Gale
The following weekend, Olivia got a call from Charles, who informed her that a small camera crew was coming to conduct introduction interviews.
A profile clip or something to that effect.
She wasn’t pleased but didn’t have a choice since the contract specifically outlined that Charles could send in a camera crew at any point if he wasn’t getting the footage he wanted.
For whatever reason, my sister had decided that Dad’s house was the perfect location for filming.
Again, I figured it was to ensure my participation since I had gotten good at shirking responsibilities.
I’d spent the week camping to avoid getting together with the group, something that infuriated my sister.
Thirty minutes before Charles’s crew was due to arrive, I slipped out the back door with my camera and a full backpack and aimed for the field. Olivia was busy entertaining her friends in the basement, so my escape went unnoticed.
Until it didn’t.
Dad was repairing the riding lawn mower outside the barn. It had gone on the fritz a few weeks ago, and being the frugal man he was, he refused to call a mechanic until he’d tried everything in his power to fix it himself.
Every day, the grass on the main property grew longer, but he persevered.
Without looking up from his task, at the precise moment I stepped on the bottom rung of the wooden fence at the far reaches of the property, he called out, “She won’t be pleased when she finds you’ve run off.”
Abandoning my flight, I approached my father.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“I get it. Your sister is a bit of a bully, and you hate disappointing her.”
I said nothing, silently agreeing.
Merrison Windrow was a mountain. Taller, broader, and more confident than I would ever be, with wisdom I respected, even when I didn’t always understand it.
He attacked life with his head high, no matter how many times he was knocked down.
He was steady, enduring, and unwavering.
The calmest, most patient man I’d ever known.
He never raised his voice, rarely partook in arguments, listened, reasoned, and accepted all of life’s blunders with an open mind.
After the death of his wife, he could have crumbled or given up hope, but he didn’t.
He picked himself up and raised his two heartbroken children with a gentle hand and an endless well of patience.
In my grief, I’d turned to God. Dad responded by buying me a Bible and allowing me to attend various church services as I sought comfort in faith and healed.
When, during high school, I announced my intention to join the priesthood, Merrison Windrow told me he was proud, despite not having a single religious bone in his body.
When I returned from the seminary broken and ashamed, unable to explain what had happened, he let me grieve the fresh wound in private until I was ready to move on.
He didn’t judge. He didn’t push. He didn’t say I told you so. He simply loved me unconditionally and reminded me of my strengths, of which, in my opinion, were few.
Yet, I’d never been able to unburden my heart or speak the words that so desperately needed to be spoken.
“Need a hand?” I asked, glancing at the house and accepting fate. My time was limited, and I knew nothing about mechanics, but if I could keep my hands busy, maybe it would quell the anxiety knotting my intestines.
Dad straightened, wiping his oil-blackened fingers on a rag as he frowned at the deconstructed innards of the lawn mower. “Nope. What I need is a professional who isn’t going to charge me an arm and a leg.”
“Or a sledgehammer.”
Dad chuckled. “Or that. Might have to ring Albert before I wreck it beyond repair. I think he’s got a young man working for him who might make the trip out to look at it.”
Project abandoned, Dad took me in, noting the camera around my neck and the backpack slung over my shoulder. He clucked his tongue. “Now tell me. When has running away fixed the problem?”
I lowered my head in shame. “Never.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to face life head on, Gale. Even when it’s hard.” Dad heaved a heavy sigh, his weathered face pinched with worry. “She’s got you tangled in this, and that’s not fair.”
“It’s fine. I don’t want her to be upset with me. I’ll do the interview, but I… need a minute to get my head together.”
Connecting with nature helped. Viewing the world through a camera lens humbled me. Vast landscapes, endless skies, or the tiniest insects reminded me of my place on Earth. Humans were not superior. We were part of the ecology. One of billions of God’s creations.
Only when I was alone did I feel truly part of the world. I recognized the irony, but it didn’t change anything. Besides, my flaws seemed less significant when viewed through a different lens.
I prayed every day for courage. Although I didn’t believe God hated me and had made me exactly as he deemed fit, I questioned why he had burdened me with such differences. I was not strong enough for such an obstacle.
God did not provide answers, and I was often left bereaved.
Dad leaned against the broad side of the machine and motioned to my camera. “Take any good shots when you were gone last week?”
I’d spent four days at Waurika Lake working on a photography project.
I thumbed the camera strap and shrugged.
“A few. I’ll print them this afternoon.” The darkroom Dad had helped me create in the basement was another place I enjoyed spending time.
If I couldn’t be alone in the wilderness, where my tormented mind was at rest, I found secluded places at home where no one bothered me.
“You’ve got a deadline coming up, don’t you?”
“End of next month. I’m working on something special. The editor approved the idea.”
“Can’t wait to see it. June edition?”
“July.”
Photography might have started as a hobby, but it was slowly shifting to a paying job.
I didn’t make enough to live on my own, but I did make enough to contribute from time to time.
After entering a few local photography competitions and winning, I’d branched out, submitting to a variety of more prominent nature and wildlife contests across the country.
I sent my work to magazines, hoping to get my name out there.
When I took home several prizes and had my work mentioned in articles and newspapers, one of the magazines I’d been in contact with asked to view my portfolio.
They ended up paying for several of my pictures. It rolled from there.
Prestigious photography competitions around the world always felt out of reach, but Dad nudged me to submit my work anyhow, claiming the worst thing that could happen was that I didn’t qualify and was eliminated.
I had yet to earn any notable prizes, but my name was slowly circulating.
One afternoon nine months ago, I got a phone call.
Weather, a monthly magazine published by the Royal Meteorological Society, interviewed me for a potentially recurring spot in its publication, provided I could deliver something fresh and innovative.
Seeing as they were an academic magazine and I had a degree in atmospheric science, they suggested I pen the articles for the attached photography as well.
So far, I had done one feature piece. My second was due in the summer.
If I could come up with another concept, I was hoping to pitch a third idea and submit it before the end of the year.
It was a dream come true.
The screen door opened, drawing our attention. Olivia poked her head out, one hand shielding her eyes against the sun. “They’re here,” she called.
I offered an acknowledging wave, and she returned inside.
Dad clasped my shoulder. “Be yourself, Gale. You can’t be anyone else, right?”
“Yeah.” No one knew that more than me.
“Chin up. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You have inner strength. You’re intelligent. You’re worth knowing. Don’t let anyone, especially your sister, walk all over you. You stand up for yourself. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” I fixed a smile on my face and glanced at Dad’s broken mower. “Call the shop.”
“Nah. I’ll give it another go. I can always pull out the push mower.”
“It’s too much grass, Dad.”
He chuckled. “Not for me. I have a healthy son who could do with some exercise.”
I groaned. “How about I call the shop?”
Dad’s laughter followed me back to the house.
Olivia, Roe, Maggie, and Jazz stood among two strangers in the open farm-style kitchen. One was a man with auburn hair tied in a low knot at his nape and clothing that suggested he was into nineties grunge. The stranger fiddled with a camera while he and Jazz discussed Nirvana.
The other person was a woman, tall and sinewy.
Her black hair contrasted with radiant blue eyes.
She had sharp features, wore chic glasses, perfect makeup, and a spring dress that didn’t reach her knees.
The outfit included a jean jacket and stylish cowboy boots.
I suspected she was from the city, and the country-girl outfit was deliberately chosen to fit in with the Elk City crowd.
If anything, it made her stand out more.
Roe seemed to approve of the outfit if his subtle glances in her direction said anything.
On my arrival, Olivia made introductions. “This is my brother, Gale. Our resident weather expert. Gale, this is Arty and Becca. They work for Charles.”
Arty tipped his head in a distracted greeting, and Becca offered a warm smile and delicate handshake. “Nice to meet you, Gale. We’re going to film outside. Better lighting. Since this whole show involves a connection to the weather, we figured a sunshiny day was a great contrast.