retired five years ago.
A deep tiredness sank into my bones, but I was nowhere near sleep. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a big glass of ice water, and then settled behind the desk in my room. I needed to edit this video so it would be ready for a class on Monday.
I pulled the memory card from my camera and inserted it into the card reader. Lines of video files populated my screen, and I imported them into my editing software. My favorite part of the whole process was looking through each shot and seeing how they came together in separate pieces to form a cohesive story. With so many different shots to choose from, I could already tell this would be one of my better works—even without lighting and sound setups.
I watched the clips and took cuts from the ones that I liked the most. Ones where Ray’s siblings worked just as capably as any adult. Ones where the cattle stomped through the pasture. And then the close-up of Ray, his intense blue gaze as he spoke of the thing that mattered to him more than anything else in the world. He may not have been a practiced public speaker or used eloquent words like we were taught at the Academy, but what he lacked in skill he made up in heart.
I roughly pieced together the clips I wanted and then worked to trim it down. Mr. Davis wanted a video that was five minutes or less, and so far, I'd gathered more than ten of my favorite moments from the day. Even though it had been hard work riding on the back of the horse and trying to keep myself upright, I felt this strange sense of energy from being so close to nature.
I finished the draft and glanced at my screen. I’d been at it for three hours.
That was good for tonight. I would have to go over again tomorrow to add some finishing touches and then send it to Ray so he had a chance to look over it before Monday.
My door opened, and Cori held her phone to her chest. “Mom and Dad want to talk to you.”
I extended my hand for her phone and took in their faces presses together on the screen. As I took it from Cori, I said, “Hi there.”
“Hi, stevia,” Mom said. “Your hair looks a little crazy. What were you doing today?”
I used my free hand to smooth back the rough curls sticking up at every angle. “I was outside videotaping.” It wasn't a lie. “Where are you guys?” I couldn't see much behind them, but it didn't quite look like a hotel room.
“We're still here at the audition center.” She frowned, and Dad scrubbed at his face as if just the word “audition” stressed him out.
“Aren’t the twins exhausted?” I asked.
Mom laughed. “Oh yeah.” She panned the camera over them lying on a patch of red carpet with a couple of stuffed animals and a throw blanket spread over them.
I laughed softly at the sight. “So, they're doing well.”
Dad chuckled. “They actually might make it all the way. You would be so proud of them.”
“I am,” I said. “When will we know?”
Mom became all business. “Their last callback is Monday, and then we’ll know if they made it to the very final audition.”
“Which is when? Could you be staying longer?”
She smiled. “Don’t act so excited. It would be a couple of weeks out. You’re not rid of us yet.”
I let out a sigh. “Not excited, just curious.” Okay, maybe a little excited. Being on my own this weekend was so refreshing, like I finally had space to be me and not coal destined to be a diamond under the pressure of their thumbs.
“Well,” Mom said, “I'll let you get some sleep. Just wanted to call and make sure you were okay.”
“I am,” I said, or at least I would be.
Twenty-One
When I woke for my breathing treatment in the morning, every part of me, especially my inner thighs and butt, burned from riding on the horse. My hair was thick with tangles from the wind the day before. I hadn't even done most of the work, and yet I felt like I'd been through an Olympic-level workout.
As I got up from my bed and went the den, I understood why cowboys walked the way they did in movies. It wasn't to be cool or tough; it was because their hides were literally chapped. My parents didn’t