by Jonathan Ferrini<\/p>\n
\u201cSpeedy Gas\u201d was a small, two-pump, single-bay gas station tucked into a forgotten corner of San Francisco. It was not the kind of station visited by those chasing the lowest price per gallon or making a hurried dash into a minimart, but to its old customers and to those who still valued personal service, Speedy Gas was a relic of a slower, more intimate relationship between driver, car, and service station operator, resembling a visit to a trusted family doctor.<\/p>\n
Rita kept the Speedy Gas rituals: windshield wiped clean, hood lifted, fluids checked, tires tapped and filled. Rita approached quickly with the tools of her trade; window spray, clean rag, tire pressure gauge, and welcoming smile.<\/p>\n
Below in the grease pit, Daniel lay beneath an aging sedan, his hands blackened with oil as he tightened the final bolts. The scent of motor oil, grease and cement walls of the pit surrounded him like family and was his sanctuary.<\/p>\n
Rita stepped carefully toward the edge of the pit and looked down at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cMister M, you\u2019ve been working on that old car all day without a lunch break, and it\u2019s nearing six o\u2019clock.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t it wait until tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis car is more than transportation to its owner.<\/p>\n
\u201cJoan Hobson\u2019s long life is wrapped up inside it this old car and driving it to Christmas to be with family will make her feel at home just like this pit, and garage makes me feel at home.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I\u2019m done, I want you to run the car over to Maxi Waxi\u2019s and pay for \u2018The Deluxe\u2019 service wash.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI look at the invoices and know you\u2019re undercharging your customers.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a generous man, Mister M.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRita, I\u2019m four times your age.<\/p>\n
\u201cI own this place free and clear and live comfortably inside my shoddy apartment behind the garage.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy \u2018generosity\u2019 is paying it forward for my long life I\u2019ve survived.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat matters is we\u2019re serving the people who depend on us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe grease pit is too dangerous for a man your age.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI may be one hundred and two years old, but I can still lubricate a chassis.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt hurts me to see you down there and living behind the garage in a cramped apartment alone.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpend Christmas with my family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI celebrate eight days and nights with candles which is enough celebration for me but thank you.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a lonely old man who finds solace working here.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son worked alongside me after school, weekends, and summers at this garage.<\/p>\n
\u201cBen was a natural born mechanic just like you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you miss them dearly, Mister M.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI never had a chance to say goodbye to Ben.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis jet was taking off from Naval Air Station Alameda to join the carrier USS Constellation at sea.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was busy replacing a radiator hose for an old customer, so I sent Helen off and told her I\u2019d join her after the repair.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe called me from the air station and said I missed Ben taking off to join the squadron.<\/p>\n
\u201cHelen said Ben appeared disappointed by not seeing me saying,<\/p>\n
\u2018Tell pop\u2019s I love him.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u201cShe mentioned a look in his eyes as if he knew\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI lost my only child, Ben, when his F-4 Phantom jet was shot down over Vietnam.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s still listed as \u2018MIA\u2019, but we know Ben didn\u2019t survive and buried him posthumously at the San Francisco National Cemetery.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen Helen died peacefully at home twenty years ago, I sold our home including all its happy and painful memories to live and work here where I can keep my mind on work and cherish memories of working together with my son.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be here opening and closing for our customers every day including holidays until the day I die and join Helen and Ben.\u201d<\/p>\n
The grease gun slipped in his hand and Daniel fell holding his chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you okay, Mister M?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m having a heart attack!\u201d<\/p>\n
The last thing Daniel remembered was a mask placed over his face and Rita holding his hand.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Lieutenant Daniel Mercer was flying straight and level through a gray morning over the Atlantic. Suddenly, the cockpit filled with the bitter smell of burning oil and hot metal. The instrument panel flickered, the engine sputtered and fell silent. He knew his P-51 Mustang was hit by a lucky shot from a fallen Messerschmitt.<\/p>\n
\u201cBlue Jay Two, you hit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill flying but no engine and falling fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
The engine temperature needle swung hard into the red. Smoke curled backward across the wing. Daniel tightened his grip on the yoke. Below him, the ocean was choppy and cold.<\/p>\n
A bullet had passed through his upper flank, grazing the ribs and tearing muscles. He adjusted the trim and remembered home, San Francisco. \u00a0He thought of the cable cars on California Street, the ringing bell and the slow climb toward Nob Hill. His father\u2019s garage was on California Street, and he would inherit it and forever live his life in the \u201cCity by the Bay\u201d.<\/p>\n
War had changed his career plans, and the aircraft was descending quickly. He could see England now, and the white cliffs of Dover emerged slowly rising out of the sea with welcoming smiles.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got Dover in sight, Blue Jay Lead!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTake it straight into any field you see and may God be with you, Blue Jay Two!\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
He opened his eyes. The air smelled of starched sheets, chlorine, antiseptic, and pain. A woman stood beside him. She wore a white neatly pressed nurse uniform, her posture was erect, and her expression composed. Her hair was pinned neatly beneath her cap. One hand rested lightly against his wrist, fingers counting the rhythm of his pulse.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere am I?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re in a British Army hospital.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Lieutenant Nurse Stephanie Hall.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me out of here!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re wounded and require proper medical care.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are my clothes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSir, if I must strap you to the bed to ensure you receive proper care, we shall do so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can see you are going to be a difficult patient.<\/p>\n
\u201cMost of you Yanks are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI need to get back to my unit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is your unit, Lieutenant?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy squadron is the \u2018United States Army Eight Airforce\u2019 based in East Anglia, England.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA \u2018Mighty Eight\u2019, lad.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re grateful for your service to Britain.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow old are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy birthdate is on my dog tag.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see a very brave, defiant, man-boy of no more than nineteen, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess the truth no longer matters because the war is over for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI lied about my age when I enlisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cI serviced the Packard Custom Eight Clipper at my pop\u2019s garage owned by a Brigadier General who pulled strings for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey rushed me through flight school in time to see action before the war ends.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be twenty years old on Christmas Eve.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother was very fortunate to receive a gift of a beautiful baby boy the night before Christmas.<\/p>\n
\u201cI expect you to write home and tell her and your \u2018pop\u2019s\u2019 you\u2019re receiving the best of care and will be home soon.\u201d<\/p>\n
He studied her face and saw beauty, confidence, and something else, buried deeper. He did not yet know what it was.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
The hospital ward was filled with wounded men. At night, the air filled with murmured prayers, delirious whispers, and sometimes screaming. Nurse Lieutenant Stephanie Hall adjusted bandages, administered morphine, and checked pulses. Her presence was precise, efficient, and compassionate.<\/p>\n
She rarely spoke more than necessary but he watched the way she leaned closely when listening, the faint crease that appeared between her brows when she concentrated, and how beautifully her figure filled out the uniform. He found himself waiting for her. He learned she worked the late shift ending at midnight.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
He woke to find her sitting on the edge of his bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m off duty.<\/p>\n
\u201cCare to chat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly if you move in closer; the crash made me hard of hearing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNonsense, but brilliant try.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s it like where you\u2019re from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSan Francisco\u00a0is a slice of heaven.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe fog rolls in low, like it owns the city.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hear the cable cars before you see them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCable cars?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe\u00a0San Francisco cable car system hurdles up the hills.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hear the bell and their steel grip biting into the tracks.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a good sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means people are going somewhere.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing to work.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing home where I want to be.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father has a garage on California Street with one bay and two pumps out front.<\/p>\n
\u201cBefore the war, I spent my days in a grease pit underneath a car or truck with oil dripping down upon me and grease under my fingernails that never quite washed out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds dreadful but delightfully masculine.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have long slender beautiful fingers resembling those of a pianist which contradict your profession.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSlide in closer and I\u2019ll let you read my palms, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a few inches, Lieutenant but I warn you my scream will awaken this ward.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re bluffing, you\u2019re a compassionate nurse and wouldn\u2019t risk waking these poor wounded bastards.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI remind you that you\u2019re also \u2018wounded\u2019 and an irreverent \u2018bastard\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFind me sexy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly, Lieutenant and you\u2019re sex appeal may likely increase after talking more about the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI enjoy repairing cars.<\/p>\n
\u201cA customer say\u2019s he can\u2019t get to work or his wife\u2019s expecting soon and he needs it ready.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou find what\u2019s wrong, set it right, and witness the beautiful sound of the engine turning over again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI helped him and makes me feel like I matter.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour work is like that of a surgeon, Lieutenant. \u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, call me a car doctor!<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, I made you chuckle.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour hands are soft and beautiful and don\u2019t look accustomed to hard labor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBefore the war, I was an appendage to a man of position.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sort of vital national service.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand a damn word you\u2019re saying.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpell it out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter graduation from boarding school, I was placed into an arranged marriage with a man I didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was the first man I came to know.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t love him and there was no romance.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis family sorely desired a male heir to carry on his family line.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe tried and failed repeatedly to have a baby.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was blamed for being infertile despite his private admission of impotence.<\/p>\n
\u201cI remained a dutiful wife standing beside her husband instead of close to him in the same bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, I find myself helping broken men stand again.<\/p>\n
\u201cHelping them return to their lives.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust like the cars you made whole and sent them on their way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s home?\u201d<\/p>\n
She chose not to answer, knowing nothing she could say would translate across the caste and privilege gulf between them. Her world was a life he had never imagined, just as she could never truly appreciate the grease-stained certainty of his.<\/p>\n
\u201cHome is wherever I am needed.\u201d<\/p>\n
They remained there in the dim light, studying each other with the quiet curiosity of two travelers who had met at the crossing point of two lives. He saw refinement that both fascinated and intimidated him. She saw competence that steadied her, a man whose worth was measured not in title but in usefulness. She saw a man she ached for and dreamed about.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Night after night, they spoke. Their formality softened. He called her Steph and she called him Daniel. They recognized the war they shared brought them closer and freed them from needing to understand dissimilar worlds.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
A distant chime signaled midnight awakening Daniel. Steph was no longer wearing her cap, and her long flowing blond locks fell softly around her face. She saw his eyes open and he smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have a surprise for you, Daniel.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you must keep it a secret.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m breaking hospital regulations.\u201d<\/p>\n
She handed him a paper bag. He opened it and found a bottle of Coca-Cola, a Hershey bar, and a pack of American cigarettes with a matchbook.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat made you do this at your peril?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted you to feel some small semblance of home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a wonderful woman, Steph.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I had met you under such different circumstances.<\/p>\n
\u201cSteph, what can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDaniel, just be my friend and listen to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have no one else to speak to about these matters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you have to tell me, Steph?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy husband Bernard was a pilot.<\/p>\n
\u201cI spent two years waiting for him to come home until notice arrived; he was shot down and killed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry for you, Steph.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m lonely, Daniel.<\/p>\n
\u201cI find meaning and purpose working here but I found passion and a yearning absent in my marriage with you, Daniel.<\/p>\n
\u201cI also wish we met under different circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
The deceased were removed in the very early hours of the morning so as not to alarm the dying. Their beds were filled by morning. A priest came by each bed at dawn, whispered a prayer, and waved his hands in the form of the cross. He never spoke but Daniel muttered,<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess one prayer is as good as another.\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Stephanie arrived just after midnight on a clear cold night. The moon\u2019s light cast a faint but warm glow across the ward. She drew the privacy drape around his bed. She stood beside him, her hands trembling faintly, and they devoured each other with their eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo I smell \u2018Chanel No. 5\u2019 perfume?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI chose a scent you might recognize from San Francisco and used so little only you would notice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy the perfume?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause after midnight, near to you, I\u2019d rather be a woman than a nurse, darling.\u201d<\/p>\n
She climbed onto the bed beside him; her movements deliberate, urgent, tender, raw, vulnerable, and filled decades of neglect, culminating in a glorious culmination of emotions. He held her close but neither spoke. The world beyond the drape ceased to exist.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Rain traced soft lines down the tall English windows. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his shoulder wrapped in stiff white bandages. Daniel noticed fewer beds were being filled, which meant the war was ending.<\/p>\n
The curtain providing intimacy at midnight opened without haste. It was Nurse Captain Melinda Richardson. She carried herself like an officer accustomed to command. Her uniform was immaculate, her posture erect, and expression firm but not unkind. She pulled a chair close to him to speak quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have come to speak with you about Nurse Lieutenant Stephanie Hall.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has come to my attention that the two of you have spoken intimately on more than one occasion.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe has attended to you personally, even when such attention could have been delegated.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do not interfere lightly in the private lives of my nurses, but I am responsible for their well-being, particularly in matters where misunderstandings may arise.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are an American and come from a nation where distinctions of class are less formal and permanent.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is not the case in England.<\/p>\n
\u201cNurse Lieutenant Stephanie Hall was married to the son of Lord Hall.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe returned to his family estate a widow before she had truly become a wife.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is the daughter of a distinguished family, and her father holds influence at the highest levels of government.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe could have spent the war in comfort and safety.<\/p>\n
\u201cInstead, she chose to serve Britain by becoming a nurse and entering the army.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe will one day return to the family estate.<\/p>\n
\u201cHer father is ill and mother deceased.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is the last of her line.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn other words, she\u2019s out of my league.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re blunt but on point.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m from\u00a0San Francisco, Captain.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father owns a garage.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose that\u2019s all there is to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou became an officer and crossed an ocean to defend a country not your own.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat speaks highly of you.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut there are worlds, Lieutenant, that do not easily join.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot because of character but because of obligation and history.<\/p>\n
\u201cBluntly, Stephanie Hall\u2019s Anglicanism and your Jewish faith present barriers to a union between you both.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe fact that you have won her heart is not a trivial thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSteph never brought up religion although the letter \u2018H\u2019 for Hebrew was stamped on my \u2018dog tag\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI ask you to understand what it all means and what it may never be permitted to become.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked past her, toward the dark window where the rain pelted reminding him of the bullets fired to kill him and this time, hitting his heart.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand, Captain.<\/p>\n
\u201cRequesting your leave to process all of this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish you the best of everything and a long life, Lieutenant.\u201d<\/p>\n
Captain Richardson left him, but he knew that survival, however miraculous, did not free a man from the boundaries of the world dividing people. War should have taught him that lesson, but for a moment in time, a beautiful woman from a stately manor and mechanic turned pilot fell in love.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
The day came when he could stand, walk, and be discharged. They did not speak of it until the morning it arrived. He stood beside his bed, wearing his uniform again. Steph stood before him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re returning to your unit and then home?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, to the life I had lived before the war.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will miss you, Daniel.\u201d<\/p>\n
He attempted to pull her tight to him, but she resisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou cared for me and I took you into my heart, Steph.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to say more but there are no words which will suffice except a kiss which you\u2019ll permit me, please.\u201d<\/p>\n
She entered his embrace and released the pent-up desire raging through her until Captain Richardson approached with his discharge papers. \u00a0Nurse Lieutenant Stephanie Hall watched Daniel leave forever but knowing he left behind a permanent memento.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Their son was born in the spring and she named him Bernard. Steph raised him alone. She never wrote to Daniel and never spoke his name, but she was reminded of him in every feature of their beautiful son.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Daniel returned to San Francisco, resumed his life working inside his father\u2019s garage and married. The war became memory. Years and decades passed. His garage on\u00a0California Street\u00a0was built with his hands and discipline learned in the cockpit, and watching the dedicated nurses complete their rounds with compassion which he shared with each of his customers.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Daniel awoke and found himself alone inside an ICU not resembling the hospital ward he recalled from the war. The war defining his youth was more than eighty years behind him and losing his son and wife faded into memory.<\/p>\n
Rita was cautioned by the cardiologist,<\/p>\n
\u201cSay your goodbyes before it\u2019s too late.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis birthday is tomorrow.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe didn\u2019t think a birthday celebration was appropriate for a dying man.<\/p>\n
\u201cNobody in this ICU can recall a birth and death on the same day particularly Christmas Eve.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMister Mercer never shared his birthday with me even though I\u2019m the closest thing to family.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rita held Daniel\u2019s frail hand in one hand and a faded sealed envelope with foreign postage stamps in the other hand. Daniel\u2019s eyes were hollow, but he recognized the aged envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cI searched your office for somebody to contact and came across this envelope from England addressed to you many decades ago and never opened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you like me to open it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n
Daniel remembered his decision not to revisit the past by opening the envelope because he put the past behind him, but the memories and mourning were about to end, and he motioned for Rita to open the envelope.<\/p>\n
Rita removed a photograph of a handsome young Royal Air Force aviator. She turned over the photo revealing a handwritten note suggesting a woman\u2019s soft touch with a fountain pen which she read softly,<\/p>\n
Dearest, Daniel. <\/em><\/p>\n Please meet our son, Bernard Mercer Hall.<\/em><\/p>\n Bernard was told his father was an aviator killed in the war.<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0The night our son was conceived inside the darkness of the ward remains a blessed, romantic memory and a warm togetherness two young people shared inside the cold of war.<\/em><\/p>\n After graduation from Cambridge, he darted off to the RAF to become an aviator like his father.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m mailing this photograph and note in the final days of my life. I knew you as a sensitive young lad and you may be reticent to open it fearing to relieve the past which I fully understand.<\/em><\/p>\n Life was kind permitting our union during times of mutual need but also cruel in keeping the three of us apart.<\/em><\/p>\n I hope our beautiful son will bring you happiness and remove any grief life may have dealt you.<\/em><\/p>\n Goodbye, my love.<\/em><\/p>\n Daniel\u2019s American son followed him into the sky and lost to it but here was another son; a son born of survival and two lovers from different worlds. Although Bernard walked beneath ancient, privileged towers, he, too, flew inside the same sky that had both spared and punished three pilots; a husband, and a father and son. Daniel was gifted with a second son, and his grief was replaced with pride in two heroic sons born from two magnificent mothers.<\/p>\n Rita held Daniel\u2019s hand which gripped tightly and suddenly let go. A sound from the heart monitor resembling the bells of the cable cars Daniel warmly spoke about signaling his long journey ended. Daniel\u2019s cable car reached the top of California Street and waited for him to climb aboard with a nonstop flight to a grand reunion of loved ones; a beautiful extended family all with eyes towards the sky.<\/p>\n \n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Jonathan Ferrini \u201cSpeedy Gas\u201d was a small, two-pump, single-bay gas station tucked into a forgotten corner of San Francisco. It was not the kind of station visited by those chasing the lowest price per gallon or making a hurried dash into a minimart, but to its old customers and to those who still valued […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1914,77],"tags":[1915,1123,1758],"class_list":["post-16499","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-91","category-english","tag-egophobia-91","tag-english","tag-jonathan-ferrini"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-4i7","jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16499","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16499"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16499\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16500,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16499\/revisions\/16500"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16499"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16499"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16499"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}