not you, there won’t be any coy looks wanting
attention. They’ll look you straight in the eye, women love direct eye contact,
and if you look back, make her laugh a little, you’ll get a date. Women know
they like sex. There’s no playing around. If you have chemistry with her, I
don’t mean to describe a reaction like baking soda and vinegar, but you’ll want
the same result. Explosions. More than one, three per day, tired out heavy
breathing. That’s what a woman wants.
Bo wanted an explanation on the explosions.
I shook my head. Thick as a brick sometimes. Let him have his girls. I wanted
him to get done his story, so I redirected back to the lucky strike.
Bo tells me about core drilling to eighty-five feet. Placing the dynamite
down the exploratory holes. He blasts away this section on the south side of
Calachua cave. Claims a nugget fly’s out and hits him in the nose. Tested it
right there. So heavy he could hardly lift it. (Yet he was still standing on
impact with his nose?) It gets better, taller, more yarny. The gold he
recovered was enough to buy himself a jet. He was very specific about this,
almost believable. A Citation ten. He described the flowing lines of the
fuselage, the leather interior, wild amenities, symmetry in the wings, tip
sails. He hired an all-girl crew. Went up to the mile-high club. Joined. Gold
flowed from mountain sides to treasure chests of delight. I told him I needed
to use the john. He went back to work with his pic-axe.
I sit in the john. Wondering what makes a man go off in delusions of
grandeur. I sit on this throne. It’s easy to dream, to take yourself away. To
feel the pleasures of freedom. Real freedom. A momentary release from Society’s
ills. I begin a fantasy. I actually talk to the first girl that caught my eye.
I go back to the staring. The wonder of her presence. Her smile. She’s a woman
now.
The awful smell is suddenly overwhelming. I stand. Pull up my pants. When
I open the door, our crew leader is waiting. His name is Jeremy. He motions for
me to come over towards him.
Jeremy tells me I’m not hitting the goals the company has set for each
worker in section twenty-four. He asks me if there is anything that needs to be
changed. He suggests a change. I listen to him speak. I challenge his thoughts
and blame everything on Bo. He talks to much. Doesn’t drill the core holes
properly. Bo’s messing everything up telling dreamy stories all the time.
Jeremy says, “Dewey, I’ve tried to help you. Kept all your stories quiet.
But the facts are we’ve never employed a Boone Bogus. Never. This section has
been your responsibility for eight weeks. We know there’s gold here. You never
clear the blast zones. Someone’s going to get hurt. You’re distracted all the
time. I’m sorry Dewey, but I’m going to have let you go.”
2017 Artemis J Jones
#FlashFiction
This version uses the a reference to himself, first person, in the first paragraph. You can read an alternative version that splits up Dewey's mind a little more with second person references on Scriggler.Com
