Back at the motel, the old man plucked his morning’s haul and stored them away in the cooler. He took special care of two of the mallards, intending to give them to Jim when he saw him later today. He kept out one of the gadwall for his lunch.
The bacon-filled, cast-iron pan popped and hissed over the coleman burner on his tailgate. When the bacon had rendered all of its fat, he pulled the slices out and put in the gadwall breasts, skin-side down. Also, into the pan, went a wedge of diced onion, some pickled jalapeno, and the whole lot got a good coating of black pepper. He ate the duck, onion, jalapeno concoction over a plate of microwave white rice.
After lunch was finished the old man took a few minutes to wipe down his old gun. The 686 really was one of his most treasured possessions, each mark on the stock told him a story. He didn’t mind that the bluing had gone silver and that the engraving was worn down to barely noticeable in some places. When he held that gun, he was holding memories. He remembered the day his wife surprised him with it on their anniversary. He remembered the first time he shot a duck with it in that Carolina river bottom. Holding that gun took him back through all the September dove hunts with good friends, the laughs and misses, the banner days, and the times where the birds weren’t flying so well, but, most of all, it reminded him of her. He could still see the smile on her face as she watched him open up the box, the way her eyes squinted when her cheeks lifted high, the ribbon of hair that would never stay tucked behind her ear. He slid the gun back in its case, tucking away the memories for another day.
Jake was fast asleep at the end of the bed when the old man began to gather his things for the afternoon trip. The old man always enjoyed trying to trick Jake. He made a game out of trying to pack things quietly and slip out the door without waking the bird dog. He never was successful though. As soon as Jake heard the old man pick up the truck keys, he was up and at the door, ready to go. This time was no different. Shotgun and upland coat in hand, they loaded into the truck for what the old man felt sure was going to be a fun afternoon.
The Fall Experience 