4. Everett #2
It is a little bittersweet to see how easy Henry’s life turned out after taking over the role. I could have taken the easy road, taken over the ranch, and had my life planned out, but would I have been happy?
I guess I’ll never know that answer. The only thing I know right now is that I am proud of myself for following my own path, doing things my way, and proving to everyone that I made the right decision.
We’ve accomplished everything we wanted to do today.
We fixed some of the holes and checked in on the cattle.
The calves should be born soon. There are about ten pregnant heifers, so now we are on calf duty.
We moved the heifers closer to the ranch so they are easier to reach if we need to help in any way.
For now, it’s time to shower and head to the main house for dinner. Mom has always loved making dinners for us after a long ranch day. I don’t ever remember a day when Mom didn’t make dinner when I was growing up.
“Boys wash up before dinner. And don’t drag ranch dust throughout my house,” she says jokingly, she knows that is impossible.
“I make no promises,” I reply.
Henry chuckles. “City boy forgot how dirt works.”
I bump his shoulder as I pass. “You still mad I saddled faster than you this morning?”
“I beat you to the creek, though,” Henry says back.
“Boys, go wash up and bicker later,” Mom says.
Now that I don’t smell like mud and animal shit, I head downstairs. I hear everyone chatting about the ranch and what we did today.
“How was your day?” Mom asks me as I come downstairs.
“Hey, Mom, the day was good, thanks. How was yours?” I reply as I walk toward her and give her a hug.
“That’s great, sweetie. My day was good, you know, my usual day around here, but now I get to make dinner for all my boys, and that makes me so happy,” she says, hugging me back, tighter than usual.
“I’m happy to be back home, Mom. Dinner smells delicious; it’s been a while since I had a good home-cooked meal.”
The kitchen smells like roast potatoes and garlic. Mom is at the stove; we make our way into the kitchen. Dad sits at the head of the table across from Mom. Henry and I sit across from each other.
We settle back into our seats. Plates are passed. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t comfortable either.
Mom sets a bowl of salad down and looks at me.
“So, tell us about the movie theater. What are you planning to do with it?”
Henry leans back, interested right away. Dad keeps eating, but I know he’s listening.
“Well, right now it’s still a five-screen movie theater. We know it’s an old building, but it has good bones. It just hasn’t been updated in years.”
Henry nods. “Seats looked rough last time we went.”
I nodded. “Yeah, those have got to go. I want new comfortable seating, but still simple. I want people to relax when they are there, not feel like they are sitting in something that is older than them.”
“That sounds nice,” Mom says.
“I’m also going to redo the concession area, better layout, more options. Maybe partner with local businesses for coffee and baked goods.”
Henry looks at me. “Fancy.”
“Not fancy, intentional. I want to help the town and work with them. If one business succeeds and helps others, we all succeed,” I say.
Dad sets down his fork. “You fixing it up to sell?”
The question lands heavily.
“No, to keep,” I respond, keeping my cool.
Silence hits the table. Dad gives a small nod and goes back to eating.
So, I keep going, “I also want to add a small arcade in the lobby. Nothing big, just something for everyone. Somewhere that people can stay a while instead of leaving right after the movie ends.”
“A place for the town to gather,” Mom says
“Exactly,” I say
Henry places his fork on his plate. “Okay, so you worked in live theater for years. Why the switch to movies?”
I’ve been asking myself the same question.
“When we were kids, going to the movies was one of the few times nobody expected anything from me. I wasn’t supposed to be anything. I was just there,” I respond.
Mom smiles.
“With stage work in LA, everything depended on someone else’s vision. Directors, investors, schedules, etc. It was rewarding, but it also wasn’t mine. This is something I can build from the ground up, and reminds me of who I used to be,” I say.
Henry nods, understanding what I mean.
Dad takes a sip of water. “You always liked fixing things up, even when they weren’t broken.”
It isn’t criticism, it’s observation.
“I guess I still do,” I reply.
“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea, son,” Mom says.
“Ya me too,” Henry adds. “Just don’t make the popcorn too fancy, people will hate that.”
I laugh. “Real butter and salt, that is as crazy as I am getting,” I assure.
“Good, we don’t want the town to riot,” Henry laughs.
Later, after dinner, the house is quiet in a way only ranch houses can be. The wind is moving through the open land, and there is a deep, settled silence; all I can hear is the fire crackling in the fireplace.
I sit on the couch with a notebook in front of me, my pen tapping against the paper as my mind runs a million times a minute with all my ideas for the reno.
The money for the down payment was just my savings.
I never knew what I was going to do with it, but I wanted to have a safety net.
Late nights at the theater in LA, picking up extra shifts, side production gigs, not going out every weekend.
Not to mention living in a shoebox apartment with a view of a brick wall instead of a skyline.
I never wanted to be in a situation where I couldn’t take care of myself.
The savings covered most of it, but I also didn’t want to spend it all; owning a home one day would be nice. The rest came from a small business loan that I was approved for.
The theater isn’t just an idea anymore. It’s a reality. A responsibility.
I write at the top of the page:
Starlight Theater – Renovation Priorities
Replace seating – comfortable and durable
Lobby layout redesign
Concession stand expansion
Local vendor partnerships
Arcade corner
Photo Booth
Lighting upgrade
Exterior sign
Community night events
Hire local teens for staff
I lean back on the couch, reading over the list. There are a lot of things to do, but it’s practical and manageable.
A memory slips from my mind, copper curls, bright blue eyes, and a smile that makes me forget everything around me.
I meant to stop by this afternoon after work and before dinner. But I ran out of time, the day slipped through my fingers.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back. Not because I need coffee, well, I do, it is dangerous to those around me if I don’t have any. I’m going back because I want to talk to her without the rush of having a line of customers behind me. I want to know who she became after all these years.
I want to know her.
I close the notebook, placing it on the table before heading to my room. I switch on the lamp and lie back in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I turn my head toward the window; a faint flicker catches my eye. The porch light, it buzzed twice, then steadied, a warm circle across the gravel driveway.
Something about it held me there. A small light in the dark. Not bright enough to demand attention, just steady enough that I noticed when it wavered.
It reminded me of summer when I was a kid. Warm nights, open fields, tiny glowing sparks drifting through the air. You never saw fireflies all at once. Just one here, another there. Impossible not to watch once you notice them.
Mesmerizing.
I push myself up, the old floorboards creaking under my weight. I change into a worn t-shirt, leave my boxers on, brush my teeth and crawl into bed. Reaching over I switch off the lamp.
Turning back toward the window, the porch light flickers again.
Some lights don’t demand attention, they linger, quietly, reminding you they are there.
I let that thought settle as I pull the covers up and close my eyes letting sleep take me, thinking about the theater, the town, my family, and a woman I never forgot.
Tomorrow feels like a beginning, and I am not rushing it.